#I am afraid to admit it but I struggled.

[peachsayshi]

cc x·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ thinking about...reader trying to break up with yandere gojo  

minors / ageless blogs / blank blogs - do not interact.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tags: yandere; dub con; lovesick gojo & he’s obsessive/toxic about it; he’s mean but yummy, okay?; size kink (ish?); gojo showing off his strength; sex without protection

notes: I had this written as an idea right after I wrote my hc’s for the jjk men in their yandere version. twylm readers, please forgive me for not posting the next chapter. I am working on it but I am really struggling - I had the worst burn out after the last chapter, and have been having a hard time trying to get back into the story >.< 

wc: 1,228

gojo plays with the hem of your skirt - the flat expression on his face telling you that he’s listening but appears unbothered by your statement. you can see the annoyance in his eyes, the irritation that you would say something so ridiculous in the middle of a make out session. 

his hands find the back of your thighs and with one swift motion he pulls you over his long legs so you’re hovering above his lap. the imbalance forces you to clutch onto his shirt with frustration, and he mindlessly reaches to undo his belt before tugging your underwear aside with his long, slender digits. 

“toru, are you listening to me?” you whisper in a small voice. 

“you want to take a break?” he repeats calmly, but those last two words are laced with disgust, barely slipping through his clenched teeth, and he lowers you down just enough for him to press the tip of his swollen cock against your slit. 

“I need to slow things down...” you breathe, lashes fluttering at the sensation from the contact. 

your thighs naturally start to tense up when he holds you there, and the pads of his fingers dig roughly into your hip to keep you in place. you hiss against the harsh touch, gazing down to find your lover pouting at you like a disappointed child.

any stranger would consider this an adorable expression with the way his big eyes widen while his brows upturn sorrowfully. 

to you, however, it was an entirely different message. 

“are you unhappy?” he asks, his words weighed down by hurt. 

a warm sensation travels up your calves as you try to maintain the pose and you shake your head no while squeezing him gently with reassurance. satoru flickers his attention back to the point of contact. your pelvis feels tight from holding this awkward position, and the ache to have him inside you naturally makes the space between your legs pulse with need. 

satoru gojo has given you everything and more. there is no reason for you to be unhappy. 

he made sure of that. 

“okay,” he confirms with a sigh, one palm moving to grope the curve of your ass while the other stabilizes your leg as he draws you down his length. “do you not love me?” 

a hard lump forms in your throat. 

you’re careful never to actually say those words to him. 

satoru’s devotion consumes your entire your soul - you can’t help but feel like you would be making a deal with a devil if you decided to admit your true feelings. 

you managed to keep his peace of mind this far by reassuring him with deep, promising kisses and strong acknowledgements of his feelings. 

technically you aren’t lying, but the reality is that you’re afraid to love him...and of what your love does to him.

giving him another silent reply, you nod your head as your fear creeps up the back of your spine. the only relief you find is the stretch between your legs, and your lips part into a circle as satoru gives himself to you inch by glorious inch.

your skirt flaps over you both, concealing him buried inside you. he arches forward to kiss your jaw, his large hands finding your breasts and he massages them over your fitted tank. 

he delicately trails his fingers down your waist to latch onto your hips once more. “then why...” he murmurs into your neck, “do you want to take a break?” 

your hand finds the back of his head, a moan leaving your parted lips when you feel him lick a stripe up the column before lightly nipping at your earlobe. 

“it’s just...” you gasp, feeling flowers of heat bloom in all the places he’s touching you, “I just feel like we are getting ahead of o-ourselves..ah...” 

he rocks your hips back and forth, moving at such a languid pace that you can’t help but clench your thighs around his own. your fingers curl around the snowy threads of his white hair, tugging at it gently before pulling his face away so you can meet his eyes. 

he looks smug - but he always does because he knows that you’re just addicted to him as he is to you. 

“isn’t that what we want?” he questions, the corner of his mouth twitching into a lazy smile as he takes off your top and unfastens your bra, “we’re already so perfect...” 

“satoru,” you whine, “that’s not the point-” 

this time he ruts his pelvis upward, interrupting your thoughts as he hits you at the right spot that makes your eyes disappear into the back of your head. he leans against the chair, maintaining full eye contact with you as he casually lifts you up before dropping you back down on his cock. “just want to make you m’pretty wife, is all...fuck you like this every single night...” 

you bite your bottom lip, frustrated with how wet he’s making you with his words. your body subconsciously succumbs to his demands and you slowly start bouncing up and down over his length. 

“that’s right, angel,” satoru grunts with approval, his hungry hands grab your ass roughly, and you squeak when you feel a slight sting from behind as the sound of his palm slapping against your skin echoes around the room. “see? I’m making you feel s’fucking good, your pussy’s so wet f’me...just for me...” 

when his mouth finds yours, you know you’ve lost the battle. his scalding kisses leave your lips swollen but you still search for him out of desperation to feel the fire. he’s reminding you how hard it would be to let go of him, reiterating that there is no man in this world who could ever love you as much he does. you feel silly for bringing this up, questioning your own trepidations about him and wondering if this is simply you sabotaging what you already have. 

you are in a daze from the way he fucks you but he isn’t slowing down his movements and you feel like he might actually split you in two. he would never speak to you with angry words, but you can feel it in his movements.

“gonna c-cum, gonna cum, gonna cum...” 

it comes out of you like a warning, but it only makes satoru go deeper and before you know it your vision is white. your body feels everything all at once, and the coil that’s been tightening around your lower belly loosens from the intense orgasm. the pleasure is euphoric, sinfully so, and it drains you of all the energy you’ve preserved. your body goes limp in satoru’s arms, and he keeps them wrapped securely around your waist as he pumps his cum inside you.

he holds you in this embrace, allowing the seconds to pass. his breath fans your collar bone while he tries to catch himself. your eyes feel heavy when you blink them open, and you cup his face in your hands as you seek to cool yourself down with his azure eyes.

“I’m never going to let you go,” he confesses with a sweet kiss to the inside of your palm, before placing another on your cheek while he tightens his grip, “so stop trying to push me away.” 

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #yandere gojo #yandere gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut

[rileyslibrary]

pretty pretty please 🩶

imagine ghost is forced to speak at a school’s career fair because he’s out on medical, and reader gets sent with him to chaperone. (i.e. make sure he doesn’t scare any kids to 💀. and also maybe to feed him some slightly manipulative praises so he stays in a good mood lmao)

———————————————————————

You’re both standing in the principal’s office. The school was kind enough to offer you a private room since kids are a little rowdy today, and Ghost isn’t very fond of tiny hands tagging at his uniform and asking him “how many people he has killed”.

You’re holding two balaclavas; one is black, while the other is a deep shade of army green.

“It’s either this one or that one.” You say while raising both to his eye level.

He pushes your hands down and points to his skull mask. “No.” He states. “I’ll stick with the one I’m wearing.”

You frustratedly shake the balaclavas to your sides. “Come on, Lieutenant,” you plead, “you’ll scare the kids.”

“Have you seen kids these days?” he asks, raising his hands. “These fuckers are not afraid of anything!”

“Oh god,” You wince and toss the balaclavas on the principal’s desk. You shake your index finger at his face like a teacher disciplining a misbehaving student. “Don’t you dare to swear in front of them!”

“Have you heard, kids—”

“—these days.” You cut him off with a flick of the wrist. “Yes, but there’s no need to reinforce bad behaviour.”

He lets out a long exhale and places his hands on his waist. He begins pacing around the principal’s office, swearing under his breath. You’re trying to figure out whether he needs to let it all out before his big speech or if he’s cursing the moment he has agreed to do this.

He pauses in front of a painting hanging next to a window overlooking the school’s playground. He slouches and places one hand on his lower back, rubbing his injury.

You approach him from behind and gently grasp his forearm.

“Hey,” you whisper, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replies sternly. “Never mind.”

“Are you in pain? Please talk to me.”

“I’m not in pain!” He protests. “In fact, I wasn’t in pain to begin with, when the medics decided that I was,” he makes air quotes with his fingers, “temporarily unfit for duty.”

You place a palm on his lower back and begin rubbing it. He relaxes at your touch and puts one hand on the wall to support his weight.

“You talk about not reinforcing bad behaviour,” he murmurs, “but I’m not the best role model either.”

“Bullshit!” You scowl.

“Seriously,” he insists, “I highly doubt I’d be here talking to kids about their future if I hadn’t been injured.”

He’s correct, but he doesn’t need to know that, especially now, as you wait to enter a classroom full of kids. Any other team member would be far more qualified for this role. Gaz is such a cool guy that most kids would deem him a god. Price feels like the father you wish you had when he talks, and Soap can adapt to anyone he speaks to. Even you would be a better fit for this year’s career fair. But, Ghost? No, not at all.

“Come on, Simon,” you say as you continue rubbing his back. “It’s less about ‘being a role model’ and more about relating to them.”

“How am I supposed to relate to them?” He wonders, “My childhood was nothing like theirs.”

“How do you know?”

He looks at you and motions towards the window. “Look at them,” he says, “they’re full of life.”

“Not all of them are like that, Ghost; some are putting on a show.” You explain, and he turns to look at you again. “They look all jolly, but they might struggle at home or school. Worse, they can’t admit what’s happening behind closed doors because they’re either ordered to remain silent or not understand it themselves.”

He huffs and shakes his head. “Now I can relate to that.” He murmurs.

“See? You need to spot these kids and indirectly talk to them.”

“Spot?” He asks. “How do I spot them?”

“You mean to tell me you’re trained to spot targets from miles away but can’t see when a child suffers in silence?” You ask back. “Plus, it takes one to know one.”

He nods. “And what should I communicate to these kids?” He asks. “How do I help them?”

“By showing them that there’s something better waiting for them out there.”

“Don’t be naive, Y/N. How is what we do better than what they’re going through right now?”

“It’s not about the military, Simon.” You elaborate. “It’s about giving them another chance. They deserve to know there are options other than turning into their drug-addicted mother or alcoholic father.” You lean forward so he can meet your gaze. “Someone gave you a second chance, right?”

He closes his eyes and ponders your words. You tilt your head at him, trying to predict what he’ll say next so you can respond quickly.

But he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he straightens up and takes a deep breath. “You know,” he begins, “I gave one of those speeches to a school a few years ago.”

“Oh!” You cheer and pat him on the back twice. “Did you, now?”

“Lysychansk, Ukraine.” He recalls, “I was being held hostage with a bunch of kids.”

“Tell me more about it,” you say, sitting on the principal’s desk and playing with a pink highlighter. He begins narrating his story, and you can tell he’s becoming more confident as he realises he’s spoken to children before, albeit in a very different context, but who cares? What matters is that he is becoming more at ease with his “previous experience.”

You, in turn, try to give him your full attention, but now that his doubts have subsided, your primary concern is that mask of his. He needs to take it off.

“See? You’re far more experienced than any of us!” you shout. “And in that setting? My god! None of us would have been able to do such a thing!”

He chuckles and looks proudly out the window at the children playing in the school’s playground. He seems to be looking forward to it now.

“Hey, um, sir?”

He shifts his focus to you.

“Your mask, sir; It’s dirty,” you say as you point to his cheek.

He puts his hands on his mask. “Where?” He yells.

“It’s right….” You get up from the desk and take a step closer to him, inspecting his mask. You raise the marker and draw a bright pink line across his cheek, “...there.”

He immediately places his hand on his cheek, looks at the highlighter in your hand, and then back at you.

“You... motherfucker...” he murmurs.

You move away from him and stand behind the desk.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t let you go out with that mask on; the parents will be furious.” You point to the balaclavas on the principal’s desk. “You do, however, have two other options! Take your pick, and I’ll see you in class in 5 minutes!” And with that, you rush out of the principal’s office and into the school’s corridor.

You enter the classroom and greet the kids with a smile, trying to hide your nervousness. Walking towards the back where the parents are seated, your mind starts racing; Is he trying to choose a mask, or is he cleaning up your mess? What if he’s so furious that he doesn’t show up, leaving you to give the speech? Worse, what if he enters the classroom and takes his anger out on you?

But, the door opens, and Ghost walks in. Your eyes widen, and your jaw drops. He’s not wearing any mask. Not the black one, not the green one, not the skull—with the pink streak—mask on. Nothing.

You observe him moving around; despite his lack of disguise, he maintains his composure. He greets everyone in the room, smiles, waves back at the kids and stands next to the teacher. You let out a relieved exhale through pierced lips. This is going well, thank god.

As the teacher introduces Ghost to the class, you turn to give him a thumbs up, and his eyes lock with yours. There’s a faint smirk playing on his lips, and your heart skips a beat as he silently mouths something in your direction: “You’ll pay for this.”

———————————————————————

A/N: YOU’LL PAY FOR THIS, ANON! I was forcing myself to take a break from writing, only to be slapped by an inspiration wave. Hope you liked it, though; I had fun making it.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x you #simon riley #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley fic #simon ghost riley fanfiction #cod ghost #ghost cod mwii #ghost cod mw2 #ghost cod

[thepunchingbag]

I am such a sucker for Astarion x Karlach due to multiple reasons and I am going to list a few here:

Their stories are extremely similar in terms of being forced into servitude and their bodily autonomy being fucked with, their bodies being used as objects (Karlach's body being turned into an Infernal weapon, Astarion's being turned into an Infernal ritual component and as bait for victims).

They both value freedom to an incredible degree (understandably) - Karlach seems to abandon herself in the moment while Astarion is immediately afraid this freedom will slip through his fingers.

Effeminate man with macho woman. Hot and cold. Posh and working-class. Black cat and golden retriever.

Even if they romance other people, there is an undeniable warmth between the two of them. They're going to be friends regardless.

Astarion's response when Karlach falls in battle "Karlach! You can't die - I won't let you die!" He sounds like he's WEEPING, Neil Newbon really delivers the "his heart is breaking and he's panicking" perfectly.

Her pet name for him is "leech".... just... fuckin' hell, Karlach. I love her.

They call each other "darling" unironically when romanced.

However, I definitely think Astarion can be very hurtful towards her, and his comments come from a place of vulnerability. There is SO much subtext to their relationship, and the devnotes really shows that. She offers a chance to take things slow, to remove sex from the early stages of the relationship, and he desperately wants that. He has no idea how to navigate this type of relationship, and he lashes out. I also love Karlach can push him right back ("Want to try that again without being a jackass?"/"Enough. You can't talk to me like that."). The fact he apologizes and admits he enjoys just talking with her. I dunno, like other people have said, it feels healing...

They also compliment each other's struggles since Astarion literally cannot touch her, so his usual seduction routine falls flat. Karlach is touch-starved but it's a rewarding alternative to take things slow, that she can feel a genuine connection. She's spent a decade in the Hells where genuine connections like friendships and romance are essentially a death sentence - you can never let your guard down - and now she finally can. Like, they both basically have to learn how to take things slow.

#starlach? karstarion? #astarion x karlach #karlach x astarion #black cat and golden retriever #hellspawn #karlach #karlach cliffgate #astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3

[teyamsatan]

more stepbro neteyam please im begging you on my knees pls

my panties are soaked, i'm writing this in a cafe and i am struggling to keep my composure. enjoy, anonnie. (also thank you to @cinetrix for making sure that my obsession for this man will literally never die down.)

warnings: smut (stepcest, p in v, semi-public sex - people are sleeping in same tent, pet names, slight praise kink, slight softdom!neteyam), strong language, cursing

wc: 1.7k words

You awake from your slumber with a low groan at the way the chills have overtaken your body, the dead of night furthering the discomfort you feel and the way you come to yearn for muted alleviation. You look around your adoptive family’s marui, desperate to find someone you could cuddle up to, anyone who could provide your body the warmth it craved.

Despite how much they bickered, Lo’ak and Kiri were twin souls, and they always made peace at night, sharing a woven blanket and a warm embrace. You smiled at them, shaking your head lightly at how easily forgotten all their fights seemed to be as soon as eclipse took over the land, as soon as the cover of bioluminescent darkness enveloped their consciousness. Tuk was nestled tightly in between Jake and Neytiri, and you were almost worried she would be suffocated in their grasp, one of each their arms meeting on her tiny frame, holding her close.

That left Neteyam, who seemed fast asleep on one side, one of his arms beneath his head and the other rested carelessly over his waist and abdomen, and you couldn’t help stare at this man you loved like a brother, but ached for in ways that made you ashamed and embarrassed, that you could never admit to out loud, that you were scared to even think about most days, afraid that the intensity of those thoughts was so loud, they could be heard, and Eywa, that would lead to a whole slew of issues you were too scared to even conceptualise.

But despite the way you hindered your own brain from deliberating on the way you wanted him in ways you could never have him, it didn’t stop said brain from manifesting your wildest desires in dreams and reveries, in the way you woke up each night sweating and with slick running down your ass or thighs and soaking into your mat, the way it was taunting you with images of his body, strong and powerful, muscular and lean, contracting and flexing as his cock sank deeper and deeper in you, filling the void you felt every day of your life, that you only want him to fill. 

You get up quietly and make your way to him, dragging your thin covers with you to where he lay, getting on your side so your back was to him, nuzzling until you felt his chest taut against you, until his heartbeat rang loudly in you, until it overtook your own, until it was all you heard, and all you felt. The closeness hurt you, the ache reaching new heights, and it was overwhelming as his hand instinctively reached for your body, in his sleep, his touch lighting your skin on fire, his fingers lingering on your ribs. His unyielding grip pulled you so close, your ass was rested against his groin, and you let out a sharp exhale when you noticed he was hard, when you noticed his loincloth was damp. His voice startled you as he spoke, quiet as the night that still blanketed your world and your progressively untethered self, doing a good job of hiding your disheveled form or the blush in your cheeks, but not a good job at protecting you from the increase luminosity of your freckles or the moans that escaped you when his thick cock brushed against your folds. 

“What are you doing here, pretty girl?” His mouth was near your lips, his breath fanning over the side of your face and neck, sending chills down your body and all of a sudden you didn’t know whether you were cold or hot anymore, your body struggling to comprehend all the sensations being elicited in it, in you. 

You swallowed loudly, trying to find your voice in your throat and breath in your lungs enough to be able to pull together a string of sounds that would sound normal and relaxed, and not breathy and wanting, like you knew they would be. 

“I’m cold, ’Teyam, and you were the only lonely one.” He let out a quiet chuckle and his hand started tracing your body softly, a touch so light it was barely there, and the chills deepened, goosebumps appearing in his touch’s wake. 

“Well, not anymore, and thank fuck for cold nights, huh?” his hands didn’t stop when they reached your navel, slowly inching their way south, and you whimpered a little knowing where they were going, unwilling and unable to understand what was happening to you, whether this was a dream or a nightmare, whether you were actually living this and it wasn’t just a vivid vision here to taunt you, before morning came and took it away from you forever. 

