#to one side at least sounding less stupid

[jjkamochoso]

How JJK Characters React to You Describing Them as Your Type When Todo Asks

Warnings: none

A/N: pretend you’re in a huge group with all of the students present when this question was asked :) also, I went with the anime adaptation of the characters rather than the manga, just fyi!

Yuji:

“Y/n! What kind of man is your type?”

“Yeah y/n, we wanna know!” Yuji said, excitedly. You figured there was no harm in sharing, Todo and the group were just looking for fun to distract them for a little bit.

“Okay, well I like guys that are average height, not too tall or short. Super strong, of course, with a cute, goofy smile. Oh, and colored hair is always fun too!”

“Oh man, he sounds so cool! If I find any guys that look like that, don’t worry, I’ll send them your way!” Shaking your head and laughing, you got into a conversation with Megumi while Nobara yanked Yuji out of your earshot.

“Yuji! Don’t you realize what y/n said?!”

He rested his chin in his fingers, deep in thought for a few moments before he answered.

“No? Should I have?”

Nobara didn’t hesitate to whack him on the top of the head.

“They literally described you, idiot! Don’t you own a mirror?!” Yuji’s mouth opened in a big smile. This was great news since he had a big crush on you!

“Y/n! I have to talk to you!”

Megumi:

“Y/n! What kind of man is your type?”

You sighed. You didn’t want to join Todo’s antics but you had no choice.

“You don’t have to answer him. It’s a stupid question anyway.”

Megumi’s voice came unexpectedly from behind you. You smiled inwardly at his protectiveness.

“I appreciate that Fushiguro, but I might as well. Let’s see. I like moody boys on the lankier side with dark black hair and dark blue eyes. He has to love animals too.”

You looked at Megumi to see if it registered that you were talking about him. All of a sudden, he sported a deep blush and excused himself from the group. Todo gave you a hearty smack on the back for your response.

“I’m proud of you for baring your soul like that to the one you love,” he said, tears rolling down his face. “Y/n, go get your man!”

You turned to look at your friends who all just shrugged their shoulders. Looks like you’re off to find Megumi then!

Nobara:

“Y/n! What kind of woman is your type?”

You had no hesitation answering this question, you loved to talk about things like this, gossip and crushes and the sort. Besides, it was time Nobara knew how you felt!

“I thought you’d never ask! I really like short girls with short hair. If it’s a vibrant color, that’s a plus. Spunky personalities are the best and I need someone who’ll keep up with me when I go shopping.”

Looking over at Nobara, you saw her jaw drop and you knew she understood what you were getting at.

“Y/n! You liked me and you never told me?! This whole time?!” she shouted, running towards you. You didn’t know whether she was going to hit or kiss you so you took off running as well. Gotta love the feisty girls!

Maki:

“Y/n! What kind of woman is your type?”

“This stupid question again?” grumbled Maki. You were a bit nervous to reply to Todo. You had a huge crush on Maki but she was, well, intimidating, to say the least. To be fair, so was Todo, and you heard what happened to Fushiguro so you went with the safest bet.

“I like girls who are on the taller side and insanely strong. Light eyes, dark hair. Straight to the point, always. And uh… glasses.”

Maki hadn’t moved a muscle and you cringed, fearing the worst. Best case scenario, she would ignore you ever said that. Worst case, she’d beat you up. When she came over and grabbed you by the collar of your shirt, you gulped.

“Y/n. We’re talking about this somewhere else.”

(Spoiler alert: when you were somewhere else, you kissed🤭)

Inumaki:

“Y/n! What kind of man is your type?”

Todo was on your last nerve. Sure, he seemed nice enough, but why should you be expected to tell everyone your personal business like this? In front of both schools’ students, no less! When you were filled in on what happens when you don’t answer truthfully, you resigned to the fact that you were exposing your true feelings to everyone today, whether you liked it or not.

“I like shorter men, preferably with medium length blonde hair, and bright purple eyes. He doesn’t talk much but more than makes up for it with his top tier sense of humor.” You noticed that Inumaki never broke his gaze from you as you spoke. You shuffled over to where he was sitting to explain yourself, but this time it was you who couldn’t find the right words.

“Mustard leaf?” Inumaki broke the silence first, basically asking you what was wrong since you marched over there and hadn’t said a thing.