“Neteyam, what are you doing?” Your voice was breathy and weak, but alert nonetheless, aware of the situation and your adoptive family sleeping peacefully next to you, and how easy it would be for anyone to wake up and any point and witness this. The shame and fear was almost as overwhelming to you as the desire to give in to him, no questions asked, no care in the world for consequences and risks as long as it ended with your eyes rolled in the back of your head and his cum dripping down you thighs. 

“I’m not doing anything, little sis. Just here to make sure you’re… warm. What kind of brother would I be if I didn’t help my step-sister when she clearly needs me?” The amused tone in his voice didn’t go unnoticed, and neither did the way his fingers slipped past your loincloth and found your clit, that was swollen and needy, or the way they ghosted over it and your folds in scant, fluttery touches.

“Your smell has been driving me crazy for weeks, sevin. For weeks, I’ve had to pretend to be ignorant of the way your scent has been calling out to me, your pheromones washing over me and making my cock so hard, I can’t concentrate anymore. For weeks, I have dreamt of fucking you, of slipping my cock past your sopping folds, dreamt of seeing you come apart around me. It’s so fucking wrong, but so are you. And so am I.” You shuddered at his words and how his sharp canines dragged along your pulse point, at how his fingers stilled on your clit, not giving you the release you desperately craved, at how his lips pressed on your jaw and sucked, or how they licked the spot that was now slightly hurting, immediately alleviating any discomfort you felt. 

“But I need to hear you say it, baby girl. I can’t do anything until you say it. Do you want your step brother to fuck you?” 

A moan and a small nod is all you managed in response, but it was enough for Neteyam, who started a slow caress of your bud, putting just enough pressure to make you pant, to adjust your position so he would get better access, arching your back so that your ass was pressed even tighter against him and he groaned lowly, the sound making you clench around thin air. 

“Please, Neteyam…” 

“What is it, pretty girl? What do you need?”

“You… your cock, please.” His groan evolved into a quiet growl, reverberating in the marui and you both stilled as Kiri shifted a little in her sleep. Her deep breaths put you both at ease, if only a little. 

“You drive me fucking crazy, you know that? Do you have any idea what you do to me? What I’ll do to you?” 

You felt his cock brush against your folds as he released it from the constraints of his nightwear, and the velvety feel of his thick length made your head fall back into the crook of his neck, needing every spare ounce of self-restraint not to moan so loudly it wouldn’t just be heard in your family’s tent, but in the whole clan. His tip prodded at your soaking wet entrance, and when he slipped past your folds and into you, each inch felt like every one of your dreams come true, and you no longer had enough brain power to stop the mewling sounds escaping you. 

“You need to be quiet, sevin. You don’t want anybody to hear, now do you? What do you think our parents would say if they saw how deep in your pretty little cunt I am, huh?”

When he bottomed out, his tip was pushed against your cervix and the way he filled you up was beyond any fantasy, better than even the most intense ones, the wildest ones, the best ones. 

“You’re doing so well for me, baby. Who knew my little step sister would take my cock so well, like this tight pussy was made for me?” 

He started an unrushed, languid pace of his hips, that got quicker and more aggressive, more desperate and sloppy as his own orgasm approach and you felt yours taking over you slowly, raising in intensity as his fingers continued their ministrations of your clit at the same time, until it was so intense it was overpowering and oppressive, until you needed to let it out so you wouldn’t collapse under its weight. 

“I can feel you squeezing me, baby. You want to milk me, want to take my cum like the good girl you are?” 

You nodded furiously, and his whispered, breathy “Then come for me, pretty girl. I want to feel you, all of you.” pushed you over the edge, your orgasm violent and unending, streams of liquid mixing with his own release as you squirted all over his cock, making a mess of both your loincloths and the sleeping mat underneath. You couldn’t care less about explaining yourself, not when your head was empty and your cunt full, the only way you wanted to be every day going forward, for the rest of your life. 

You both came off your high panting, struggling to catch your breath and any thoughts swirling aimlessly in your brain, and you couldn’t find it in you to move, and he couldn’t find it in him to pull out, so you just lay like that, him spooning you closely, licking stripes over your neck and jaw, and you felt desire build in you again, instant and frenzied.

“Next time, how about we put that pretty mouth of yours to good use, huh?” 

taglist: @fanboyluvr @theycallmesia

#༊*·˚ andra's works #neteyam #neteyam x human!reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam fanfic #neteyam reader #neteyam sully #avatar #avatar twow #avatar fanfic #neteyam x avatar!reader #neteyam sully fanfiction #neteyam angst #awow #awow neteyam #neteyam smut #neteyam x y/n #avatar way of water #neteyam x reader smut #neteyam x you #neteyam drabble #avatar drabble #avatar x reader #stepbro!neteyam #stepbro!neteyam x reader #avatar smut

[allisondraste]

I’ve seen various different posts on the website formerly known as Twitter and this one right here, discussing Gale’s behavior in romance as obsessive, possessive, and possibly codependent. And while I support everyone having their own interpretations and opinions, I do disagree, so I want to talk about it!

First— it’s so important to acknowledge that Gale is strictly monogamous. He is not someone who is comfortable with a partner having other partners. This is fine, and not inherently indicative of any unhealthy attachment styles. Wyll, Karlach, and Lae’Zel are also monogamous in a relationship.

Gale does struggle with some insecurity that at times bleeds it’s way into his romantic relationship, but isn’t a product of the relationship itself. His biggest insecurity is feeling like he isn’t enough (in general, not just for a romantic partner). Mystra had a way of making him feel like nothing he did was ever enough, he always needed to do more, to be more, and when he tried, when he made mistakes, she abandoned him.

Those are wounds that do not heal quickly, and so he needs quite a bit of reassurance from both friend and lover PCs that he’s fine just the way he is and that he doesn’t have to try so hard or pretend to be fine when he’s not.

He’s lonely. Due to his condition, Gale, who is an incredibly social person, had to hermit himself away from his friends and colleagues for over a year. Mystra was no longer interacting with him, and he was afraid to be around his mother because he didn’t want her to worry. His only company was Tara, and as much as he loves her, shes not a replacement for human or humanoid connection. Usually with folks who struggle with codependency and insecure attachment, there are long patterns of each of those things in all of their other relationships, but Gale seems to have had pretty healthy relationships, the Mystra situation being the exception, not the rule.

It excites him when he gets to travel with a group, have friends. It’s even more exciting to him when he finds someone who makes him forget the hurt Mystra has caused. Yet he still has to withdraw from even that because he does not want to put their life in danger. It is not until act 2 after Elminster has cast the incantation to calm the orb that Gale feels comfortable enough to give in to his feelings. And yeah! He comes in strong because he’s been holding it in. He’s been pining away, sad that he can’t let himself so much as kiss Tav or else he quite literally explode.

When you talk to Gale after his romance scene in act 2, you’re able to confront him about his feelings for Mystra, and he is very direct, stating that he does still have complicated feelings for her. Which makes SENSE. The game and Gale himself try to minimize Mystra as just his ex, but she is more than that. She is his groomer and abuser. Gale is traumatized, and it will likely take him the rest of his life to get over that. It’s not something that more time alone is going to heal. He needs a support system to help him. He needs his mom, his friends, and maybe even his new partner.

You can also ask him if he meant it when he said he loved you, and his answer is “I am many things to many people, but I am never one to throw the l-word around lightly.” He didn’t just say it on a whim. He thought about it, probably extensively. Judging from the dialogue we get, he’s aware that he is rushing to say it, and admits that it’s because he’s scared that he’s going to literally die tomorrow. It’s not a love bomb. It’s an “I need you to know this, just in case something happens to me.”

Once he doesn’t die in act 2, he simmers down. He becomes more concerned with curing his condition, he faces Mystra, he accepts that he doesn’t need to have godly power to be worthy of love and respect.

At the end of the game, he asks you if you’ll come back to Waterdeep with him, which is his way of proposing more or less, but its more that he wants to be home and he wants the person who has become so important to him to come with him, to meet his mom, to see his hometown. He wants them to want that too.

He’s a grown man, mid to late 30s, not a naive young person. He knows what he wants. He’s thought about it, extensively.

In my opinion, there’s nothing possessive, obsessive, codependent, or unhealthy about any of that.

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #meta post

[hardlyinteresting]

Personal

Aaron Hotchner x reader

A case hits a little too close to home for the reader. Hotch makes sure she knows she not alone even as they struggle to decide if they're colleagues, friends, or something more.

Warnings: female reader, (I've given her the nickname Sweets), No physical description of reader, mildly graphic descriptions of injuries, cannon-compliant themes of violence, themes of past domestic violence, mild hurt/comfort, I am not a profiler so there are likely mistakes in the profile (please let me know if there are any warnings you'd like me to add. Aaron Hotchner Masterlist | Send Requests

Word count: 3.2K

"Hope is a gift. You can't choose to have it. To believe and yet to have no hope is to thirst beside a fountain" Ann-Marie MacDonald

The case comes in early in the morning. Aaron has hardly managed a sip of his coffee when the phone rings with a call from a local P.D. in Aberdeen, Virginia. It's urgent. It always is. He cannot begrudge the haste with which his job forces him to chug down the scalding liquid in his mug as he calls upon Garcia to prep the relevant files for the case. It's not the first time, and it certainly won't be the last. Sufficiently caffeinated (albeit with a burnt tongue), and briefed on the case, Hotch calls the team to meet him in the conference room. 

His colleagues seem to be in good spirits today. With a passing glance around the room Hotch silently completes a behavioural checklist for each of them in his mind. No one on the team seems over-exhausted, overtly anxious, or withdrawn. They chat amongst themselves, teasing and joking like siblings as they wait for him to settle into the remaining seat at the table. He nods at Penelope, “Garcia, let's get started”. With a quick “yes, sir,” she presses a button on the remote to begin the briefing. 

This morning the police in Aberdeen discovered the body of a woman left propped up against the wall outside a local medical clinic. Abigail Lawson. 27 years old. She had been badly beaten. A single stab wound. No sign of sexual assault. 

“Cause of death?” Prentiss asks. 

“Blunt force trauma to the head,” Garcia supplies the response. 

“And she's the first?” Morgan follows up. 

“Two weeks ago Stella Amos, twenty-five,  was admitted to hospital with similar injuries. She passed away two hours later. A punctured lung”. 

The photographs of the injuries are disturbing. After years on the job, the images never seem to get less brutal. A chill travels down his spine as he looks over the extent of the wounds on both of the women. A hush falls over the room as everyone else takes a moment to swallow down their own shock and compartmentalize their feelings of disgust. They train themselves, scanning the photographs and notes for the facts they can work with in hopes of saving anyone else from meeting the same fate. 

“No stab wound. Are we sure these cases are connected?” Reid surveys the provided facts one more time.

“Similar age, hair colour. They were from the same neighbourhood. Steady jobs,” Rossi lists, “there's a pattern in victimology to be sure”.

“They could be unconnected acts of domestic violence,” Morgan posits before continuing, “but leaving these women at medical centres is unique. Could be remorse”.

“A man who beats women within an inch of their lives before dropping them off for medical attention. It's a big risk. Knowing they might survive to identify him”.

Hotch nods at the assessment. He had followed the same thought process himself when he got the call. 

“Maybe he's banking on them being too afraid to talk if they do pull through,” another voice in the room speaks up for the first time this morning. Sweets, the team calls her. An affectionate nickname that’s stuck since her first week on the team. “the stabbing is an escalation and these are high-risk victims. This UNSUB isn't worried about getting caught. These attacks are personal to him somehow”. It's an important assertion, and something they'll need to consider as they build and expand their working profile. 

He's glad to hear Sweets adding to the conversation. She's never been shy when contributing to the team's brainstorms, and he had begun to worry when it had taken her so long to speak up. He doesn't miss the wobble in her tone, or the way she now avoids eye contact. She’s a valuable team member, and despite being the most recent addition she’s settled herself flawlessly over the last year. Aaron is well aware of the poor retention rate for new team members in the BAU and has continued to be impressed by her ability to hang on to her brand of optimism and take their most difficult cases in stride. She’s worked hard to see the best in people, and unsurprisingly endeared herself to those around her; himself included. 

At first, Hotch had been grateful for her unique perspective from her experience working for victim services. Then, he grew to appreciate her attention to detail, and the way his piles of paperwork seemed smaller and smaller at the end of each week. She quickly became a friend and a confidant after long nights in the office, and the field. Now, their relationship lies in limbo somewhere between friends and something more. 

Lately, the tugging at his heartstrings has grown nearly painful. All the old cliches leave his heart racing and he feels like a teenager whenever her hand brushes against his own. A night out with the team had ended with her curled up in his bed the next morning, and he’s been a goner ever since. It's been weeks, she hasn’t mentioned it, so neither has he. The guise of professionalism makes it easy to shove down his insecurities, and recurring fears; his age; his scars, physical and metaphorical; the weight of his career; he pushes them to the back of his mind. He does not dare to hope. He does not allow himself to consider the reasons why she might want to keep him at arm's length. It hurts less that way. “Whatever the case we've got a week before he strikes again,” Hotch confirms, his mind focused on the case, “we should head out”.

It’s August, and the sun is nearly blinding; the heat and humidity are intolerable, but nobody complains as they split up between the most recent crime scene, the morgue, and the precinct. Hotch would never admit it, but he’s glad when the woman who occupies half his thoughts volunteers to head to the station with JJ. Not for his peace of mind, but hers. Driving into the town he had seen her hands fidgeting in the back seat of the Suburban. Something about this case is already weighing on her, and he doubts the discomfort of the summer calefaction will be much help. He tries not to think about it any more than that. 

The crime scene doesn’t tell them much more than they already knew. There’s no security footage to help them identify the UNSUB. But, the way he leans the victims to sit against the way rather than just dumping them shows some kind of warped sense of concern for their well-being. The women are likely substitutes for someone else. He was likely raised in a violent home. He can only hope that the rest of the team has managed to learn more. 

Sweets is glad that the station had the forethought to move a coffee maker into the room they’ve set up for the BAU team to work out of. In her short time on the team, she’s learned how essential caffeine is to the function of herself and her teammates. Not enjoying coffee is not an option. Cream and sugar make it tolerable to those who despise the bitter taste. As she preps her second cup of the day she watches Spencer dump 4 packets of sugar into his mug. Whatever gets you through the case. She reminds herself. 

“Defensive wounds on her arms, but her manicure wasn't chipped. There was no blood or skin under her fingernails. No bruising on her knuckles,” Morgan shares what he and Rossi learned at the morgue, “She held her arms up to protect herself, but she didn't fight back. She didn't scratch, claw, or punch her assailant”. 

“She probably knew him then,” Prentiss says, “He’s not sneaking up on these women. But, he has the advantage and control required to attack them head-on”. 

The profile continues to build and Sweets pulls further in on herself. The personal nature of the attacks leaves her nauseous. Flickers of memories she’s fought hard to forget flash behind her eyes, but she forces herself to stay in the room. Reign it in, she wills herself. Without looking across the room she knows Aaron’s eyes are on her. Her cheeks warm though she can’t be sure if it’s his gaze or her anxiety to blame. She tries not to read into it, not wanting to feel too self-important. It’s his job to watch everyone on the team, she knows that. It doesn’t mean anything, she reminds herself the same way she has since she woke up next to him all those weeks ago. She doesn't want attention because she slept with him, and she'd be silly to think it meant anything to him anyway. It's easier to ignore it. He hasn't mentioned it, so she hasn't either.

Despite her best efforts, she does like him. More than she should. Normally, the attention would leave her with butterflies fluttering in her chest, like a schoolgirl with a crush. But today, she feels too seen, too exposed. she focuses her attention on controlling the unwanted emotions this case continues to dredge up. Aaron has seen her undressed, he’s seen her let down her walls and crack jokes. He knows her better than the rest of the team, but this is not a side of her he needs to see. 

 Under the table she plants her feet, pressing the soles of her boots hard against the linoleum. She reminds herself who she’s with and why she’s here. When she’s able to breathe without gagging she speaks up, “If it looks like domestic violence maybe that’s exactly what it is”.  Hotch’s head tilts up, his eyes moving off of the files he’s been pretending to read for the hundredth time, “What do you mean?”

“This morning Morgan said these murders looked like cases of DV. Maybe that’s exactly what this is. We know he had some kind of relationship with the victims-- maybe they were dating him,” Sweets holds her breath waiting for a response.

“It would help to explain the gaps in our profile-- Prentiss, call Garcia and have her look into any recent purchases by the victims. New clothes, new shoes, restaurants, anything that might suggest they’ve been dating,” Hotch instructs, “Sweets, you and JJ should speak to their friends and family; ask if they’ve mentioned anyone new in their lives”. 

Like with any case, she hopes her insight helps, that her perspective and thinking might get them one step closer to finding the UNSUB before anyone else gets hurt; and that they might be able to bring closure to the families of the victims. 

She's learned that personal experience can help as much as it can hinder. Seeing things from an angle that no one else can is certainly an advantage, but it doesn't make it easy to live with either. But, her stomach churns. His face. His touch. The bruises he left behind. She tries to remember she has nothing to be ashamed of. She has nothing to hide. It's no secret everyone on the team struggles with different types of cases, JJ has always found it difficult working cases involving children, and Hotch becomes snappier when they're searching for family annihilators. 

She can feel Aaron's eyes on her again. She prays the twisting in her gut and the scratching in her mind are worth it. 

The next morning begins with news of a third victim. A Jane Doe was found outside the fire station. Aged between 22 and 25. Beaten beyond any kind of recognition. The M.E. will have to try to use dental records to ID her. 

The crime scene photographs are a gruesome addition to the already horrific crime board in the conference room. “It would take an incredible amount of rage and power to beat someone to death like this,” Rossi points out. 

Hotch’s fingers buzz. His usual ground method of rubbing his thumb and forefinger together isn't working. He clenches and unclenches his fist willing the memory of bone cracking, and blood splattering beneath his knuckles away. He hates that even years after his death George Foyet continues to find new ways to sink his teeth in; the mere memory of him is enough to leave bile rising in the back of Aaron's throat. 

Their profile is ready. A white male, mid 20s to early 30s. Traditionally attractive. He's well-groomed and takes pride in his appearance. He more than likely works in an office setting. At work, his desk is neat and well-organized. He does everything by the book. He aspires to a role above his own and will talk about it often. In his eyes, he's overworked and under-appreciated; but, in reality, it's his quick temper and outward frustration that have kept him in his menial role. He may be flirtatious towards the women around him but likely won't pay them any attention when it comes to business matters. As a child he would have grown up in a working-class household, and more than likely faced abuse at the hands of his father. As a teenager, he learned to place blame on his mother for this abuse and began looking down on her the same way his father did. But no amount of hatred could ever win him his father's attention. This made him hate his mother more and allowed his misogynistic views to solidify in adulthood. He will have a history of violence throughout school and early adulthood, and more than likely charges for battery or assault. 

A call from Garcia confirms that the first and second victims both had paid for dinners at restaurants within the same two-block stretch despite living and working on opposite sides of town. Their cards had been used at the restaurants only 25 minutes before their attacks. 

“And he didn’t pay for their dinners either. Chivalry really is dead,” Prentiss dismisses. Predictably, their collective disdain for the UNSUB continues to grow as they learn more about him. Penelope manages to rustle up security footage from one of the restaurants, she's unable to get a facial ID on the man leaving with the first victim but promises to search for other footage from the area and call back when she has a new lead. One step closer, Hotch reminds himself. 

Twenty minutes later word from the M.E. Office arrives. A positive ID on Jane Doe. Grace McKinney, 24. Aaron watches as Sweets pins a photograph of Grace to the victims' board. Her hands shake as she takes a step back, and then she's rushing out of the room before he can ask if she's alright. 

His body feels lead-heavy, his limbs so hebetudinous that he’d swear he was melting into the floor if it weren’t for his feet carrying him out of the room without instruction. Sweets is doubled over in the alleyway behind the station, remnants of her breakfast splashed across the ground. She has nothing left to bring up, but still she dry heaves as if trying to expel more than the contents of her stomach. He knows the feeling. 

“Sweets?” his voice starles her, and Hotch is quick to hold his hands out in a surrendering motion as he approaches, “Are you alright?” He knows the real answer, and he knows that she’ll look right at him and lie; but he asks anyway. “Are you asking as my boss, or as my friend?” She asks. “Would it make a difference?” it’s his turn to wonder. Finally close enough to touch her, he places a hand on her back. It’s impossible to miss the shiver that runs up her spine. Sweets hides her face, angling herself away from her, shrinking in on herself. She tries to hide from him, as unwilling as ever to show any kind of weakness real or perceived. “I’m asking as someone who cares,” Hotch tries again, snuffing out the burning sensation that seems to grow in his chest; his fear of vulnerability fighting hard to shut him down. He won’t let it. “It’s me,” she tells him as if it’s obvious. “Yes”. He's confused. Of course, it's her, he can see her standing right in front of him. “It's me. I'm the Jane Doe; Grace. Abigail. Stella”. His heart stops. She continues, looking at him for the first time, her eyes tearing up, “Not literally-- I just mean…”

“The victimogy. I understand. Same age, hair colour, similar backgrounds--”

“Yes,” She admits, “but we see cases with women who look like me all the time”. 

Aaron nods, taking her openness as an opportunity to guide her out of the alleyway, waiting patiently for her to continue in her own time. “I had a boyfriend a few years ago…I just-- I need some time to collect myself”. 

Again, Aaron nods, understanding, “Would you like me to leave?” 

She shakes her head, her hand shooting up to hold to his arm. She’s shaking less now than she was before. More than ever he wants to hold her, but he doesn’t want to overstep; and during a case, there are lines he cannot cross as her boss. It’s the crux of the predicament they’ve found themselves in. Their personal lives and feelings bleeding and blending to create this strait. Deep down, he’s sure that a line of open communication between them would ease this impasse, but he’s far too shy to suggest it. For now, he settles for being glad her breathing has slowed, and her tears have stopped. “Thank you,” Sweets breathes out. Her hand slips down to squeeze his before she lets go and steps away from him.  “Anytime,” he swears. He means it. 

They find their UNSUB three hours later. Garcia’s scanning of security footage gives them a few license plates from cars within a two-block radius of the restaurants the victims went to. Only one owner fits their profile. He’s at work when they find him. Sweets takes great pleasure in cuffing the man. Hotch has no complaints. 

When they arrive back in Quantico it’s nearing midnight. The team takes their leaving swearing they’ll finish their paperwork tomorrow morning. Sweets takes advantage of the rare silence in the bullpen to complete her reports. She’s not ready to go home. Not yet. At work, she has a shield, a carefully crafted persona; as cracked as it may be at the moment, it holds back the onslaught of personal fallout she’s sure waits for her at home. Sure her apartment is warmer and cozier than the office ever is. Her bed is far more comfortable than any desk chair. But, at home, she has nothing to distract her. At home, she has no obligation to maintain a facade sewn up by professional self-preservation. At home, she’ll be alone without the steady presence of Aaron Hotchner working away in his office. 

The room is bathed in warm lamplight, a comfortable difference from the overhead fluorescents down in the bullpen. Something like a moth, she’s drawn to it by an instinct stronger than her willpower. She knocks on the door frame before leaning into the room. “I finished my report,” she tells him when he looks up. “You didn’t have to finish that tonight,” he tells her with furrowed brows. He sets down his pen and shuts the file he was working on to give her his attention. She steps into the room, setting her report on the edge of his desk. “I didn’t want to go home yet”. She explains though she gets the feeling that he understands. If there’s anyone she knows with a mutual streak of using workplace responsibility to avoid personal turmoil, it’s Hotch. Still, he nods, validating her most simply. “Is there anything I can do?” 

“Are you asking as my boss or something more?” she wonders. 

“Would it make a difference?” He asks. “Yes,” She responds. Sweets watches as he swallows, his brows knitting together as he considers his answer carefully, “I’m asking as someone who cares about you very much, in whatever capacity you need me to right now”. It’s a diplomatic response. Gentle and inviting without being outright hopeful. Quintessentially Aaron Hotchner. 

“Will you come home with me,” Sweets allows herself to be bold enough to ask. 

“Yes,” he tells her simply. 

In the morning he slips away only to return with two cups of coffee and a box of breakfast pastries. They don’t need to be in the office until 10:00 and he plans on taking advantage of the time they have together until then. Sweets accepts the cup he holds out to her with an eager smile, and a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #hotch x reader #criminal minds fic

[heartfullofleeches]

I’m just imagining titus and creep darling rn tbh

Creep Darling sits on Titus lap as excited as a kid during their first time at a toy store as a poor soul is torn apart in the arena below while Titus is struggling not to get mega horny over the freaky ass human in his clutches.

-

Guard: Your highness - the human has bitten off the fingers of several guards who have entered their cell. Have you decided what to do with them?

Titus: Yes I have. Excuse me for a moment [leans over to a maid and whispers] Send a bottle of wine and a set of candles to my quarters. Tie and muzzle the human and bring them as well - but leave the robes lose enough for them to break free from.

-

Creep Darling, wearing a muzzle: Big guy like you afraid of someone like me? I'm flattered....

Titus: Quite the contrary, actually. I am not afraid to admit have never been more erect in all my years and the muzzle is for my arousal not fear.

Creep Darling: ....freak... Can't take to sink my teeth into you too..

Titus: oh, darling - save the dirty talk for bed~

#yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #Titus my oc #yandere x you #yandere blurb #yandere emperor #yandere alien

[floralcyanide]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴇᴀᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴍɪɴᴅ — ᴄᴀʟʟᴜᴍ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇʀ

callum turner x fem!reader (nsfw)

In which a chance reconnection with your ex, Callum Turner, brings you to his hotel room- and he talks you through more than just your breakup.

✣ warnings: smut, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, language, female anatomy described, nipple play, finger sucking, fingering, mutual orgasm, love confessions

✣ word count: 2.7k

✣ author’s note: I wrote half of this weeks ago and just finished it. hope ya'll enjoy ((:

masterlist | divider credit: @cafekitsune

based on this song | the death of peace of mind - bad omens

this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.

The last thing on your mind today was running into your ex, Callum Turner, yet here you are. 

He’s sitting adjacent to you in the script reading session for your new movie- and you had no idea of the cast until today, so seeing him was an absolute surprise. You try your best to remain neutral and keep yourself from looking at him, but you find yourself glancing up at him frequently. He looks great, of course, which makes it hard not to stare. You remind yourself Callum is an ex for a reason and focus on your turns to read the script. Callum had broken up with you because he had found himself unsure of his feelings and hadn’t elaborated further on it before leaving. So, you have struggled for a while with self-confidence and identity. It’s not entirely his fault, but not knowing how he felt for you during your relationship did something to you emotionally and mentally. 

When the reading concluded, you tried your best to make a clean getaway, but Callum’s long strides and quick maneuvering skills got him to you in the hallway in record time. A gentle hand is placed on your shoulder in the sea of cast and crew exiting.

“Long time no see,” Callum flashes his brilliant smile at you once you turn to face him.

“Yeah,” you half-smile, “Sure has.”

Callum stares intently into your eyes for a few seconds longer than usual before he notices he hasn’t responded. He visibly shakes his head out of his mess of thoughts, “How have you been?”

“Could be better,” you shrug, “But I’ll be fine, always am.”

You keep your answers brief, with as little to go on as possible. 

“Would you like to meet at my hotel for coffee later? There’s a cafe in the lobby that’s pretty good,” Callum scratches the back of his neck, “I just need to talk to you about something and would rather do it somewhere other than the corridor,” he laughs nervously.

“Oh,” you purse your lips, momentarily looking down at your feet before answering, “I don’t know, Callum. Is it really a good idea for us to talk outside the set?”

Callum clears his throat, “Well. I was hoping to talk to you about that, actually. See, I didn’t tell you everything when we broke up about how I felt, and I think you deserve to know, ‘s all.”

You sigh, “I suppose knowing wouldn’t hurt, even though it’s been a year already. Why didn’t you come to me sooner?”

“I was afraid,” Callum admits, “I thought you hated me.”

You frown, “I don’t hate you, Callum. I promise.”

Callum brightens, “So you’ll meet me at the coffee shop? Tomorrow, maybe? Ten in the morning?”

“Fine,” you agree, “Tomorrow it is.”

Callum gives you the hotel’s address and leaves you in the hallway, turning as he walks away to wave goodbye.

You’re laying in bed that night staring at the ceiling. You still love Callum; don’t get yourself wrong. But if he didn’t feel the same, why entertain it? Besides, it seemed like he never really felt that way for you, and that’s why he dipped last year. At the same time, however, you don’t know that for sure because Callum didn’t tell you much. You guess you’ll find out more tomorrow. You roll over and will yourself to sleep.

You definitely need the caffeine upon waking the following day from tossing and turning all night. You get ready and take a cab from your apartment to the hotel Callum is staying at, nervous the entire ride there. When you arrive at the cafe, Callum is sitting on a couch by the window, aimlessly scrolling through his phone, waiting for you. He hopes you come and don’t change your mind.

“You made it!” Callum grins as you walk in, and he stands up to greet you with a kiss on the cheek. 

Your entire body burns at the contact, but you try your best to push your feelings aside, “Of course I did.”

The two of you order and return to the couch, where you hesitantly sit beside Callum, his thigh touching yours. You find it familiar and comforting but, at the same time, very nerve-wracking. 

“So,” Callum turns to face you, “Do you mind me explaining everything? I promise you don’t owe me your time; I just feel you deserve to know why I left.”

“I don’t mind,” you say honestly, “In fact, I’d feel better hearing it.”

“Alright,” Callum nods, “To be honest, I was scared. I had feelings for you I had never felt for anyone before, and I didn’t know how to handle them.”

You focus on Callum’s words, carefully turning them over in your head, “I understand.”

“I loved you, you know,” Callum rubs his palms on his thighs, a nervous laugh leaving his lips, “And I fucked it up.”

You stare at him wordlessly, unsure of how to respond.

“Still do, actually. Love you.”

Your ears begin to ring, and you almost don’t hear your names being called for your coffee orders until Callum stands up and walks over to retrieve them. He loved you? Still loves you, rather? Your facial expression- one of shock- is still apparent when Callum sits back down next to you and offers you your drink.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you exhale the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, “I just didn’t expect that.”

“You don’t have to return those feelings, by the way. I just needed to tell you that’s how I felt then and still feel now.”

“Despite leaving me a little lost a year ago, a part of me still loves you too, Cal. But I don’t know what to do with that.”

“It’s up to you, sweetheart. We don’t have to do anything if that’s what you wish.”

“How do I know you really love me?” you blurt, shocking yourself with your words.

Callum puts a hand on your knee, “You can trust me, or I can prove it to you.”

Clutching your untouched drink in your hand, you wonder what he could mean by that.

“Prove it how?”

“You know a thing or two about that, I think,” Callum says suggestively, and your body burns like fire again.

You scoff, “I do. But how do I know you won’t just up and leave again after? Hmm?”

“I won’t,” Callum grabs your unoccupied hand, “I won’t this time, I promise. I don’t think I could leave you again.”

“Okay, then,” you admit defeat, “Show me just how much you really love me, Mr. Turner.”

Callum leads you to the elevator, where he presses the floor button and stands beside you, eyeing you up and down. When the doors close, he pulls you to his side as he finishes his coffee. You rest your head on his arm, sipping your own drink. Callum’s hand grips your waist, his touch hot even through your clothes. You're nearly shaking with nerves when you reach the top floor. The two of you had your go-arounds while together, of course. But it was never anything emotionally charged. You’re hoping Callum really does show you how much he loves you this time and doesn’t leave you hanging. He lets you follow him to his room, where he fumbles to unlock the door with his phone. Callum heads to the windows to close the drapes, his back muscles rippling under his shirt, much to your delight. He turns around and catches your gaze, maintaining eye contact with you as he returns to where you stand. Callum wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you to him after you sit your coffee down. He is taller than you, so you have to look up at him when standing so close. A closed-lip smile spreads on his face as he takes in your features. Callum pushes a stray strand of hair out of your face before leaning in.

“Do you want this?” he asks, his lips barely brushing against yours.

“Yes,” you whisper, “I do want this. Prove it to me.”

Callum captures your lips with his finally, and everything negative you felt about your relationship falls away. The comfort you’ve always found in him flows back into you as he guides his tongue along your bottom lip. Callum’s hands find your hair, where they tangle themselves in your locks for leverage. You allow him to explore your mouth softly as if it was his first time in uncharted territory. Your arms are around him, and your palms are settled on his back as he slowly moves the two of you over to the giant bed in the middle of the suite. You sit on the edge of it as Callum pulls his shirt off. He’s a little more muscular than the last time you saw him. You drink in his broad shoulders and toned chest, his thick biceps resting by your head as his fists dig into the mattress on either side of your legs. Callum is leaning over you, his demeanor shifting to something more dominant. He kisses you again before his hand moves to your chin, tilting your head to meet his gaze.

“Go lay on the pillows and get ready for me.”

A surge of excitement rushes through your veins as you nod, moving backward to where the pillows sit at the top of the bed. You peel off your shirt and jeans, kicking them off the side of the bed onto the floor where your shoes are haphazardly lying. Callum climbs over you, taking in the sight of you. He lays beside you, patting his spread, underwear-clad thighs for you to sit. You oblige, his chest pressed to your back as you relax into his embrace. Callum’s large hands rub over your hips and legs, his skin hot against yours. He buries his nose into your neck, leaving a trail of kisses along your shoulder and up your throat. Callum then lightly traces your jaw with his tongue before he reaches your ear, nibbling the shell of it. His hands travel from your thighs to your hips, all the way up your sides, until they reach your covered breasts. He squeezes them as he sucks a mark behind your ear, out of sight. You squirm lightly in his lap, inhaling sharply through your nose at the feeling of his teeth on your sensitive skin. Moving your hair out of the way from your ears, Callum continues his assault of bites on the back of your neck as his fingers slip underneath the cups of your bra. You hum as his fingers toy with your nipples, your head tossed back against his shoulder as he does so. This gives him more access to your neck, where he leaves open-mouthed kisses on the skin there. You feel him grow hard against your tailbone as he twists and rubs your sensitive nubs, eliciting moans from you.

“I miss the way you say my name,” Callum whispers in your ear, letting one of his hands travel back down to your stomach, where he slips a hand beneath the band of your underwear, “Say it.”

“Callum,” you gasp as his fingers ghost your heat, lightly brushing against your clit.

“Just like that, doll,” Callum grins into your shoulder, where his lips press to your skin.

He helps you out of your underwear, pulling it down your legs until you’re able to kick them off. Callum tosses one of your legs over his thigh, giving him easier access to you. You reach behind your back to unhook your bra, throwing it off the side of the bed.

“Kind of unfair that I’m the only naked one,” you frown.

“Be patient, I want to play with you first,” Callum kisses your cheek.

He prods your lips open with two of his fingers, allowing you to suck them in. You lave your tongue around them, coating them with your spit enough for Callum to be satisfied, “Good girl,” he coos.

He then gently circles your clit with his two slicked fingers, and your hips buck involuntarily. He uses his other arm to press you firmly against him. Callum continues to play with the bundle of nerves before letting a finger test your entrance to gauge how wet you’ve become. He’s able to slip a finger inside without struggle, curling it against the familiar spot that makes you groan. As he adds another finger, you grip Callum’s arm as his fingertips massage your g spot. 

“Callum, please,” you whine.

“Please, what?” Callum feels himself getting painfully harder against your back at the sounds you’re making, “Gotta use your words.”

“Show me how much you love me,” you beg, “Fuck me already.”

“Impatient, are we?” Callum smirks before removing his fingers from you and putting them in his mouth this time, relishing the wetness of your cunt, “God, the way you taste,” he moans.

Callum moves you over and off his lap so he can remove his pants and underwear before hovering over you. He braces himself on his arms on either side of your head, bringing his face to yours, “Are you sure you want this?” he asks again.

“Yes,” you say, grabbing his face and looking him in the eye, “I want this.”

“Not that your begging wasn’t enough; I just needed to hear you say it,” he jokes, lining himself up to your entrance.

You playfully smack his chest before digging your nails into it as he pushes inside you slowly. You wrap an arm around his neck, tangling your fingers into his hair. Callum fully seats himself inside you, his forehead pressed to yours. You wrap a leg around his waist, pulling him closer to you. Callum focuses on breathing properly, as your clenching around him makes it hard not to pound you into the mattress. You wiggle your hips a little, letting him know he could move. Callum holds your hips up, moving your legs over his shoulders to get a better angle. He pulls out just enough to thrust back in, gaining a steady rhythm. The noises you let out just urge Callum to go faster and harder as he kisses along your thighs.

“I love you,” Callum says, biting down on your thigh and causing you to yelp, which makes him grin.

“I love you too,” you say breathlessly, your hands gripping his biceps for leverage.

“Do you believe me when I say it now?” Callum bites his lip, feeling your walls clenching harder around him.

You’re close, and he can feel it. He reaches between your bodies and presses a thumb to your clit, rubbing tight circles against it.

“Yes,” you say, almost illegible, “Fuck, I believe you, Cal.”