“Look, Toge, I’m sorry if I—”

He tugged on your sleeve, stopping you. In his hands was a note that read, “I like you too” with a little smiley face at the end.

Yuta:

“Y/n! What kind of man is your type?”

You weren’t sure how to answer Todo. On one hand, you didn’t want to expose your crush on Yuta. On the other, would be it so bad for the truth to be out there? He was a kind person that wouldn’t drop your friendship if he didn’t feel the same way.

“I really like average height guys with longer dark hair and big, dark blue eyes. Personality wise he has to be extremely loyal and caring. Oh, and good with a sword.”

“Sooo… Yuta?” questioned Panda, and you nodded in agreement, your face warming with a blush.

“Wait, me? Really?” Yuta’s eyes lit up as he broke out into a hopeful smile. You nodded again.

“Oh man, that’s great!” he exclaimed, and then sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve liked you for awhile too and I just thought maybe you didn’t feel the same but you do! Which is amazing!” You laughed softly at his rambling. This school year just got a whole lot better!

Gojo:

“Y/L/N sensei! What kind of man is your type?”

“Todo, isn’t that wildly inappropriate to ask your superior?” you answered, a joking tone present.

“Maybe, but we’re curious! Please, sensei?”

“Yeah, sensei! It’s just for fun” Yuji chimed in.

“And it’s a team building exercise to know something so personal! You’re always saying we need to communicate better,” added Nobara. You rolled your eyes playfully.

“I meant that to be an exercise among you children, not me. But I will entertain this for only a moment, so listen carefully,” you told the group and they cheered like their favorite baseball player hit a home run. As you were about to spill your secret, you spotted Satoru leaning against a wall, clearly interested in the secret you were about to spill.

“I like super tall men who are lean but extremely strong. He has to be very funny and goofy but with a kind heart. White hair and striking blue eyes are also a must.”

Maki’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets as she exclaimed, “You like that blindfolded idiot?!”

As the kids clamored at the newfound information, Gojo took that time to approach you and the students.

“Excuse me everyone, but me and my new lover must depart,” he announced, taking your hand dramatically while leading you away to laugh at what just happened.

Noritoshi:

“Y/n! What kind of man is your type?”

You groaned. You really didn’t want Noritoshi to know about your infatuation with him. It was no secret that he had more important things to deal with than schoolyard crushes so you were afraid to confess in case it made him uncomfortable—or worse, dislike you!

“You don’t have to answer the immature question, y/n,” Noritoshi spoke up when he noticed your discomfort. You were grateful for him but you wanted to keep the peace among your classmates and judging by the death glare Todo sent to you two, you’d better start talking.

“Thank you Kamo, but I value harmony among friends so I will answer this for Todo’s amusement only. I like tall men with a bit longer dark hair and gray eyes. Having an honorable character and being good with a bow is the way to my heart.” You felt Noritoshi tense up next to you and you refused to look at him out of fear of rejection. He took you by surprise when he leaned over ever so slightly to whisper to you.

“I was caught off guard by your confession but I can’t say I don’t feel the same. Can we discuss this later?”

Todo:

“Y/n! What kind of man is your type?”

Your eyes went wide when Todo’s booming voice reached your ears. You were super into him but no one knew. You knew you couldn’t fool him with a fake answer, though, and if you were going to feel his hand for the first time, you’d rather it be from holding it with your own than having it curled in a fist and connecting with your face.

“Um… I like men that are extremely tall and buff. Dark hair, tan skin. And passionate, of course.”

“Hm! That’s a great answer! He sounds hot,” replied Todo, smirking, “but unfortunately for that perfect fake man, I’m taking you on a date first because you’re my type!”

You definitely weren’t expecting this!

Mai:

“Y/n! What kind of woman is your type?”

You rolled your eyes. This big oaf is going to jeopardize your friendship for sure. You really liked Mai but you figured she wasn’t into dating and all the lovey dovey stuff.

“Do I have to answer?” you asked, praying Todo had a change of heart.

“No, y/n, we all wanna know. What’s your type?” Mai chimed in, a sly grin on her face. You gulped.

“I… like women that have short, dark hair and dark eyes. If she’s taller than average that’s cool, and I love a snarky personality.”

“No way!” exclaimed Momo when she realized who you were talking about. You refused to look anyone in the eyes out of embarrassment and fear. What you weren’t expecting was Mai grabbing your hand and leading you somewhere else. Hopefully it was to talk and not get beat up!

Momo:

“Y/n! What kind of woman is your type?”

You huffed in annoyance. There were always some sort of antics with this guy! You had liked Momo for awhile now but she was like an enigma to you. You could never get a good read on her so maybe telling her how you felt outright would be a good thing?

“I really like girls with blonde hair and blue eyes, and short, too. Having a cute personality is a plus as well,” you answered, hoping that was straightforward enough.

“Wait a minute, that sounds exactly like me!” Momo exclaimed, blushing slightly. You sheepishly nodded your head.

“Because it is. I have a crush you.”

The whole group erupted in a chorus of “aww’s” and “how adorable.” You were nervous that you had accidentally made her uncomfortable but your fears disappeared as she came over to sit next to you. When the students were distracted by another topic, you felt Momo’s hand rest over so slightly on top your own and you knew you made the right decision to confess.

Miwa:

“Y/n! What kind of woman is your type?”

Before you spoke, you met eyes with Miwa. It almost seemed as if she was anxious to hear what you had to say!

“Girls with dark blue eyes and are average height are my type. I also really like girls with kind hearts and are down to earth. Blue hair isn’t too bad, either,” you finished, smiling nervously. Both of you were blushing messes while Mai scoffed “Get a room!” Your classmates were just happy that the secret was out in the open—they were tired of you two dancing around your feelings for each other!

#jjk headcanons #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader #noritoshi x reader #gojo x reader #yuji itadori x reader #megumi x reader #nobara x reader #aoi todo x reader #miwa kasumi x reader #momo nishimiya x reader #maki zenin x reader #inumaki x reader #mai zenin x reader #yuta x reader

[lords-plushii-pup]

Bimbo Training 0.1

All bimbos should look, sound, and behave like a stupid whore, but not all of them know where to start!

This bimbo training will focus on making you sound like an airheaded slut, so you can build a proper bimbo personality from the bottom up!

First things first, start with your texts. Sound out the words out loud, then type what you hear! If you're using a proper dumb bimbo voice, then it should be spelled as stupid as you sound!!

Some examples:

"omg" is now "ohmgee!"

"please" is now "pleash" or "pwease"

Second, take advantage of your phone and computer's autocorrect functions! (Disclaimer: bimbos may need a Man to help with this part!)

Find the autocorrect function on your device, and turn it on. Then, go into the "replace" feature. Each device is different, but most of them should have a spot where you can put in a normal word, and then the word you want to replace it with!

For example, you can put "men" in one side, and have your phone autocorrect your stupid typing to "Men"!

Speaking of which, my third point!

All bimbos should refer to Men with proper capitalization to show respect and deference. This includes anything relating to Men as well: Cock, Cum, Male, and of course His honorifics, like Sir, Daddy, or Master!

Sidenote for any Men; please refer to us bimbos only with lowercase titles, because we don't deserve Your respect! All women are just cunts, stupid whores, and dummy bimbos!

Last, but certainly not least, bimbos, try and change your speaking voice too! Make sure you only use three-syllable words or less, add long pauses with "uhmmm" and "uhhh" into your speech, and use a cute higher pitched girly tone! Don't forget your dumb girl words from earlier!

Finally, here's an example of a regular paragraph, and how to make it bimbo-fied!

"Yeah, my day at work was great. This one guy keeps hitting on me, dude won't leave me alone. Did you make dinner for me babe?"

And the improved version!

"Ohmgee this cunt had like, a super gud day! All the Men keep like, groping my boobies an stuff, I loves it so muchies! I wish all Men would rape my dumb body all day! Oh, dinner? Of course Sir, I'll like, totally go make You dinner! Can I suck Your Cock while You eat, pretties pleash?"

Remember, all bimbos speak with as much enthusiasm as possible, because you're here to please and entertain Men.

Your whole purpose is to serve Men.