“Good,” he pants, sweat beading on his forehead.

Your fingernails dig into his muscles as you feel yourself about to let go, your stomach tightening into a knot. Callum feels his orgasm creeping up as he snaps his hips faster against your ass, his grip on your thighs almost bruising. Your orgasm hits suddenly, like a tsunami of pleasure taking over your senses. Your body shakes as Callum’s own climax surges through him, your convulsing cunt milking his cock. You’re both gasping for air as Callum lets your back fall against the bed as he pulls out, collapsing next to you. 

“That was…”

“Amazing?” Callum turns his head to look at you, 

“Yeah,” you’re quick to pull the duvet over you as your sweat cools on your skin, “Better than any time before, honestly.”

“Agreed,” Callum puts an arm behind his head to rest on, “I’m still sorry for not telling you how I felt. I didn’t really know what it was at the time.”

“It’s okay now, Cal,” you roll over on your side, putting a hand on his chest, “You don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

Callum kisses the top of your head, “Okay. I won’t.”

The next day, when the script is read over again, tensions are definitely not as high. You don’t struggle as much with your lines, and being around Callum is easier. You’re glad it all worked out; maybe this time, it’ll last without confusion.

#callum turner #callum turner x reader #callum turner x reader smut #callum turner smut #callum turner fanfic #callum turner fanfiction #callum turner fic #callum turner imagine #floralcyanide writes

[cxptain-capsicle]

Beyond the Sea | Luke Castellan | III

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Unclaimed Poseidon Daughter!Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, slow burn flashbacks, established relationship present day, Gods being terrible parents

Series Masterlist Taglist

“Luke.” You whispered, trying not to wake any of the other campers. “You awake?”

“Yeah,” He whispered back. “You okay?”

You had been at Camp for a few months now and Luke was already accustomed to being woken up from you jolting out of bed after a nightmare. He joked that some mornings he would nearly be thrown out of the top bunk.

“I didn;t have a nightmare, I just can’t sleep.” Your voice trailed off at the end. Within a second Luke was out of the top bunk, his feet hitting the hard wood made a loud sound that made you jump.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. You sat up in the bed and he came to sit next to you.

“I just-” You started but struggled to find the words. “I don’t think I’ll be claimed.” After your few weeks at camp the topic of being claimed felt taboo, like everyone was thinking the same thing and nobody wanted to say it. 

“You don’t know that.” He shook his head. “I knew a girl who got claimed after being here for almost a year. It can take time.”

“I’m tired of waiting.” You were too afraid to say anything negative about the gods while in one of their cabins. Especially the messenger god. “I just feel really alone.”

Luke didn’t say anything, he wrapped one arm around your shoulders and the other at the side of your head and pulled you into a hug.

When you woke up Percy was still asleep, you normally didn’t take too much to the new kids but you liked this one. You would be the first one to admit that you were jealous of the new arrivals seeing as most of them would be claimed within weeks. There was no point in becoming buddy-buddy with someone who would go off and get so wrapped up in their new siblings and godly parent that they forget all about you. Three years of radio silence from the gods had made you a little bitter. Luke would argue that maybe it was more than a little.

“I’m gonna take Percy around camp today,” Luke was slouched against the pillow in your bed. He grabbed one of his shoes and forcefully put it on. “Wanna come?”

“Get your shoes off of my bed.” You shoved his leg off the side of the bed, forcing him to sit up next to you. “And I’ll pass, Annabeth and I are gonna talk capture the flag.” 

“Oh come on I thought you liked him?” Luke always tried to get you to join him but talking about nothing but getting claimed for 3 hours wasn’t your idea of fun. 

“Not that much.” Before Luke could respond Percy sat up from his spot on the floor with a jolt. You had been asking Charlie Beckendorf, a Hephaestus camper, to make more bed frames for the cabin for months but it kept falling to the bottom of his priority list. Over the past few years the amount of kids in the Hermes cabin has grown faster than you could accommodate.

“You okay?” Luke asked as he rose to his feet.

“Super.” Percy groaned as he pulled himself off of the ground.

“We all have them, you know.” Luke was always the first to comfort new campers. “Intense, recurring nightmares. That's normal here. And the daydreams, and the ADHD, and dyslexia. Demigods just process reality differently than humans do. For the first time in your life, you're just like everyone else.”

“So are you also…” Percy said slowly. “Do you not know who your-”

“Am I unclaimed?” Luke finished for him. He glanced over at you instinctually. “No, Hermes is my father.” Like always mentioning Hermes made Luke stand up straighter. “That doesn't matter, we're all on the same team here.”

“I’m unclaimed.” You told Percy. “I’ve been here for 3 years.”

“Why is that okay?” He was talking directly to you now. “Why do they get to bring us here to just ignore some of us?”

“I’ve been asking myself that since the day I got here.” You couldn’t help but chuckle, he sounded exactly like you. “I get how you’re feeling but no matter what happens you’re gonna be fine.”

“Spend too much time trying to figure out why the gods do whatever it is they do, you'll drive yourself crazy.” Luke warned. “Sooner you stop worrying about that, the sooner you can enjoy what this place actually does offer.”

“And what's that?” Percy asked.

“Glory.” Luke smirked. “Demigods have always fought for glory. They used to call it kleos. It's like this stuff that attaches itself to your name. Makes it bigger, scarier, more important. People listen closer when you talk, they work harder to be your friend and they think twice about messing with you.” Before Luke could finish Clarisse passed by bumping Percy in the shoulder. 

“Hey!” Percy exclaimed, causing Clarisse to quickly turn around and push him down to the ground. 

“Woah!” Luke stepped up to Clarisse. “Hey. Knock it off, Clarisse. It's like his first day, come on.” You grabbed Percy’s arm and helped him up off the ground.

“Wait, so this is the kid who killed the Minotaur.” She had a devilish smile on her face. “Is that right?”

“Yeah?” Percy said cautiously. 

“I'll bet. Look, you want attention around here, dummy? You better be ready for it when it comes.” Clarisse made a fake lunge for him, causing Percy to jump.

“Clarisse, let it go.” You chimed in. She glanced at you for a moment before turning away with her friends. You and Clarisse weren’t friends exactly, she wasn’t friends with anyone outside of her cabin, especially not an unclaimed kid, but you weren’t enemies. You got along well enough, you would spar together, you mutually respected each other. Every once in a while you might even have a few laughs at the campfire.

“Well, she seems nice.” Percy said flatly. 

“Ares kids.” Luke sighed. “They come by it honestly.”

“Maybe she’ll grow on you.” You shrugged. “I kinda like her, then again she doesn’t bother me.”

“Why don't they mess with you?” Percy asked Luke.

“They know better.” Luke said proudly. 

“Luke's the strongest swordsman at camp.” Chris explained.

“I’m second.” You chimed in. “For the record.”  

“So, they leave you alone because ‘glory’?” Percy asked and Luke nodded. “So if I get glory, Clarisse wouldn't mess with me either?”

“Exactly.”

“And people think I'm a big deal?”

“Well, sorta, but-” Luke started.

“I don’t know about all that.” You said

“And my dad's got no choice but to claim me.” Percy finished. You and Luke sighed and looked at eachother. You understood his eagerness to be seen. 

“You can't force the gods to do anything.” Luke told Percy gently.

“Believe me, I’d know. I tried.” You added.

“Well, yeah, but... it would make it harder for him to pretend I don't exist, right?” 

“It’s worth a shot.” You shrugged.

“It is?” Luke swiveled to look at you.

“I mean it couldn’t hurt.” You just wanted to give the poor kid some hope.

“Great.” Percy perked up. “Where do we start?”

When you had nightmares you knew you were in a dream but that didn’t make it any less scary. You were on a beach, it was dark, the sky shades of purple and blue. There were storms; the waves were five times higher than your head. You were alone, the beach extended as far as your eyes could see. With nothing else to do you began walking down the beach. With every step your feet became heavier- wait, no- you were sinking. The sand was vibrating causing you to sink further and further into it. You were struggling to try to pull your feet out of the sand until you heard voices that made you freeze. Luke. Then Annabeth. Grover. Clarisse. And a young boy's voice that you didn’t recognize. You could make out each of their voices but not what they were saying. Their voices were frantic, they were calling for help, they were in danger. You fought harder but it only made you sink faster.

“Luke!” You screamed out just as your head went beneath the sand.

You woke up with a jolt gasping for air, panting, and drenched in sweat. You peered to the bunk above you to see if you had woken Luke but there was no movement. You pulled yourself out of bed as quietly as possible to not wake anyone. You debated waking Luke but decided against it. You slipped your shoes on and grabbed a jacket that you kept by your bed. As quietly as you could you tiptoed across the cabin and out the front door. You went out the door past the Hephaestus cabin, then Apollo, Ares, then Poseidon. Just as you were about to pass the mess hall a voice erupted from the silence of the night. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” It was Luke. 

“Oh my gods, Luke.” You nearly doubled over with shock. “You didn’t have to sneak up on me.”

“Why are you out here?” He came close to you, placing his hands on the sides of your arms. “It’s the middle of the night. It’s freezing.”

“I- I had another nightmare.” 

“The same one?” He asked and you nodded. You had been at camp for almost a year now and had been having the same dream for almost six months. “Why are you out here?”

“I just needed fresh air, I guess.” You crossed your arms over your chest, honestly you didn’t know why you were out here.

Luke gave you a sympathetic smile. 

“Okay let’s walk then.”

You and Luke walked together quietly for a while. You walked through the woods until you reached the Long Island sound. It was the same beach as the one in your dream but even in the dead of night it wasn’t as cold, as scary as it was in your dreams. Sometimes after a particularly bad night you would come here to remind yourself that it was just a dream. This was the first time Luke had come with you to the beach and it gave you much more comfort. 

“This isn’t your first time out here is it?” Luke glanced at you with a smile, he knew the answer.

“No,” You chuckled. “I guess I find it relaxing.”

The two of you found a place to sit on the sand just above the tide. Luke sat to your left, your shoulders touching trying to conserve the little warmth between you. There was a silence between you that felt safe and comfortable. You rested your head on Luke’s shoulder and he rested his head against yours. You felt something cold touch the side of your hand and looked down to see Luke's hand inching closer to yours. It felt like you were moving in slow motion but eventually Luke had your hand clasped in his. You and Luke had always had a special relationship. From the second he found you in the cave and pulled you into his lap you were bonded. He gave you his bunk when you came to camp. Showed you around and always stayed at your side. Listened to you grovel about not being claimed day in and day out. You had hugged before but never held hands and it never felt like this before.

“You’re not alone.” Luke whispered to you. The sound of the waves and Luke’s voice were music to your ears. You were entranced, Luke was so close you could feel his breath on your cheek. The sun was just starting to peak over the horizon providing just enough light to bounce off of the water and reflect onto Lukes face. The light made his brown eyes glitter. You had never looked at Luke this way before. You were so close and millimeter by millimeter you were getting closer and closer-

“Oh!” You both exclaimed as the freezing cold water of the tide splashed up on you both, soaking you in sea water. Each of you rose to your feet eagerly running from the water before doubling over in laughter.

“Oh, that’s freezing!” You cried out through your laughs. When you finally caught your breath Luke was in front of you staring down at you seriously. “What is it?”

“I mean it,” He was breathing heavily. “You’re not alone here.” 

“I know Luke,” You nodded. “But-,” Luke cocked his head, unsure of what else you had to say.

“I’ve been alone my whole life Luke. No parents, no family. Camp was where I was supposed to find that. But my parent couldn’t care less that I even exist.” You rambled.

“I know that you’re upset-” Luke tried but you cut him off.

“I’m not upset Luke. I’m angry!” You shouted. You felt your face turn hot with anger, your heart beat fast. “I’m furious that they would abandon me-”

“Y/n-” Luke tried but you kept going.”

“They would humiliate me, over and over. My entire life!” You were fuming, your blood boiling.

“Y/n!” He shouted.

“What!” You yelled back. Just now you realized that Luke wasn’t looking at you. He was looking behind you. You turned around to see a massive wave, 30 feet high, suspended behind you. Your anger turned to confusion and just as it did the wave came crashing down at your feet, returning to the sea like it was never there.

Feel free to leave feedback, suggestions, and headcannons in the inbox. I love incorporating your guy's ideas!

Taglist:

@fudosl @lenasvoid @light-23 @petrichorvzlia-blog @heartzflwers @vampsaddicted @bbgkaykay @shiara04 @teigo-the-explorer @number-onekidqueen

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #pjo fandom #pjo series #luke x reader #percy jackson show #percy jackson x reader #luke pjo #pjo x reader #pjo x you #pjo

[igotanidea]

Mine: AK!Jason x reader

Is it second update today? Yes. But I'm on a roll and I simply cannot keep @thesandsofelsweyr waiting anymore (thank you for requesting!)

Summary/request: "why are you shaking" angst with AK! Jason

Warning: a bit smut-ish, but nothing explicit. (not in this part at least....)

***

„Why are you shaking?” he didn’t even bother taking his helmet off and the distorted voice coming from it really did make her tremble. Not that she was going to admit it, even though he was angry at her.

“I’m… I’m not.” she stuttered

“Stop lying to me!” oh, shit, he was angry. What about? Did she do something? Or did his other mission went south? Again? He wasn’t telling her anything, how the hell was she supposed to guess what got him spinning?

“I’m sorry.” She squealed and took a step back, slouching to make herself smaller “I….”

“What did you do?” he hissed

“No…. nothing, I swear…..”

“Nothing?” he took another step forward, the words hanging in the air like an axe that could fall onto her neck in a second. She had to be extremely careful at the moment. “Nothing, princess?”

“I…..”

“so you are trying to tell me, you weren’t fantasizing about your past life? Hm?”

“Jace, I…..”

“Stop calling me that!” he yelled, grabbing her arm and shaking her violently, getting another broken sob which she could not hold back “it’s not who I am anymore!”

“But you are….” She tried to calm him, but it was for nothing

“I don’t know what little fantasy you got in your head, but let me tell you: it’s not gonna come true.”

“please….” she begged struggling against his bruising grip

“Look around, Y/N. See where you are? This is Arkham. Not Wayne Manor.”

“I know… I know… I…..”

“Shut up! When will it get into your silly little head?! No one, no one is coming to save you!

“I don’t need to be saved….. I’m with you and ……”

“Me?” he laughed viciously “you still think you can save me? Oh, honey.” He raised his gloved hand and brushed her cheek, but it was more threatening than loving and she shook upon the harsh feeling “such a delusional, brainwashed, stupid girl, aren’t you? Batman won’t rescue you! And neither will Robin. And definitely not Nightwing! Oh… “sudden realization hit him “that’s who you were thinking about while touching yourself weren’t you?” those cameras he had all over Asylum were not for nothing. “Did those silly dirty thoughts make you come?”

“Wha….. what? I didn’t …… How…..?”

“STOP LYING TO ME!” he yelled again, this time in full voice and a few tears fell down her cheeks. He still didn’t believe she loved him. HIM. Not his brother. His twisted mind worked in two completely opposite directions. On one hand he was jealous and possessive and wanted her under him, wanted to love her, on the other abused and threatened her, convinced that those were the only methods of keeping her. Jason was simply too afraid of letting her lose, worried that the second he let go she would run away, not wanting to stay with the monster like him. He believed he needed to force her to love him, no matter how much she assured him it was different.

How wrong he was.

And it made her angry and desperate. Determined enough to sacrifice her own health and safety to prove that to him.

“I DON’T FUCKING CARE ABOUT NIGHTWING! I DON’T FUCKING CARE!” she yelled through the tears, not caring about the consequences of that outburst. “I don’t….. it’s you…. It’s…..” her voice broke, as well as her legs and she found herself on the floor, unable to stand anymore.

Well, not for long, since Jason grabbed her arm and yanked her back to her feet, pressing her back to the wall. For a moment they just stayed like that and then he removed his helmet, finally reveling his face, those beautiful eyes conveying so many mutually exclusive emotions. With one hand he tossed it to the floor, not caring anymore and she trembled, suddenly fully aware how close he was and how many pain he could bring her.

Not more than Harley though.

“Y/N….” he whispered “Y/N, Y/n, Y/n…..” her name fell from his lips like a silent prayer.

“I’m ready for my punishment now.” she closed her eyes

“You’re such a good little pet, aren’t you?” he laughed condescendingly “are you scared of me?” he removed one of his glove and traced her trembling bottom lip.

“No.”

“You should be.” he whispered those cliché words and not giving her any opportunity to answer leaned forward and kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t delicate. It never was with him.

It was angry and rough and animalistic and predatory, almost like he wanted to swallow her whole. Y/N moaned at the feeling and locked her hands on his neck, pulling him closer. Since this time he was still in his armor, Jason did not push her away. She couldn’t truly feel his body and scars under all those layers so that he could accept. But it didn’t mean she was off the hook. He bit on her bottom lip. Hard, drawing a bit of blood and the metallic taste of it in his mouth spur him on even more. He grabbed her legs and locked them on his waist, hoisting her up in the process, grinding against her, getting some more of her sweet sounds. “Did it feel so good in your fantasies with Nightwing?” he mumbled into her skin, mouth tracing the path starting on her jaw, ending on her collarbone.

“No…” she whined, tangling hands in his hair, pulling lightly, not strong enough to try and explain that it was never Nightwing in her wet dreams “No…..”

“You’re not getting away from me.” He bit on the sensitive skin, her head falling back in ecstasy. “You’re mine.”

“Yes. Yes. I’m yours. Please….” she wanted so much more from him, but asking would be just so stupid

“You want more, princess?”

“please….”

“too bad I’m not into giving mood.” He smirked and let go off her, causing her to drop to the floor. Again. It was just getting to intimate for her and he couldn’t not have that. “Too bad you will have to take care of yourself. I expect a little show tonight, princess. And you better think about me while coming. You hear me?” he crouched next to her, grabbing her chin and forcing her eyes on him.

“Yes.” She nodded

“I want to hear you moan my name. And then maybe, maybe….  you can convince me to help you. It’s up to you whether I’ll be good for you or not. Just remember….” He leaned forward and whispered in her ear “you’re mine.”

And then, almost like nothing happened, he stood up, collected his helmet and left the room, leaving her panting and gasping and with the sudden urge to give him the best show of his life.  

Anything to have him.

Anything....