#bimbo training #bimbo doll #brainwashing #bimboification #r@pe kink #stepfordization #dumbification #dumb slvt #dumb wh0re #gender traitor #good girl training #mis0gyny kink #mind conditioning #minors dni #bimbo hypnosis #bimbo girl #patriarchy #misogny #mis0gyny #hypno sub

[atticrissfinch]

Meet Me in the Back (joel miller x fem!reader) (18+)

pairing: sleazy gas station clerk!joel miller x fem!reader summary: When the gas station clerk refuses to sell you alcohol after a shitty day, you need to get creative warnings/tags:  [18+ MINORS DNI] age gap (reader is 21+, Joel is 50s-ish), one-sided daddy!kink, bribery, light exhibitionism, flashing tits, VERY light dubcon (ignored discomfort), size!kink (Joel is massive as per usual), protected piv (an atticrissfinch first, folks. i’m different now, surely), light spanking, mentions of alcohol and smoking, Joel using some cringey dirty talk but he’s old and creepy so it’s hot word count: ~3.8K | ao3 a/n: don’t know where this shit came from but god am I a sucker for a sleazy joel, so here you go friends ❤️❤️ Series Masterlist | Masterlist

The sickly fluorescents buzz overhead as the equally pitiful chime of the door chirps your entrance. This isn’t your favorite gas station to frequent, but it’s the closest to your apartment and it’s fucking late. You’re exhausted and your brain is whirring from the past week of work. Oh, yeah, and your shitass boyfriend of five months—now ex-boyfriend—forgot to lock his stupid phone tonight to hide the midnight “u up?” texts coming in from his “just friends, I swear” coworker while he was taking what would be his last piss in your bathroom. 

Fuck him. You’re getting drunk. 

The clerk, a grimy-looking fifty-something-year-old in an undone patterned short-sleeve button-up and a cheap generic white tank top underneath, sits on a stool behind the register. You somehow doubt the tacky gold cross around his neck has seen the inside of a church in quite some time. He grunts in greeting, eyes glancing up briefly from the Playboy open between his spread legs. You don’t miss the small double-take he does when he sees a pretty young thing in a skimpy sundress entering his store alone, but you let it slide off. He can look if he wants; you could not give less of a fuck tonight. 

Your flip flops clack against the dingy linoleum as you troll the empty aisles aimlessly, a force of habit despite knowing exactly what you’re here for. You stop at the refrigerated section at the back and scan the options, settling quickly on a pack of Trulys. You hoist it off the shelf and let the door snick shut, a burst of cool air ruffling your dress and igniting a wave of goosebumps on your legs. 

You plop down the case on the front counter and rifle through your purse for your wallet. 

“No can do, sweetheart.”

Your hands freeze in your purse as you look up at the clerk, still perched on his stool but sans the naked centerfold, having left it sloughed open on the counter turned to a busty topless swimsuit model with her tits pressed together between her arms. 

“I’m sorry?” You inquire, pulling your hand out of your bag slowly. “I’m over 21. I have my ID with me.”

The clerk—Joel, you gather from his name badge—nods toward the 12-pack on the counter. “Can’t sell booze after midnight.”

“The fuck? Says who?” You bite back, your irritation from the day seeping into your tone in a way it typically wouldn’t. You’re not usually a bitch to strangers, least of all customer service workers, but it feels like this is some sort of cosmic joke. 

It doesn’t phase Joel in the slightest. He just shrugs off your bitchiness and clarifies, “Says state law, sweetheart.”

“That’s the stupidest fucking law I’ve ever heard,” You deadpan, crossing your arms across your chest. 

The man is not exactly subtle when his eyes sink down to drink in the way the motion props up your tits in your low-cut dress. Like you’re his own real-life Playboy model. Whatever. Maybe a little show will get him to bypass the stupid rule. 

Joel makes a little tch sound with his tongue against his teeth. “Sorry, darlin’. Law’s the law.”

You huff, leaning forward on the counter and gifting him a very nice view down your dress. “Well I still think it’s stupid. Can’t you just give me a pass? Just this once? I’ve had an unbelievably shitty night,” You pout, mimicking the model discarded next to your elbow and using your arms to enhance your cleavage. 

His jaw ticks as he overtly ogles what you’re serving him. When his eyes flick back up to yours, he’s donning a shallow smirk. “You find that that works for you often?” He quips, gesturing to your chest. 