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

@jasontoddsthickbabe - fixing my negligence here 😁😉

#jason todd x reader #arkham knight x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x oc #jason todd angst #jason todd smut #arkham knight #arkham knight smut #arkham knight angst #arkham knight jason todd #arkham knight x y/n #arkham knight imagine #arkhamverse

[scenteddelusion5]

Could you write a Vox x Alastor’s Child? Wherein reader views their fights as a “bonding activity” because it relieves stress for the both of them because they’re not willing to kill each other due to not wanting to hurt reader and they’ll be civil when they need to be. A large chunk of their rivalry being due to Alastor seeing Vox as trying to steal his child from him (making them his partner both romantically & business wise, them becoming an actor) and Vox seeing it the same way with Alastor trying to drag them on random outings when they’re supposed to film or have time together. - @am-i-interrupting

"Two households, both unalike in dignity, In our unsightly hell, where we lay our scene," PART 1

Vox x gn reader (Alastor's child)

Note: At first I wasn't sure if I wanted to do this one, especially because i had already written a daughter character, already have a daughter oc myself and then would have this child. But then I had this Romeo and Juliet inspo in mind and now I wanted to do it.

!!!!! NOTE ABOUT REQUEST !!!!!

So I really liked the idea of this Vox and Alastor dynamic but I can't write short stories so instead I'm doing a 2 or 3 parter about how they got into this dynamic. So they aren't like how you requested yet.

Word count: 3436

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

"Two households, both unalike in dignity, In our unsightly hell, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where denizen blood makes denizen teeth unclean, From forth the innovation of these two foes, A pair of star-crossed lovers arise,"

Y/n sat on the balcony of their father's mansion. Nothing but trees, or at least hell's version of trees, could be seen from there. The bustling city was ways away from the territory most denizens were too afraid of to enter. The book they were reading was written a small auteur in hell, it was obvious that he had taken great inspiration from a much more famous work. An old-fashioned, cannibal and a modern man, with more savoury tastes, falling in love, their families hate each other yada yada yada. Nothing they hadn't read before.

The demon, whom resembled a deer, put their book down and started messing with the knobs on their older radio. It sprung alive with the voice of their father; Alastor the Radio Demon, feared all throughout hell. On his broadcast played a catchy jazz song that, every once in a while, got interrupted by agonizing screams.

"That was an amazing number." The Radio glowed green as he spoke. "It brings me all the way back to the nights I spend in the speakeasies. Let's continue on-"

Everyday Alastor would broadcast the news and gossip of the week at exactly 10 a.m. and Y/n would always tune in.

"- Oh, and make sure to stay clear of the Carmine mansion this evening. The overlords are having a little get-together. So if you don't want to be served for dinner, I recommend you go home early tonight."

Right, Camilla Carmine was holding a party to celebrate the 100th anniversary of Carmine industries. Y/n was so excited. Normally their father wouldn't let them go to parties, but considering he would be there, he allowed them to go this time.

"Lastly I have a personal message to my favourite fan. I couldn't have wished for a better fawn. I hope you liked the breakfast I cooked especially for you, that demon was a struggle to catch. Hahaha," he laughed, "see you after the broadcast. Let's put on (song), it's not really my style but considering it's your favourite, I can make an exception." Their song slowly came on while Alastor's voice faded.

Y/n hadn't made friends outside of cannibal town. They had to admit they were a bit nervous...

The day went by faster and faster as the night grew closer. Y/n had put on their green gown/suit. It was beautiful; adorned with black lace, a pattern of turns and roses sewn into it.

"What do you think?" Y/n asked while turning around.

Alastor, whose suit didn't look all THAT different from his usual one, studied them up and down. "You look delightful, fawn. Every single demon in that building will see green from jealousy."

"Thanks dad."

Despite the fact that cars were already owned by most citizens in the time Alastor was alive, he preferred to walk, even to such an important event as this. So, when the two off them arrived, they stepped in through a side door instead of the big red carpet where the limousines dropped off guests.

"Remember Y/n, don't talk to people you don't know and if something goes wrong, find me or Rosie." Alastor's antlers started to grow and static filled the air. "I'll destroy however dares to hurt you."

"Don't worry, dad. I'm an adult, I can take care of myself." They laughed off their dad's threatening stature. "But if something happens I can't handle, I'll go to you."

The ballroom was decorated with black gold and white. All kinds of denizens were roaming around, from high standing overlords to imp servants. There were no familiar faces. The only other overlord Y/n had ever met besides Alastor was Rosie. Even so they had immediately split up from Alastor in favour of exploring the buffet table.

After picking up a plate, they started picking the tastiest little snacks. There was even a few dishes with demon in them provided for the cannibals.

Vox had spent four hours making himself presentable in a fancy blue suit and a new screen protector. the other Vees had matched his style. So when the three stepped out of their high-tech car and got bombarded with paparazzi, it was clear that the three belonged together.

It isn't often that they had the chance to converse with other demons of their status. It was the perfect chance to make new connections.

Vox had gotten the chance with a few other demons before it happened. His eyes landed on the most beautiful person Vox had ever seen. Their looks hypnotized the tv-demon... Which was supposed to be HIS power.

"Hey Voxie, you never guess who I saw~... Voxie? Vox... VOX!" No matter how hard Valentino tried, he wasn't able to capture Vox's attention. "What are you looking at?..." Following his colleague's line of sight, Val's eyes landed on them too. "Oooohhh, I see~ Should I go talk to them for you, maybe I can convince them to stay the night in our bed."

Vox slightly buffered. "What! NO! I'm going myself, yeah, I can handle this myself."

Y/n was enjoying a lovely tea sandwich with raw, demon heart on it, when a person they didn't recognize came up to them.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." The man with a tv for a head grabbed their hand and placed a kiss on their hand. "I'm Vox, and you are?"

"Y/n, and it's a pleasure to meet you too," they introduced themselves before shoving another tea sandwich in their mouth.

"You must really like those sandwiches."

Y/n aggressively nodded her head. "YES! Here try one!" they shoved one of them in Vox's face who reluctantly eat it.

"Wow, that's... an unique flavour."

"Yeah, heart does taste very peculiar but I like it."

It put Vox off that the demon had spoken so casually about cannibalism, however, he was even more put off that he was just fed ACTUAL DEMON. So, when they weren't looking, he drank an entire glass of champagne in one go, hoping to wash off the taste.

"Anyway... I was hoping to dance with you." Vox offered out his hand but pulled it away again when he saw the dissapointment in their face.

"I would love too but I don't think my father would be happy to see me dancing with anyone. I'm sorry."

He thought about it for a few seconds. "Y'know I'm quite familiar with this place, there is a smaller ballroom a few doors down. If you want to, you could take me up on the offer there." The overlord suggested.

Normally, Y/n would've never said yes. Going to an empty room with a stranger who must have quite a lot of power. Only an idiot would follow him... Maybe they were a bit of an idiot but Y/n was intrigued by the man, so much so that they decided to go.

"Alright."

Hours went by while the two of them danced, talked and drank in the empty ballroom. Y/n felt themself falling deeper and deeper in love with the handsome stranger. The confident way he spoke, the way he buffered and glitched whenever he got flustered, the way he would get angry when they hurt his pride by laughing at his attempts to woo them. He was perfect.

"Now, tell me Vox. Who exactly are you? Like, I know you your name but you must have been invited for a reason, so...??" Y/n asked.

"You mean you really don't recognize me?" Vox asked flabbergasted. "I'm the CEO of VoxTech." The other demon still looked confused. "The biggest tech company of hell? We release new products almost every single day."

"I'm not big on modern technology, I died during the 1920's," Y/n explained, "I tried using a computer once and it didn't go well."

"Well, that's really no good. As a demon of high society, you should keep up with modern invention, if you ever want the help I don't mind teaching you how to use it." Vox stared at them lovingly. "You know what, I'll even give you a phone. Give your address and I'll send you on-"

"HEY! Vox!" A girl with pink and purple hair walked in. She wore a poofy pink dress and her face was covered in make-up. Her bloodshot red eyes landed on the person standing next to her friend. "Oooeeehhh, and who are you?"

"Velvette, Y/n. Y/n, Velvette." Vox introduced them to each other. "They have been great company tonight, right love?" He caressed the side of their face."

Y/n got redder and redder as the conversation went on. "Yeah, it was great."

"Well, sorry that I gotta burst your bubble." Velvette interrupted the sweet moment between the two. "But the Carmines are about to have their speech and you know how pissy those old fuckers get about shit like this."

Y/n looked at the clock hanging on the wall and realised they had been gone from the party for hours. "Yeah, I should really be going back too. My father is provably worried about me."

The three swiftly made their way back to the main ballroom, Velvette joking about the two lovebirds the whole time.

Once there, they gathered by the crowd standing around a podium. Carmilla was standing there, already holding her speech about the start of her company, the amazing growth and the future. Although a very basic speech, demons were at the fact that the Carmine had mentioned future dealings and couldn't wait for the opportunity to become a part of them. One of them seemed to be the handsome TV Demon that Y/n had hopelessly fallen in love with over the course of the evening.

"Excited I see," Y/n said while pointing to the electricity coming off of Vox, "I'm not sure that a deal with Carmilla is going to happen if you electrocuted her."

"Hey! I'm a great negotiator. Thank you very much!" The man joked.

Alastor had kept his child in his sight the whole evening.... Until he didn’t. They were right over by the buffet table just a second ago. Y/n couldn’t have gone far. So, he went on a search, but after an hour, he found nothing. He even asked Rosie for help but no luck. He had stayed looking until Carmilla started her speech and even then Alastor still kept an eye open for her.

What he never expected to see, was his child, his lovely, well-behaved, miracle of a child, to be joking around with his nemesis. And were they.... Blushing?

Static filled the air around him, symbols floated around his head. The terrifying shadow of his ever-growing antlers made every demon and demoness run out of his way.

Once he got really close he could hear their conversation.

"You're such a dork!" His child laughed.

Alastor could only see their back, but he knew what their smile looked like right now. Unlike his plastered smile that hid his emotions, Y/n's was genuine.

"I'm the dork? Have you se-" Vox's eyes drifted to the strange red symbols, when he noticed Alastor standing there. A small x on his forehead, eyes like dials and his smile wide.

Normally, during their fights Alastor would be somewhat lenient with him. He still roasted Vox to the living world and back but he never outright tried to murder him. This meant that he had never experienced the true wrath of the Radio Demon. But right in that moment, Vox felt like his days were numbered.

"Holy shit," Velvette muttered.

Noticing the two Vees were looking behind them, Y/n turned around and as soon as they did, Alastor switched back to normal like clockwork.

"Oh, hey dad!" Y/n greeted him sweetly. "What are you doing?"

"Oh nothing, little fawn," the Radio Demon spoke, distain clear in his tone of voice, "now tell me, why are you wasting your time conversing with such vermin? Especially, a styleless one like that insecure, copycat, picture box."

Vox was still staring between the two of them. Y/n was Alastor's child! The one the Radio host always talks about, the only thing that freak actually seems to care about. Why did it have to be them the overlord had fallen in love with at that ball?

"You are the Radio Demons child!" The man freaked out.

"I didn't think you would care about that..." Y/n's face turned into a frown, unlike their father’s whose grin only grew wider.

"I-I" The tv started buffering. " I don't..."

"Come one Y/n, let's find someone with more class." Alastor turned around, his child in toe.

"Wow, can't believe you got the hots for that man's child." Velvette quickly snapped a picture of Vox's stunned face and send it to Valentino. You'll never guess what happened. She typed under it.

Y/n looked down at their shoes, not wanting to see their father's victorious grin. "I can't believe you just did that."

"Whatever do you mean, little fawn?"

"You know what," they replied sounding angry this time, "why did you scare away the first real people I made friends with here in hell?!"

Y/n had never had an attitude before, never talked back, never even sounded annoyed. It scared Alastor for a few seconds. "That... Vox isn't the type of person you should make friends with'."

"Isn't that for me to decide?" Tears filled their eyes and their voice was strained. "I want to go home."

Once home, Y/n attempted to rush up the stairs but was stopped by Alastor’s shadow grabbing them by the arm. They were struggling to get away when Alastor cupped their face with his hands and looked suspiciously in their eyes. He was searching for something.

"Let go of me!" Their eyes glowed as they screamed.

When Y/n tried to pull away again, Alastor's grip tightened. "You've never acted like this before. He must have hypnotised you, so be a doll and let me find his spell!"

But no matter how much he searched for even a sign of demonic manipulation. Did Vox not hypnotize them? Then why were they.... Because of Alastor's second of confusion, Y/n could quickly pull away. They rushed up to their room and locked the door.

Alastor just stood there, stunned until a knock came from the door. He straightened his suit before opening it.

"Hi Alastor, I saw you two... Leave and thought you might need a listening-ear." Rosie stepped inside and made her way to the dining room. "Besides I could really use a cup of thee after such a long night."

"You know me too well, Rosie. I'll get some snacks too."

"They've never even raised their voice at me before but one hour with that noisy rectangle and Y/n is acting like a rebelious teen." Alastor took a bite from the index finger snack. "I tried to look for a sign of hypnosis but there was nothing. What did he do to them?"

"Ever thought about it that Vox didn't do anything?" Rosie suggested.

Alastor's pupils turned into dials. "Hmm? What did you just say?"

"Ya have to think about this differently." Rosie took a sip from her tea. "A demon always buried in their books with little to no interaction with the outside world goes out for the first time in years and meets a charming man who's interested in them. It's just like one those romance tropes they always reads about."

The other overlord considered it. "Then what do you suggest we do about it. How can I show them that they deserve much better?"

"First of all, have a conversation with them. A genuine one."

"And then?"

Rosie's smile showed her sharp teeth. "Then-"

Vox was still buffering from that crazy night. He fell in love with ALASTOR'S CHILD, for god's sake. He was connected to his advanced computer, rebooting his systems. Images of Y/n, memories he saved in his files, flashed over the many monitors in his room. The doors to his office opened revealing the other two Vees.

"Damn, Voxie. You've never had to reboot after we've 'hang out' before." Valentino leaned over his colleague's shoulder. "You aren't going to demote me from being your favourite, right?"

"I wouldn't sound so confident Val. Vox was pretty hooked last night, you should've seen him." Velvette pulled up the picture she took. "This photo doesn't do his obsession justice."

"Stop it, Velvette." The TV Demon unplugged himself from the computer set-up. "It's never going to work out anyway. And it's all that shitty, old demon's fault!"

"You really think that?" Velvette asked. "I mean, they looked pretty interested to me... You could always go over to them and explain yourself. Oh and while you're there, try to find a snoop that'll make my drama Sinstagram go viral."

"Voxie doesn't need them. Just stay with me and I'll make you forget them in just five minutes." The moth demon's cigarette smoke formed a heart.

The screen buffered once more. "Get out! The both of you."

"I'll wait in my room." The two Vees made their way out.

Once he was sure they were gone, Vox pulled up another file. Y/n's beautiful face showed on the screen and their addicting laugh filled the room.

Y/n sat against their door, crying. They could see the moon through the balcony window. It's red light filled the room. They couldn't believe their father had reacted like that. And they couldn't get the face Vox made when he released their connection to the Radio Demon out of their head. It plagued their mind since the moment it happened.

Their room seemed so small, so empty, so cold. Nothing had physically changed but mentally, emotionally, everything was different. They got a taste of that beautiful romance and it was taking away from them in the blink of an eye.

Y/n was so deep in their self-pity that they didn't notice the moonlight was blocked by something. They were jolted out of their own thoughts by a knock on the window.

Looking up they saw none other than Vox standing there. His suit was covered in dirt and branches that he got certainly caught in on his way there.

They quickly walked over to open the door, stumbling on their way.

"Y/n, I- uhm, you must find it weird that I show up on you balcony like this." Vox's screen got slightly red. "I wanted to apologize for this evening. I don't care who your father is, I- uhm I care about you."

"Vox, I need you to be honest with me. Did you hypnotize me?"

Y/n's sad look broke his heart. Who got into their head that he hypnotized them?

"Y/n, I didn't and I will never do it." He put his hand on their cheek. "I promise."

Blush decorated their face. "Then can you tell me what's going on between you and my dad?"

"Of course."

The two sat on their bed, cuddling. Vox had told them about everything. The start of their feud, his constant fighting with Alastor but also the fact that he fell in love with them at first sight. It was a lovely, domestic moment.

"One time I got so angry at your dad that I made a complete smear campaign against him. it didn't work out, he completely cut off all my broadcasts, all seventy channels."

"I think he once told me about that," Y/n laughed, "you get more under his skin then you think. Even before he saw he two of us together."

"If you say so..."

Their banter went on for hours. The two did their best to keep sounds to a minimum so Alastor wouldn't find out.

"Oh, before I leave, here." Vox handed them a white box. "it's a phone. I made sure to remove all spying devices and I programmed you a special assistant. It should help you figuring out how it works."

"You put spying devices in people's phones?"

"Uh-I"

"Don't worry, I get it. It's hell. There is no need to explain yourself."

"Right." Vox tried to laugh it off like Y/n was doing. "It's getting late, I should go. Wouldn't want the Radio Demon to know I'm meeting up with his daughter without a chaperone."

This time when Y/n was separated from Vox, they felt fine. Because they knew that he loved them. They were still longing for him, but not in a sad way. It was pure, romantic love.

Part 2

Masterlist/request guidelines

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel vox x reader #hazbin vox #vox x reader #vox x you #hazbin

[xhmeusworld]

a perfectly good heart | jeon wonwoo

genre: angst, comfort! bf wonwoo, established relationship

pairings: jeon wonwoo x gender neutral reader

warnings: reader is going through a difficult time, mentions of depression, and reader makes a comment about not wanting to exist

word count: 871

note: lately life has just been throwing me for a loop and as a result, i wrote this. i just want everyone to know that you have a purpose in life. regardless of how big or small, it means so much that you are here and my messages are always open to talk.

no one understands another’s pain. not truly.

words and actions can only explain so much, but no matter what someone says, the extensiveness of the pain can not be conveyed. that’s what you thought.

but as jeon wonwoo held you against him, he swore he could feel everything. the pure turmoil and agony. it felt like his soul was on fire, the flames forcing their way out and racing across his limbs.

the shakes that tore through your body and the struggled breaths through the tears made him hold you tighter, wanting to do anything to provide some sort of comfort. some sort of relief to the despair you felt.

instead, he felt helpless. what could he do? did he have the power to do anything? he wanted to tell you that everything you believed about yourself was wrong. he wanted to tell you that your brain was lying. he wanted to tell you so many things, but he wasn’t even sure if you could hear him right now.

your words from earlier rang in his ears.

“life has no set timeline. I understand that. I hear that every single day from so many people and it’s supposed to make me feel better, but it doesn’t. because then I think about it in terms of years and the longer I am floating around without a plan or a goal, the less likely I am to feel connected to everyone around me. I don’t want to be left behind. I don’t want to be the friend that is left alone; still wandering through life while everyone else has careers.”

the future was a scary thought. wonwoo understood that. the unknown of where you could end up in five years was terrifying, especially with no set plan. but sometimes things like this were meant to happen. maybe you were being led onto another path that you just didn’t know about yet.

“and I feel like I’m such a bad friend to literally everyone. i can hardly muster up the courage or energy to speak to some of closest friends. they have reached out, but i just find myself unable to reply and it hurts because i know the despair i’m feeling is my fault. i am so mentally weak. cutting everyone off makes my soul hurt so bad because I don’t want to hurt anyone, but my brain keeps constantly saying over and over that I’m a burden. I’m annoying. if i reach out, I’m taking time away from their lives; interrupting whatever important thing they have going on. and even through all of this, i’m lonely and i’m scared that everyone will forget me. I know none of this is true. I understand that, but god, I feel so weak and helpless.”

wonwoo wanted to scream. it hurt to hear you admit how lonely you felt and he instantly felt guilty himself as a result of his touring schedule, but you were in no way a burden to him or anyone else in your life. you just weren’t. there was absolutely no way you could be to the l people who loved you the most in the world. you weren’t weak or helpless. you were just scared. he wanted to tell you, he wanted to engrain into your head, that fear was normal. nothing was wrong with you being afraid.

“i’m a disappointment to my parents; to everyone that believed in me. I used to be so happy and now I feel incredibly stupid and I’m just filled with regret and anger. I don’t want to feel like this anymore. I wish I was one of those people who knew exactly what they are doing with their life, but I’m not and I hate it. instead, i’m here with a void in my heart.”

your voice was thick with tears that you were desperately trying to hold back. wonwoo thought you were going to start sobbing right then, but somehow you managed to keep your composure to talk once again.

“i’m just so ashamed myself. I’m so utterly and truly an embarrassment and a failure that sometimes I’m even afraid to face you.”

that’s when your boyfriend grabbed your face, forcing you to make eye contact with him as he insisted almost angrily that you weren’t a failure. you were doing what was best for you. you were trying to take it one day at a time. there was no shame or crime in that. wonwoo was so proud of his person. so so very proud.

“i see no light or hope at the end of the tunnel right now”

these were the last words you spoke before you fully broke down, burying your face into his chest.

and no matter what you thought, jeon wonwoo could feel your pain and he held you tightly against him, tears streaming down his cheeks as well. his grasp tightened with each one of your sobs in hopes that if he only held on a little stronger, maybe he would be able to put you back together. he kissed the top of your head. he whispered that you were safe and loved and that you weren’t alone.

because he knew it hurt to be alone.

#kpop #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #seventeen #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt #svt x reader #seventeen wonwoo #svt wonwoo #svt wonu #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo #wonwoo imagines #seventeen fluff #svt imagines #svt seungkwan #svt dino #seventeen scoups #seventeen dino #seventeen soonyoung #seventeen seungcheol #seventeen mingyu #xu minghao #kim mingyu #kwon soonyoung #seventeen angst #angst #comfort #kpop au

[thegreatestsandwich]

I just saw black panther and let me tell you that I fell in love with Namor and everytime he appeared on screen I was screaming internally, I was wondering if you could write something silly like the reader gives him a rock every time she sees him because on a trip to the surface she saw a couple giving each other gifts and hugging at the end and she thought a rock was the equivalent of that, please please please

I can’t speak, afraid to jinx it (Namor x f!reader)

Masterlist

Pairing: Namor x F!reader

Word count: 1.5k

Summary: A tiny gift that almost drove him to madness.

Warning: Prepare yourself to be attacked with fluff

A/N: At this point, I think I'm really in love with Tenoch, you feel me?

Coments, Reblogs and Asks are happily received! I love to read your lovely coments :)

Namor was beginning to noticing this strange thing about you, no matter where he was or what was he doing, if you passed him you would stop and give him a small rock with a huge smile on your face.

It had started the moment you first were put in charge with helping him recollect a few things from the sinking boat that was closer to his city. Namor was waiting for you at the borders, his hands on his back as his eyes were looking at the calmness of the waters when he heard you humming a soft tune as you approached. He turned around and watched you struggle with at least ten bags on your arms. When he told you that he needed you to bring a few bags to carry the stuff, he was imagining you would bring two, not ten. He couldn’t help but smile at your determination.

“K'eeban tumen k'uchul chúunk'iin!” Sorry for being late! You quickly swam to his side, his eyes watching curiously as you tried to suppress your labored breaths. “Utia'al u completamente honesto, k'uchen tu k'iinili' ba'ale' in distraje.” To be completely honest, I was on time but I got distracted. You cheekily smiled. “Ya'ab in wu'uyik K’uk’ulkan.” I’m really sorry.

“English.” He told you once again and had to bit his tongue to suppress his laughter when you huffed. “You asked me to teach you and I am doing that.”

“Stupid English.” You muttered under your breath. Your hands quickly adjusted the bags on your shoulder. “Can we just go?” Your hand motioned the waters. “I do not want to be there when is dark, sharks bite then.”

Namor held out his hand so you could give him a few bags but you held them closer to you. “Let me help you, and sharks do not bite if you do not annoy them.” He managed to take a few bags from you, adjusting them at his shoulder and began to swim.

You gasped at his words and at his actions. “Sharks do bite! One bit me a few days ago on my leg, I have a scar to prove it…you even saw it, you said it was amazing.”

“Those words have never left my mouth.” Namor was smiling at your tantrum but managed to hide it as his face never left the waters.

“Uh, yes they have.” You managed to caught up with him, swimming at his side. You noticed his smile. “What are we recollecting?”

“Whatever we find useful.” He stated as que stopped, you following suit. “I will check if there are threats, stay here.” Namor didn’t wait for your answer as he quickly swam away, leaving you there with all the bags once again.

You huffed but decided to listen to him, your eyes looking at everything that surrounded you, there were a few fishes out there, thankfully no sharks, the corals looked bright and the sand too inviting to lay just there. But then you saw it, it was shiny and a beautiful turquoise color, you quickly tried to find Namor but he was still away, you bit your lip in concentration and decided to just go for it.

Your hands quickly grabbed the tiny and shiny object, your thumb carefully swiping away any left-over sand, your eyes widening before quicky putting it inside of one of the bags and swam to where Namor was calling you.

As you would expected, the recollection of things from that boat was completely boring, your eyes often diverting towards Namor, you admitted that he looked quite good, completely concentrated in this activity. When he was completely secure that there wasn’t anything more to salvage, he nodded at you and both of you left.

Namor took the bags from you when he left you at your home, you bit your lip and without thinking you grabbed his arm. He looked at you in confusion.

“I have a gift.” You quietly said. Your hands fumbled with one of the bags that you refused to give him. Finally retrieving the tiny rock. “Found it there, I think you will love it.”

He looked at you for a moment, his eyes following your hands as they put the rock on his palm and close his fingers against it. You gave him a last smile before entering your home and leaving him there, watching at the door.

And so it began.

Every single time you saw him, you always gave him a rock, it didn’t matter the size, the color or the weight, you always gave him one. At first he was confused at why you were giving them to him but he began appreciate them after you failed to give him one after one day.

He was swimming with Attuma at his side, the later telling him about the improvements they were making with the protection of the barriers, Namor was glad that everything was going within the plan.

“Táan in planeando bisik u kantúulo'on ti' leti'ob utia'al inspeccionar u máquina u kajnáalilo'ob le superficie decidieron túuxtik tak ka'anal.” I am planning to take four of them to inspectionate the machine the surface-dwellers decided to send from above. Attuma stopped for a second, pointing to the ones he wanted to take. “Chéen k'áabet u t'aan aprobación bey ma' táanil.” Just need your word of approval before proceeding.

Namor was about to speak but he managed to see you approaching them, his fingers were tingling with anticipation, imagining what kind of rock you would give him today, the corner of his mouth was twitching upwards, a smile he wanted to suppress at the presence of Attuma. But he failed.

Attuma watched in amusement at how his king was acting, he would have laughed if you hadn’t approached them. You smiled at them before swimming away. That’s when he saw his face and couldn’t help but laugh.

“Bejla'e' ma' jach juntúul roca, huh?” Not a rock today, huh? Attuma patted his back. “Ma' xaan ka' leti' a ts'áaik juntúul sáamal.” Perhaps she will give you one tomorrow.

“Bix a wojel?” How do you know? Namor asked him, his voice completely annoyed at the missing rock on his hand.

“Tu ya'alaj teen ka tu yilaj le kajnáalilo'obo' le superficie ts'a regalos, tu tukultaj u a gustaban le tunicho'ob ken aceptaste le primera.” She told me she saw the surface-dwellers give gifts, she thought you liked rocks when you accepted the first one. Attuma simply said, trying his hardest to not laugh again.

“Juntéen, wáaj bix supiste?” Again, how did you know?

“Leti' tu ya'alaj teen, ku pinchamos kaaye' globo sáastale'.” She told me, we usually poke pufferfish at dawn. He shrugged, swimming away.

What?

Namor was pacing through his cave, he was going absolutely mad, it now has been twelve days since you had given him a rock. He didn’t know what was happening, why did you stopped? Had the rocks you been seen weren’t up to your standard? He didn’t care, he wanted them.

He couldn’t help but sighed, his eyes turning to his small (HUGE) collection of rocks, he had been keeping them protected since you had given him them. But he wanted more, was he being selfish? Hell yeah, but this was something you had given the thought, you searched each one of them, you put your mind into looking for the perfect one before giving them to him.

So he went to look for you, he couldn’t find you anywhere in the city, a few of his people were looking at him strange as he began asking for you. But your mother was kind enough to point at your location.

Near the corals, she had said.

So he quickly swam there, and there you were, poking at pufferfish with Attuma. He needed to give you a reminder to not do that.

“Cha' k.” Leave us. Namor told Attuma, it was more like a order.

Attuma watched him and then you, before nodding. A huge smile on his face as he left.

“K’uk’ulkan?” You asked him confused, a stick on your hand. “Tu láakal ba'ax ma'alo'ob.?” Everuthing alright?

“English.” He told you, you noticed how tense he was, but still huffed and nodded. “Why did you stop?”

“Stop?” You tilted your head. “Stop what?”

“Rocks.”

You stared at him, you simple shrugged, not really knowing what to say.

“You have not given me any rock in twelve days, why?” He took a step closer to you. “Did something happened? Are they not in your standards? I do not mind what kind of rock you give me.”

“Oh.” You whispered, adverting your eyes. “Is not it.”

“Then what is it?” He grabbed your hands. “I do not care what you give me, but please do not stop.”

You sighed. “My mother say it is not nice to give rocks to someone…so I stopped.”

“Do not.” He whispered, “Please.”

You stared at his hands before looking upwards at his eyes. A tiny smile formed on your face. “Stick?” You gently raised the stick you were holding.

Namor couldn’t help but smile, taking the stick on his hands. “Thank you.” You smiled. “But now, why are you pocking pufferfish? Did you don’t know the dangerous things they could do to you?”

You sighed.

#namor fic #namor x reader #namor imagine #namor x fem!reader #namor x y/n #namor x you #namor fluff #namor fanfiction #k'uk'ulkan #kukulcan #black panther wakanda forever #black panther imagine #black panther: wakanda forever #the reader litteraly is just a precious little thing that I love so much #tenoch huerta #this is pure fluffiness

[tojigasm]

SAM PLS FEED US MORE JAKE ANGST💘

I was a little evil with this one, I admit 👩‍💻

Sometimes it's still vivid in his memory. How cold it was that day, the ash, and harbored screams. He could remember how hard it was to breathe through the thick chunks of grey that littered the forest and how raw his hands and wrists felt. Had Pandora ever had a cold day? He can't recall.

Neytiri doesn't come to him in times like this. Where he sits by the stacked forest flowers and pretty stones that you'd collected. She knows na'vi and human grief is settled differently in some, Jake is one of them.

You're still there, in his memory. He can make out your pretty smile and hair, the shape of your lips when you talk – though he can't hear your voice. He'd forgotten the sound of it some time ago.

In the past several days he finds your face foggy, clouded by blurs and features he can't quite make out in the midst of his memory.

Hes terrified of losing you again.

He still remembers how you were laughing and smiling right before the troops showed up and how quickly that changed everything.

The two of you had gotten separated when Eytukan and Mo'at had tied he and Grace up. Forced to watch you and Neytiri run into the forest in pure horror of your mate.

And he still remembers the way Neytiri looked at him in fear when he'd found her. Asking where you were.

You were so cold in his arms, a bloodied wound sunken deep into your side, your skin turned a shade of purple almost. You had died alone and cold and afraid. Without your mates and anyone to soothe you.

Jake doesn't think he's ever cried harder than when he lost you. He and Neytiri had sat with your body for hours, hoping maybe it was a shock spell and you'd wake up and he could get you to Norm and the healers.

You didn't wake up.

He hasn't seen you in the spirit of Eywa. The thought of seeing you so close and so far away might ruin him. Though he knows you must miss him, especially when all who visits is Neytiri.

So it's on a whim, when Neytiri and the kids have gone to sleep that he goes to the spirit tree. Stroking his hands over the delicate branches and letting himself bask in the gentle air.

When he does connect, he sees you. Not the foggy memory he's made, but you.

He recognizes this memory. The sounds of the creak and the cooes of animals in the forest. It was the day you'd found out you were pregnant.

Your giggles are what draw him in, pulling him to kneel beside your seated form.

"Jake!" You squeal when you notice him, wrapping your arms around him, "Where have you been? I have something exciting to tell you!"

Jake tears at that, stroking a hand down your soft back, "m'sorry, kid. I've been busy." He pulls away to cup your cheeks in his hands.

"Oh... well that's okay," you're back to smiling, holding your small hands over his large ones, "why're you crying?"

Jake shakes his head for you to continue and you do, but not with out the signature eyebrow raise you'd give him whenever you'd think something was off.

It makes him chuckle momentarily, softening in the warmth of you, "you gonna tell me what's so exciting or am I gonna have to wait ti'll I'm fifty?" He jokes and you giggle, pulling one of his hands off of your cheek to rest on your tummy.

"M'pregnant." You look up at him so excitedly he feels his throat hitch with a sob. You were so happy and you had it ripped away from you only a few days after.

"you are?" He struggles and he knows you can tell. He blinks hot tears that roll over his striped cheeks and his hand shakes beneath yours.

"Are you okay–"

He cuts you off by pulling you into his arms, holding your heart over his own to hear it beat once more. Settling to keep you as close as he can before he has to leave. He feels you relax under him, pressing kisses to his skin.

Jake holds you like that for a while longer before pulling away and looking you over. Stroking his hands over your cheeks, he kisses the top of your head.

"Be good while m'gone, m'kay?" He keeps his hand on your chin and you nod with that pretty little smile. And he can't help but kiss you once more, whispering "that's my sweet girl." before he's disconnected from you and left in the cool forest again.

He doesn't go back to the tree of Eywa for a while after that and he doesn't tell Neytiri. Though a part of him thinks she knows. Knows in the way she's more gentle with him, she's more relaxed about pushing him to go see you.

He settles on your memory again, thinking of you in small moments and letting the soft memory of your lips settle him.

And it's not until Jake and Neytiri pack and leave for the Metkayina that he wonders if he'll see you again and when a sinking feeling settles into his stomach it's that he realizes he probably won't.

#jake sully #jake sully x reader #dilf jake sully #avatar

[its-actually-minicika]

Letters Perished in Dried Ink (18+)

Pairing: Aemond x Reader;

Warnings: vivid descriptions of male masurbation, slight angst, a lot of lousy grandpas who have and will continue to butt into your situationship with Aemond;

Word Count: 6.5k;

Author's Note: I struggled with major writer's block this month. I suppose it happens to the best of us :") While I'm still working on the three fics I promised you guys, have this tiny one-shot to make up for the lack of updates ♡

I tried to be poetic. Alas, I miserably failed. See you in the next update (which is going to hopefully present much better)!

How could a misunderstanding ruin everything seven years of love has built?

Her steady hand reached for the quill, and the girl settled her feather over the small and modest piece of paper. For two, mayhaps three seconds she paused, thinking well on what she would like most adherently to convey.

Her eyes glossed over with the swirl of mischief, and the Lady smiled to herself, while expelling a tantalising and brisk breath.

To my dearest, Aemond

While I was afraid that my time in King’s Landing would change the perception I had of my homeland, I must admit that I was wrong. I might push as far as to say that everything remains the same; not a change since I last saw it. My chamber, with the dolls I left on the goose-stuffed pillows, the training grounds – none the grander as the ones in the Red Keep, mind you –, and the large halls of Riverrun… all seemingly frozen in place.

Albeit the doors feel smaller now, and I can reach without the help of a stool where I once could not, I find that I am underwhelmed, and dangerously melancholic over the time I spent in your company, which accounted for so much of my early girlhood.

Grandfather has taken to my return quite well. He is still bedridden, but somehow more vivacious that his blood is nearer yet.

I look at the portraits that adorn the walls of our darkened castle, and sometimes think back to my elder brothers. I think grandfather does so, as well.

But such terrible quarrels have no place in my dull writings! This new life isn’t as tedious as I make it out to be. I was acquainted with my Septa, though much of my education will be taken care of by grandsire now. Yesterday I walked the grounds for hours on end, and managed to spot some old and familiar faces. I had forgotten how kind the riverlords can be.

One thing that must be noted – and recognised as drastically peculiar – is how quiet it is here. Naturally, there is no active Court to gossip and flaunt back their wealth and actions.

You would like it here.

And I’ll say this much: I’d like it better if you were here, too.

I end my musings with burning questions, that you simply must answer in your next correspondence:

First and foremost, how have you been? Secondly, how are our good Queen and King? Word reached the Trident that your father’s fallen sick, and so I pray piously without stray that he recovers well and quickly. Thirdly, how is sweet Helaena fairing? Last I heard of her, the babe was close to being born.

I readily await for your reply, and urge you to make haste with it!

Until then I remain, as always,

Your inquisitive and loyal friend

His eye trails over the slight curve of her writing. And the Prince catches himself smiling, humming in admission at her carefully picked-out words.

He notices, with great perplexion, that despite his hardest efforts of stifling such impropriety, the ache inside his chest arouses. His heartbeat hammers out of him, granting a slight tremor in his lax and calloused hand.

And he stands this way, hovering over the pristine parchment, whilst bringing his hand out to pinch the bridge of his nose – rub his throbbing blinder with the back end of his hand. His broad chest heaves with every laboured exhale, and Aemond sighs with proper longing.

To my good friend,

I hope this letter finds you in good health, and in higher spirits than the day you wrote to me. It is very unlike you to barely fill a page. I expect your next communication to hold greater details of your life in the Riverlands.

King’s Landing is the same as you remember. Smells like shit and feels like shit, especially now, as I'm denied from the raptures of your company.

My routine too, remains identical. I am seated next to Aegon when we break fast as of late, and I must stress how greatly I preferred my view beforehand.

I report with great sorrow that hardly any intelligent conversation has been had since your swift departure. I'm left longing at the dinner table, for your calculated thoughts, for your sweet melodic voice, and for our elbows to be lightly touching.

Mother is overwhelmed with higher duties of the Court. I try to help her as best I can, with whatever tasks she may yet entrust me with. I lack the patience to sit idly, and so I’ve taken to Aegon’s share of duties. I fulfil them better than he ever could, and the exercise proves itself useful: for I scarcely find the time to think of you throughout the day.

The nights and morrows are harder yet, as my thoughts reach out to you, wondering helplessly how you spend your better days, so painfully far from me.

A dozen maesters tend to Viserys, each saying he will get better as time has its murky say. Yet ‘til that “eventual better” makes itself known to us all, he nurses his body with milk of the poppy, and lets mother do all his work.

Helaena is well. She dreamt the babe would be a boy, and already settled on a name for him. She wishes to call him Maelor, something that hasn’t been rebuked by Aegon.

She misses you greatly. As do I.

As does Vhagar.

The Red Keep feels empty without your fits of laughter.

Beckon your reply quickly.

Your most dutiful servant,

Aemond

A little over a week had passed since his Lady’s last reply. One week and four full days, to be exact... though Aemond would never own up to counting.

His sour mood grew to exceed all expectations, and the Prince bit his tongue through most of dinner, barely uttering a single word. His quiet nature wasn’t something to be troubled of, but even his drunk-out-of-his-mind brother noticed something had been irking him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so brooding, brother.” Aegon voiced out his concern, after another hefty gulp of alcohol. An impish grin spread across his puffy face, and Viserys’ first-born son leaned over in his chair to soothe him. “Am I right to assume that this has something to do with the lack of reply from a certain lady of the Riverlands?”

A low growl etched from deep within the youth’s throat. Aemond regarded Aegon with a cutting look, and extended his arm forward to grip the base of the wine pouch. He took a moment to ponder on the gaucherie of getting drunk, but settled on thrusting himself to the momentary relief that a hazy mind could offer.

Briskly, he took a swing of the burning liquor, and disregarded the way in which his mother absent-mindedly glared at him.

A loud snicker echoed through the quiet room, and Aegon clasped his hands together, pouting acutely at his brother's actions. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

A knot of heartfelt disregard tightened in Aemond’s throat, and his fist clenched painfully right above the wooden table. His free hand gripped the handle of the knife with a knowledge untoward, and the Prince shared a look with his elder brother, while rotating the blade about.

“Careful, Aegon. There are plenty of sharp objects around this table. And you haven’t been spotted in the training yard for quite some time."

His purple eyes widened to rounded specs of unreliant fear. Still he put on a lazy smile, and merely shrugged his shoulders. Aegon’s mouth opened again, threatening to spew out words that would grant no happy ending to their cosy dinnertime.

Eventually, it was Alicent’s glacial tone that interrupted their clash of wits.

“Boys,” She warned them both, not even bothering to look at them, “That is enough.”

Aegon’s mouth slouched childishly, and the man scoffed in rebuttal, while pointing at his rowdy sibling. “I was merely expressing my concern for Aemond, mother. He’s been very affected, now that his lady love abandoned him.”

Immediately Aemond rebuked his cutlery, and in the span of a single second, the Prince latched onto his berating brother. A dangerous look drew across his Targaryen features, making them all the sharper and unforgiving. Woefully he gripped his collar, hoisting him off the ground with an unnatural and vexing ease, and settled on squeezing Aegon’s gorget as he muttered to him darkly. “Either keep quiet on your own accord, or I’ll gladly silence you.”

Four white cloaks swarmed around them, and Otto Hightower nearly screamed, but the brawl reached an early end as the elder nodded rapidly at Aemond, and the latter loosened the hold he had over his bouchered vest.

“Seven Hells…” Aegon had cursed, mumbling lowly whilst feeling his neck for any sores, “Didn’t know it was such a delicate subject.”

Throwing a jaded look around the table, the One-Eyed Prince clenched his jaw.

He frowned deeply, and let out a tired hum at the notion of his sister’s face, so shocked and confused by his sudden outburst. As he felt his own grow numb, no doubt reddened by the scene he’d single-handedly played out, Aemond’s lips pursed to a tight, embarrassed line.

Whilst his hands itched him in shame, and his eye desperately avoided his mother’s, the young man instead focused on the erotic tapestries that adorned the stone-hedged walls.

His lone orb remained fixated on their arched positions, but, as his brother laughed again, Aemond begrudgingly returned his stare.

“Pardon me.” He muttered coldly, whilst giving a slight bow to the silent gathering, and, with one elegant but hurried movement, grabbed the full cask of wine, as he turned tautly to retreat to his chambers.

He swallowed thickly at his swift undoing, and chastised himself for losing touch with what was proper and allowed. His long fingers clasped painfully behind his back, digging at the flesh of his calloused palms, making him click his tongue in disarray; he notices, mayhaps too late, that all his blood had run elsewhere – thus the man takes wider steps to reach the confinements of his room, and lets out a choked-out breath, as the clogged air of his chamber finally hits his nose.

Methodical, aware and present, he sets the wine aside from him, pouring himself a generous cup, and fiddles with the expensive sheets that lay across his wooden table. His hand stumbles over the ink bottle, and the Prince levels out his rapid breathing, preparing himself to write again.

To My Lady,

A gulp of the liquid courage is all he needs to decidedly settle his red feather over the wilted paper.

Your lack of response to my latest confession irks me to no bitter end. I am a patient man, but I will not be denied entrance to your life. I will not have you refuse me the candour of communication.

Not when I spent my entire life waiting submissively by your side.

If your perpetual silence is owed to something I said, or something you’ve heard about me, I demand that you scorn me for it. Write a lengthy paragraph of all my near and far shortcomings, as you so often did when we were children. I promise to make a praying altar of that letter, grovel over it and at your feet, until my indiscretion should be forgiven.

Do not attempt to drive me away with petty ignoring. Such a feat is beneath you.

Another gulp of bitter wine is what allows his hand to flow more freely.

I confess that days and nights I have spent laying restlessly in bed, praying to the Seven to grant me passage to a single thought of yours. I ached to hear your words and feel your voice touch me so deeply. I am afraid I became brazen and unkind in the tortures of your absence.

I lest conclude that this should be a leisure letter to write – words should come easily, and in short, it should be simple for me to tell you how desperately happy I was to open your communication, and see your sweet and narrow writing.

Aemond halts his hurried musings, and encouraged by the hotness of the room, thinks back on the sinful indulgence he’d committed with her letter.

How he kissed over the parchment a million times thereafter, and how he licked at its bent corners, shuddering at the thought that her hand had ghosted over – perhaps even rested on – the marginal and flimsy paper.

He abjures his thoughts to the back of his mind, and lets out a low curse at the throb that forms over his missing eye.

A Prince should never bow, nor beg, nor relent. Yet here I stand, forever obediently at your beck and call, begging you to write again.

His patch fell heavily upon his skin. The nerves of his face stung the stimulated bit of skin, and Aemond huffed out an exacerbated breath, as he decidedly yanked the blinder away from his handsome face.

My duties at Court make it such that it is impossible for me to leave the proximities of King’s Landing. But should you make the mistake of not replying to me again, I’ll have no choice but to mount Vhagar and fly over to you myself.

… So reign your anger on me, should you need to. And just grant me with a quick reply.

Aemond.

Not even bothering to read it over, the man reached for the stamp she gifted him, inspecting its sapphire hilt with a scorned look over his face, and an angry furrow to his brow. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek, as he passively set the hilt aside.

His next movements were slow, methodical – Aemond folded the paper in half, and poured the hot wax over it; grabbing the stamp, and lowering it on the paper, allowing the Targaryen seal to leave its mundane mark behind.

Harsh thoughts swirled inside his head, and the Prince lowered the parchment, promising to send word out on the morrow, and personally deliver his Lady the much-improved, insistent letter.

‘The best of friends for seven years,’ he scoffed bitterly to himself, recalling the oath they’d made each other.

He wouldn’t allow her to walk away. He wouldn’t allow her to forget about him. And he would force her to look at him, and explain the means of her reaping silence.

The gentle rays of morning wash themselves over his handsome features. The heatwaves of summer lick over his translucent skin, and the golden rays of daybreak thread themselves into his silver hair.

Aemond groaned in roaring anguish, as he ran a calloused hand up and over his throbbing cheek.

The discarded eyepatch, now resting on the floor. The littered parchments, still laying on his table. The lone letter, which had been written so angrily, just to be resentfully abandoned as his ire simmered down the night before.

Each object served as a dull and pained reminder of his lack of princely conduct, of the effects of the wine… of her brazen and determined silence.

The Prince bit over his lower lip, and fluttered his eyelid tightly shut. Enwrapped in his fine silks, and under the comforts of his chambers, he allowed his mind to lead to her again. To the image of her sprawled-out form, waiting for him inside his bed.

He sighs deeply, and questions his sanity – or lack thereof –, his patience, his virtue. What he wrote in his confessions was the fair and honest truth – In the few moments of solitude that he grantedly took for himself, the riverlander scarcely ever left his thoughts.

Aemond writhed into the mattress, and peeled the cover away from his heated body. He needn’t have looked down upon him to see the quaint trailing effect that his friend had had on him; but he did, and in the process, hastily pulled his throbbing cock out of his breeches, to begin to pump himself – mayhaps relieve the stress and anger that ruled over his very being.

A tender hiss escaped his lips, as his movements sped up in pace. The Crown Prince bit over his lower lip, and a shaky hand came to rest over his parted mouth, to dull the shameful and alluding sounds that escaped his burning throat.

He ran his thumb over the leaking tip, gathering up his seed in singular and striking swipes, guiding the clear droplets of liquid to trail towards his aching stones, and coat over his impressive length.

A low grunt slipped past his hand, and Aemond sank his teeth into the tender flesh, stifling down any further moan or laboured breath.

"F-Fuck… my Lady…"

His back shuddered from the blinding pleasure, and his free hand came to rummage under his pillows in the most desperate of searches.

His eye opened but for a moment, as his digits grazed the bent edges of the first letter she'd addressed him – the one he'd cherished with ample reverence, and secretly carried with him to every place he went.

His lilac orb trailed over the contents of the wilting parchment, which by then he knew by heart, but stopped at the very beginning of her scattered and bereft writing.

'To my dearest, Aemond' – either by crude mistake or heinous design, she'd flicked her wrist right after dearest, drawing out a bold and elongated pause, that hence consumed his wakened days.

It must have taken her no more than seconds to descend her quill upon the page, yet for Aemond, the mundane piece of calligraphy became his most burdensome slither of hope.

Before he could catch himself in his lustful daze, the Prince brought the letter to his lips, and kissed over the dried ink with devotion untoward, accelerating his ministrations as he pressed into it harder.

He pictured her alone and writing, enraptured by the dead of night, dressed up in her modest nightdress, and her hair loose from her bun. She must have made some able pauses, to glance up at the moon, perhaps, or sigh in puckered concentration.

Had she shared with him everything that was on her mind back then? Or did she hold her secrets in, choosing instead to only hint at all that they had left unspoken?

Did she also think of him, as he nightly thought of her, and in her attempts to clear her head, brought her hand out to her ruddy pearl? And did she dare to rub it gently as sinful fantasies of him emerged?

Did he plague her every thought – visited them, at the very least, nestling inside her mind, as she so oftenly did to him?

His unanswered plethora of questions only fed into his fire. His hips began to move languidly against his hand, and the familiar licks of release beckoned in his tired loins. But fucking his hand would never come close to how he envisioned fucking her would be like. How tight and welcoming her cunt must be, how she herself was so untouched, so pure, unaware of the pleasures he alone could make her go through.

How breathlessly she’d gasp against him, and leave her lascivious mark over his skin, in the form of clawed-out patterns, adorning his pale and muscled back. He would return her favour in kind, pressing himself deeper inside her, molding her warmth to the shape of his cock, leaving bruising kisses over her breasts and neck and claiming her – over and over, again and again.

His. His, his, his and his alone.

Propriety be damned, he’d have her. Ensure she’d never leave his bed thereafter.

She’d make for a fantastic mother, he caught himself thinking with abhorrence, and a new heat wave of pleasure enveloped his arched, unyielding back.

His despair reached new peaks of torture, as his mind led him to the memory of her crouching form, playing with Helaena’s twins, with such a pliant and kind smile upon her agonizing lips. How she’d chase them through the royal gardens, how the sun would catch her hair aflame…

Often during the long nights of winter, he’d shut himself inside his chambers, and touch himself repeatedly with the oils gifted from Aegon – with only that specific recollection playing tricks inside his mind.

Whilst elating her as his wife inside his head, the man slumped further into the bed, focusing on working his shaft up and down in blinding delight.

Her voice, her laughter, her handwriting and eyes – so wide and curious and always ready to look upon him, to really see him for who he was. She’d been the only one who never glanced directly at his scar. She’d focus in on his remaining eye, and listen to what he had to say. Intently. Remarkably so. She would remember his favourite book, the passages he’d read her last, and would partake in conversation – urging him to share his thoughts.

His climax neared him closer still, and Viserys’s second son focused on fucking his fist at a wilder pace than done before. Droplets of precum rolled down his cock, as forming sweat coated his brow. A final swipe of his rough thumb over the tip of his manhood, and a tender caress of his tightened stones was all it took for the man to drive himself over the edge, and feel the warmth inside his chest spread across his lower body.

He hissed painfully into the open letter, spending all over his chest and stomach and spilling her name from his parted lips.

He heaved out one breath after the other, and gingerly ran his hand over the written testament of her thoughts. He wanted to curse the Gods for making him so, for giving him the thirst for knowledge of a man fitting his station, but the crass bashfulness of a ruddy stable boy.

For the first time in his life, Aemond wished he were born different. A softer and more patient man, who’d find himself worthy of her; one more handsome, courageous and outspoken – a man who could express his feelings, without so much as a second thought, who didn't allow hesitation and carelessness to break his strengthened up resolve.

He ached to tell her all the things he’d left unsaid, when he saw her leave his sight. That she was lovely and brave and better than anything he deserved. That he was twisted, crooked, wrong – but not so wrong that he couldn’t pull himself together into some semblance of a man for her. That without exactly meaning to, he’d begun to lean on her, to look for her, to need her near.

That love within him laced with doubt. Longing with predestined pain. That he prayed night after night, obsessively, tentatively, that she’d grant him passage into her life again – that whatever held her from speaking to him would absolve itself with time, and he’d finally be free again.

Free to love her from afar, to revel in the bottled hope she’d grant him with the lightest touch, the faintest smile, and the most mundane of glances.

To delve further into the sweet delusion that mayhaps she'd learn to love him. That somehow he’d be deemed to be enough.

As he stood there, unmoving in his very bed, his warm seed rolled off his stomach, staining onto the silken sheets. A long sigh escaped his lips, and Aemond propped himself onto his elbow, cleaning the mess he’d left behind.

His want for her ran hard and deep, and the Crown Prince tensed once more, feeling his stomach tighten in such familiar hot knots of pleasure, that his cock went stiff again. He hummed in admission of his solitary fate and reached for the sinful oils with a shaky and extended hand. Through the musings of a quiet moan, he aligned his hips to his waiting hand, preparing to grant himself the second peak of his cursed and debauchered morning.

Alas, a lacklustre knock put an end to his self-indulgence, and Aemond stifled back a groan. He swallowed up his lust with haste, pushing himself back into his linen breeches and off the ruined satin bed – running a hand through the forming mats of his silver hair, to make himself seem more presentable.

Frustration and madness welled up within him, but he merely sucked in an irritated breath, whilst grabbing forth a shirt to adequately front himself.

“Yes, what is it?” His shaky voice barks out for him. He listens intently for any noise outside his door, and a great displeasure settles in his gut, as the voice of a servant boy echoes through the quiet walls.

“A letter for you, Your Grace. I beg your pardon for disrupting you –”

Readily he jumps out of his bed. And as if burned, as if possessed, Aemond opens the door with a readiness unperturbed, descending his anger onto the poor, expecting boy. The letter rests upon a silver platter, shaken with the messenger’s panicked voice. The Tully emblem that seals over a vast calligraphy drives the Prince to the brink of hysteria, and the Targaryen grabs a hold of the boy’s bouched shirt, pushing him further down into the hall.

“When.” He questions breathlessly, “When did the letter arrive.”

“L-Last night, Your Grace – near the hour of the wolf –”

A feral scowl settles over his sharp features. Aemond takes a step forward, tightening his fist over the cheap material, and calmly professes to the whimpering boy.

“For waiting so long to bring it to me, I should have you flogged and executed.”

The child's blabbering reaches deafened ears, as Aemond reaches for the letter crassly presented to him, and offers the youth a pressing look.

“Get out of my sight, before I should make the call of feeding you to my dragon.”

A clumsy courtesy is followed by a tantalised “Your Grace”. The echo of footsteps gets lost through the depths of the narrow hallway, and the man hums absentmindedly, before shutting himself inside his room again.

He wants to rip the envelope in a violent and perusing fashion, but his first instinct is to trail over the paper gently, to run his digits where her hands had been, to touch the edges of her writings with such a desire to be close to her that it scared him.

In a slow and gentle act, he peeled her seal away from the pesky parchment, and sucked in a hectic breath, as he scanned the contents he’d so longly dreamt about.

His hope shattered as rapidly as it came. And Aemond nearly ripped the letter, as his heart clenched painfully inside his chest.

To Aemond,

I thought about what I might say, and word it out in such a way that won’t leave you perplexed or angered.

I think it’s best for us to move along, and stop with these childish musings, that have hence occupied our time since I moved from the Red Keep.

I will forever cherish our acquaintanceship and hold your friendship in the highest regard. But I am a woman grown now – you, a man in all his right –, and we must both start to think about the survival of our families.

Please do not send me any more letters, as I won’t reply to them, and focus instead on your best interests.

The Lady Tully of Riverrun

His feet carried him close to his bed, as he grabbed a hold of her first note. Desperately, he began searching for differences – in the means that it was written, in the handwriting he’s known since his early adolescence, in the marginal and flimsy paper.

The sting of rejection fell heavily over his shoulders, but rationale trumped his crushed spirits – for there must have been something, anything inside the new communication, that would explain its fabrication.

It was impossible those were her words. She’d never been a jousting woman – never regarded her tens of suitors as less than wanting, for the simple fact she didn’t desire them. She would have let him down more softly. She wouldn’t throw away his company.

Contentment can emerge in the quietness of separation, but their friendship endured years of scorn from the gossips of the Court. Her good opinion of him just couldn’t have changed so suddenly.

A final reach entered his mind, as he folded the paper roughly, and settled it atop his table.

If those were truly her words within that letter, and she wanted him to keep his distance, she’d have to tell him to his face.

More than a week had passed since she’d sent him her first letter. A week since she’d awaited his reply, inquiring every messenger within the castle on the arrival of a straying raven, all the way from the Red Keep.

In spite of her avid efforts, each day repeated the same encounter without so much of a hitch – the scrawny boys shaking their heads, as they ceaselessly informed her that nothing addressed to her has reached the tower of the West Wing.

Since then she’d sent out two more hurried manuscripts, despite never once being graced with a reply. All hope seemed lost when she’d woken up that very day and was still met with livid silence.

Through all their years of rapid friendship, Aemond had never ignored her so. As she cut into her plate, the Lady gnawed at her bottom lip, thinking hard on what possibly could have happened to make him turn so cold towards her.

If her status quo were any different, she’d have taken the Red Fork road on horseback, to reach King’s Landing, and confront her oldest friend on the reasons for his dreaded silence.

But her grandsire had fallen ill, and little to no progress was made on his state of brittle health. Her duty thus assigned her to the Riverlands, despite her need of seeing him.

“You have been very quiet, sweet girl.” The husky voice of Grover Tully echoed through the silent chamber. The girl’s cutlery stilled upon the half-full plate, and her eyes raised from her lap, clashing with the stilling blueness, the knowing assessment of his own.

“Apologies, grandfather,” She uttered rapidly with a forced smile upon her face, “My mind was otherwise engaged.”

“As it has been for the past week.” He concluded with a quirked-up brow. The softness in his gaze enveloped her, giving her a rapid sense of security, and her grandfather coughed in the back of his hand, drawing a pattern over the motifs of their tablecloth.

“I suppose I miss some aspects of King’s Landing. I have spent most of my youth there… – though the Riverlands are just as beautiful.” She was quick to intervene.

“Is King’s Landing all that you miss, or is it a certain boy from there?”

Her bright orbs widened with her grandfather’s suggestive tone, and her cheeks reddened in place, as her voice denied it brashly, “Certainly not, I – Aemond and I are friends.”

“It might seem like a long while has passed since then, but I’ve also been young once.”

When her reply was met with sarcasm, she swallowed thickly and drove on, “We are… really good friends, but that is all.” Once again, her stare dissolved, “Though… I’m not sure we’re exactly friends anymore.”

A knowing look adorned his face, and Grover turned his attention to the family crest above their heads. He took a while to pounder, thinking longly on a vast reply, but he eventually nodded to her, and graced the child with an unperturbed, brilliant smile. “I’m sure the Prince is very busy – as are you, my sweet child. Men, and young men especially…” He muttered the latter of his teachings, “Aren’t exactly prone to sentimentality. Not in the way that women are.”

Her lips pursed into a tight line, as his words rang in her ears.

But not Aemond, she wanted to say. He was hardly like the other men she knew – he could be kind and good and comforting. He cared for her, and for their friendship. He wouldn’t just ignore her, just for the sake of not being overly attached to writing.

Although she couldn’t possibly say such a thing – for then her grandsire’s teasing would have been a certain. The girl made herself busy cutting up a piece of meat in carefully drawn-out halves, until she beckoned a reply.

“Indeed. … You’re right, I should stop being so concerned.” She strained herself to answer him. The older man hummed disconcerted, and returned upon his plating. They continued eating in silence, till he mauled himself to tell her.

“... I know how hard this is for you. But our family depends on you. I had to bring you back to Riverrun, to get the other Lords used to the image of a woman in our ancestral seat.”

“Gods, of course, grandfather – and for that, I’m more than thankful.”

Grover raised a shaky hand, and cut her off with a gentle smile, “You do understand… as much as we both hate the idea, I’ll have to soon match you with someone.”

She gripped the goblet of wine before her, and wet her lips with the bitter liquor. “... Of course I do. It is my duty.”

“Your claim will be stronger with an able man around. And if the Gods are good and you also bear a son…”

“I know.” She sighed into the ample cup, “My claim would be thus undisputed.”

“Aemond was not the right match for you.”

The girl bit over her lower lip, wanting to both negate her feelings, and contest upon his honoured values. But she simply nodded to the greying Lord before her and offered a lacklustre smile.

“Perhaps a change of scenery will do you good. I was thinking that you might like the Reach better than the Riverlands... Lyonel Tyrell is an especially kind and thoughtful host.”

A relocation was the last thing on her mind, no doubt, but the Bliss of Riverrun turned her attention to the latter of his eversion.

“Visit the Reach? You think of marrying me off to the boy of Highgarden? … He’s not yet fourteen.”

Silence washed over their council.

“Boys grow swiftly into men. I'm assured he'll be a good one for you."

“He’s a child.”

“You’re seventeen.”

“It still makes for quite the difference.”

“You won’t have to mother children until he’ll also come of age. It gives you three more years of freedom – other ladies would kill for a faction of what you have.”

“I don’t like the finality of your words."

A long and pressing breath beleft his pale and tired lips.

“I couldn’t send you to the North. Jason Lannister has no sons. The Greyjoys are ghastly savages.” As he presented her his trail of thought, Grover Tully shook his head, “And the Targaryens…”

“You’re childhood friends with King Viserys. A match would not fall outside our rank." She slipped and added restlessly, much like a frail and foolish child. Even before he could answer her, his granddaughter raised her hand, as she brushed off her latter thought. “A succession crisis will ensue.” The young woman muttered in his stead.

“I’m old – I’ve seen disputes start for much less. But here we’re talking of the Iron Throne.”

“You think a war is in its midst.”

A cutting silence washed over them. Grover lifted first from the dinner table and breathed in an anxious breath.

“I pray for the sake of the Realm that such a thing will not take root.”

The languid fires of their threshold illuminated her conflicted face.

“Then it’s a good thing Aemond didn't bother to reply to my letters.”

For but a second, Grover’s face was etched with guilt.

“We all have to protect our own.” Sometimes the means to do it are less honourable than we'd wish to.

For all that was worth on that rousy and portentous night, her fate had been agreed upon. And ever the loyal and oppressed servant, the young lady of the Riverlands left with the first callings of dawn, for the impetuous and striking gardens, which were smugly kept inside the Reach.

She would then leave, with her soul and heart all torn to pieces – yet still completely unaware that she’d never see Aemond again.

Never, at the very least, to how she’d known him to always be.

His wide and calculated steps led him to the stronghold’s gates. So easily it came for him to pass the cluttered training grounds, and disregard Ser Criston Cole with a mere shake of his head.

Above all else, he thought it then, he needed to feel his love again. He needed to hold her near once more, and ask all the outlandish questions he endured inside his head, counting for so much of his weakened days. He needed to reach a resolution, after being disregarded for so long. He needed the closure that her voice could offer him, that her mouth would utter out – that this had all been a grave mistake on her behalf, that the note never belonged to her, that she loved him as he loved her, and had merely been scared of it.

His morning session could very well await him, as he so viciously awaited the perfect chance to get away.

Two days away from the arrival of the pesky letter, Aemond had finally managed to slither unperturbed from his neat and tidy prison. Neither his mother nor grandsire had caught him in the act of it, Aegon had been too drunk to notice him dress up for a morning ride, and Helaena had solely clicked her tongue and scowled at him.

As he anxiously secured the belts of his dragon’s saddle, the man hummed in disarray – Riverrun was but a short flight away, but the despair he felt to hold her inside his arms again trumped over his better senses.

With any luck, he figured, she should still be found in bed. His love had never been an early riser, and she loathed getting out of bed in the damning morning light.

He didn’t waste time figuring out pleasantries to share with Grover – much less the words needed to explain his unprompted visit.

His sole purpose was to get to her, ask for her hand, make her his wife and forever be done with it.

He had the biggest claim to her – a Prince bonded with the largest dragon in the world, the one who’d seen and grown with her so many years inside the Keep.

The command of flying was given to his formidable dragon, and the Prince took off for the Trident's three heads.

Hopefulness emerged with unforsaked determination – but as his actions would dictate him from then on out, his efforts would be all for nought, torn apart in stinging vain.

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Specific Tag-List for the Fic: @howyouloveyourdragon @diamantesprincess @carriellie

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[wosoimagines]

Second Chance

part 2 of rivals

Jo's second camp with the team is nearly over and she gets news of her future.

2,367 words

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“Hi, kid.”

I grinned at the familiar voice as I closed the door behind me.

“Hey, Becky.”

The woman smiled at me as I threw my bag onto the open bed. I hadn’t exactly expected Jill to room me with Becky again, but it was nice. Becky had helped to make sure that I actually got to bed at a responsible time and that I wasn’t late to any meetings or practices. After all, it had been quite easy for me to get distracted by everything else.

“Did you get to go to the lake?”

“Yeah, we went for a couple of days,” I admitted.

Becky nodded at that before she turned back to the book that she was reading. I tilted my head as I read the title.

“ The Portrait of Dorian Gray ,” I read off the spin. Becky looked up at me with a raised eyebrow. “I’ve never read it.”

“I could read it out loud, if you’d like.”

I smiled at Becky as I nodded. Becky looked back down at the book as I kicked my shoes off. 

“‘I have always been my own master; had at least always been so, till I met Dorian Gray. Then--but I don't know how to explain it to you. Something seemed to tell me that I was on the verge of a terrible crisis in my life. I had a strange feeling that Fate had in store for me exquisite joys and exquisite sorrows. I grew afraid, and turned to quit the room. It was not conscience that made me do so: it was a sort of cowardice. I take no credit to myself for trying to escape.’”

I grinned as Becky read the words on the pages. I knew that we had at least an hour, if not two, until our meeting started since they were still waiting on quite a few players to get into the hotel. I didn’t give Becky time to start the next paragraph as I crawled into her bed before ducking my head under her left arm so I could look at the pages. Becky stayed silent for a moment as I got comfortable.

It wasn’t until I had settled down and stopped moving that Becky continued.

“‘Conscience and cowardice are really the same things, Basil. Conscience is the trade name of the firm. That is all.’

‘I don't believe that, Harry, and I don't believe you do either. However, whatever was my motive--and it may have been pride, for I used to be very proud--I certainly struggled to the door. There, of course, I stumbled against Lady Brandon. 'You are not going to run away so soon, Mr. Hallward?' she screamed out. You know her curiously shrill voice?’”

Becky’s voice was definitely one of the most soothing voices I had ever heard. Maybe she could become a professional audiobook reader or something like that once she retired from playing. Or even just take it up during the off-season. I wouldn’t mind listening to Becky read me more books if her voice was always this soothing.

“‘Yes; she is a peacock in everything but beauty,’ said Lord Henry, pulling the daisy to bits with his long, nervous fingers.

‘I could not get rid of her. She brought me up to Royalties, and people with Stars and Garters, and elderly ladies with gigantic tiaras and parrot noses. She spoke of me as her dearest friend. I had only met her once before, but she took it into her head to lionize me. I believe some picture of mine had made a great success at the time, at least had been chattered about in the penny newspapers, which is the nineteenth-century standard of immortality. Suddenly I found myself face to face with the young man whose personality had so strangely stirred me. We were quite close, almost touching. Our eyes met again. It was reckless of me, but I asked Lady Brandon to introduce me to him. Perhaps it was not so reckless, after all. It was simply inevitable. We would have spoken to each other without any introduction. I am sure of that. Dorian told me so afterwards. He, too, felt that we were destined to know each other.’”

I couldn’t find it in myself to fight off the sleep as Becky’s voice lulled me into darkness.

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

“Hey, pipsqueak.”

I looked at Hope who had sat down across from me. I titled my head at her sudden presence. I knew that she often sat at the table with Carli and Christie during our meals. But they were both seated at a table that was behind Hope.

“Hi, Hope.”

I looked over my shoulder where most of the team was still getting their food. Being small did come with advantages, such as being small enough to get around everyone so I could be one of the first to get my food. I spotted Becky and Alyssa who were just now grabbing their own plates to fill them up. I turned back to look at Hope.

“Look, I just came to say that maybe you aren’t that bad.”

I raised my eyebrows at that. Hope complimenting me had been the last thing I was expecting. After all, we still weren’t getting along that well. It seemed like we both tolerated each other just enough for a fight not to break out during practice, but that didn’t stop the two of us from exchanging words during practice.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” Hope said as she kept her eyes trained on her plate as she stabbed some of the food with her fork. “You still aren’t better than I am. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t helping us out.”

I stayed silent, causing Hope to look up at me. She just stared back at me. I was trying to figure out if this was some kind of joke or something.

“Who are you and what have you done with Hope Solo?”

Hope chuckled at that as she nodded.

“That’s cute, pipsqueak.”

“No seriously. Hope Solo would never compliment me. We go at each other’s throats,” I said as I shook my head. I turned my attention back to my plate. Hope had to be seriously sick if she was being nice to me all of a sudden. “Mine and Hope’s relationship does not consist of us being nice to each other. We’re like sweet potatoes and mustard. They don’t go together. I don’t give a shit what Mick says either. He’s a weirdo for eating sweet potatoes and mustard.”

“No, I’m serious, Jo,” Hope said. I paused at that before I looked up at Hope. “Can you just take the compliment?”

I shook my head. I really couldn’t.

At least not from Hope.

This was too weird. Hope wasn’t supposed to be nice to me. She wasn’t supposed to compliment me.

“Is everything okay over here?”

Hope and I both looked at Becky who took a seat next to me. I sent Becky a small smile before I turned back to Hope. I slowly nodded my head as I realized just what this was about.

“You’re being nice 'cause I saved your ass in the goal.”

“Jo! Language!”

I rolled my eyes at that. I already had a mom at home, I didn’t need Becky deciding to mother me while I was at camp too.

“No.”

“You said that way too fast for it to be true! This is about me saving you in the goal.” I grinned as I glanced at Alyssa who sat next to Becky. So it wasn’t because Hope actually wanted to get to know me. “You just feel bad that you tried acting all tough and like you could stop me and then you couldn’t back it up and I had to save the game against France so we didn’t draw again.”

“I don’t need help in the goal, pipsqueak .”

“Sure you don’t.”

It felt good knowing that Hope had felt bad after I saved her skin.

“You could have just said thank you.”

“Jo,” Becky said. I looked over at her as I raised my eyebrows. I wasn’t too sure why she really cared what happened between Hope and me. “Just take the compliment.”

“But she’s only saying it because I made the stop on the goal line.”

“Jo. Take the compliment.”

My jaw slacked a bit at that. I couldn’t believe that Becky was actually taking Hope’s side.

“Thank you for the compliment,” I said once I eventually turned back to Hope. The goalie smirked at me as she stood up. I rolled my eyes as I lowered my voice. “Good thing you’re good at soccer. Cause the porch light’s on, but there ain’t no one home.”

It wasn’t until Hope was well out of earshot that I felt the hand connect with the back of my head.

“Ow!”

“You’re lucky she didn’t hear that comment,” Becky hissed quietly. I slumped back against my chair at that. I really wasn’t in the mood for another lecture. “I get it. You don’t get along with Hope and you might never get along with Hope, but she’s our goalie. You are going to have to stop trying to provoke her.”

“She doesn’t treat me fairly. Why should I be the one to have to extend the olive branch?” I asked as I leaned forward to get closer to Becky. “She’s the adult. I’m only fifteen.”

“Jo-”

“No, it’s bullshit.”

“Langauge.”

“And I don’t need another mom. I already have one.”

Becky sighed as she leaned back in her own chair. I looked away from her. 

“What if I talk to Hope?”

Becky and I both looked over at Alyssa. I had honestly forgotten that she was sitting at the table with us because of how quiet she had been. It was something that Becky told me I would have to get used to though. 

“As if that would make it any better.”

“That would be great. Thank you, Alyssa.”

I huffed as I pushed myself away from the table. I had already finished my plate and if it gave me an excuse to be away from Alyssa and Becky right now, I would take it. I didn’t need everyone else fighting my battles for me. It was part of the problem. If everyone else fought my battles for me then no one would ever take me seriously.

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

“So, I heard that you and Hope got into it,” Jill said as I was wrapping my hand. I sighed as I looked up at her. “Is there a problem that I, as the coach, need to address between you two?”

“No.”

Jill nodded her head slowly as she still looked down at me as I finished wrapping my hand. I rubbed the bridge of my nose before looking back up at her.

“Is there anything else?”

“I really hoped that you and Hope would have gotten over this by now,” Jill said. I softly groaned as my shoulders slumped forward. “I’ll be honest with you, kid. I want to call you up for the August game and September-”

“I get it,” I assured her. I glanced at where the rest of the team was getting ready. Even though I had been friendly enough with Alyssa and Becky, the rest still seemed hesitant to get close to me. “Who wants a kid on their team when they’re the best in the world?”

“Jolene, that isn’t it.”

“Isn’t it?”

I looked away from Jill and down at my shoes. I knew that it was. It wasn’t the first time I had been left behind because I was the youngest one, and I doubted that it would be the last.

“Jo, you’re gonna be called to the U-20 team in just days,” Jill said as she bent down so that we were equal in height. “I encouraged them to do so. I think it would be a great opportunity.”

I looked back over to the rest of the team. But my eyes zeroed in on Hope. I knew what she would say when she found out that I wouldn’t be called to the team in August or September.

“The U-20 World Cup will be over before August. So what’s the point in keeping me out of the September camp?”

Hope would only boost and brag if I was gone longer than I needed to be. Plus, I didn’t want to lose the pace of play that came with the national team if I was gone for too long.

“Because you’re only fifteen, Jo. You will have to go to school and finish your education,” Jill said. I looked back at her. I didn’t care about that, I just cared about my future in soccer. “If your grades suffer too much, then I can’t call you up. You will be gone until late August if you guys make it to the finals.”

“So why have me go to the U-20 team instead of getting more practice with the senior team?”

“Because the U-20 team is going to a World Cup. It might not be the World Cup you were hoping for, but it will give you a taste of what it will be like next year,” Jill said as she sighed. I wondered if she would ever get tired of me and all my questions. “You’ll be expected to be a leader on the U-20 team as you’ve already been called up to the senior team. That will also be a good experience for you. I don’t expect that you’ll be seen as a leader on this team for years, maybe not until I’m gone even, but it will happen eventually, and leading a team at a World Cup, even a youth one, will be good for you.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Jill sighed as she patted my leg before standing up. If I had to prove myself to Jill at the youth level again, I was going to do it. Nothing would stop me from winning gold in August. Maybe then, the rest of the team would also start to see me as more than just some kid.

#uswnt imagine #woso imagine #leah williamson imagine #uswnt x reader #woso x reader #leah williamson x reader #uswnt imagines #woso imagines #leah williamson imagines #uswnt #woso #leah williamson