You shrug a shoulder with a smirk of your own. “Use what you’ve got, right?”

Joel leans back on his stool, scratching the back of his head as if in thought, his eyes darting back to your chest as he considers his options. 

“Not so sure, sweetheart. Could get in heaps of trouble for shit like this.”

“What if…” You start off, a hand drifting up to your neckline and curling around it just above your right breast, pulling it down just a smidge. Not revealing anything yet, only an indication that you might. “What if I give you something a little better than that picture,” You proposition, luring his eyes down to the dirty magazine with your gaze, and then heading right back to him. 

You see his tongue run over his top teeth behind his lip as he studies the topless model on the page, and then glances back up at you through his eyelashes with a skeevy tilt to his mouth. “Go on, then.”

You give him a sexy little smirk, checking the front door with a cursory glance. When you confirm the coast is clear, you bite your lip and start to lower your top. 

Joel bows forward with his forearms against his thighs, eyes transfixed on every inch of skin being unveiled. 

You bring your collar down coquettishly, your mouth popping in faux surprise when one hardened nipple slips free. “Oops,” You say with a cheeky smile. 

A veiny hand comes up to stroke at his beard as he wets his lips. “Don’t be shy now. Give her sister a little breather too.”

“Greedy,” You scold with mock offense. But you’re already this far and you might as fucking well. You do a swift check of the door again as your other hand tugs your dress down on the other side. 

“Go-lly,” Joel rasps accompanied by a low whistle. “Put that damn model to shame, sweetheart.” He adjusts himself in his jeans and you see a sizeable bulge at his crotch, plain as day. 

His fingers twitch where they rest on his knee like they’re itching to touch. 

“Thank you,” You purr, giving them both a single squeeze in your palms and pressing them together for good measure with your nipples peeking through your fingers before sliding your dress back in place. “And thank you for your sacrifice,” You tease, wrapping your hand around the handle of the seltzers. 

“Now, hold on there, sweetheart,” Joel protests with a furrowed brow, slipping off his seat and slamming a hand down over yours on the case. “I didn’t say I’d let you have it for that.” 

Your face drops. “Excuse me? You said—”

“I didn’t say jack shit,” Joel corrects. “You flashed your tits at me of your own accord. Not my fault you assumed.”

“That’s fucked up, dude!” You shout back. “I just gave you Girls Gone Wild Live, is that really not enough for you?”

Joel snorts a laugh.“ Shit, maybe for a fuckin’ tallboy or two, but not a whole goddamn case.” Joel cocks a hip and balances his arm across the seltzer. “Gonna need more’n a little peep show to haggle for a twelver.”

You’re absolutely positive you’re going to regret it, but you ask, “And what exactly would that entail?”

A filthy grin bleeds across his face, and he half-heartedly masks it with a hand over his mouth, wiping at the corners with the pads of his pudgy fingers. With his stemmed smile, he drops his palm to the counter, raking his eyes salaciously up the lines of your body. “How’s about you slip into the back with me and find out?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “I don’t think so, dude.”

The tip of his tongue creeps out to lick the corner of his mouth. “Throw in a pack o’ smokes too, ‘f that’s up your alley.”

You shift your weight and pout your lips to the side, crossing your arms again. “Marlboros?” 

You don’t know why you’re asking. There’s no way you’re going anywhere with him. Right? You wouldn’t do that. No matter how…unexpectedly sexy this sleazy guy is. No matter how the sleeves of his shirt are straining around his biceps. Or how the little gold cross dangles in that unexplainably trashy-hot kind of way. Or how he is—no question—packing a fucking missile in his pants. 

Shit. 

“Whatever kind you want, for the right price, darlin’,” He winks. 

You nibble your lower lip, weighing the situation. You know you’re being stupid. But you’re pissed off, maybe a little heartbroken, sufficiently horny, and newly bereft of your dick-on-demand as of a couple hours ago. 

And Jesus, could you really fucking use a drink and a smoke right now. For free, nonetheless. Or, at least, not at the cost of anything you’d lament losing. Surely your dignity can withstand a meaningless fuck in a back room for your personal benefit, right? 

Fuck it. 

“Alright, fine,” You relent, leaning onto the counter again. “But let me spell things out this time. I let you take me in the back and fuck me—pussy only,” You dictate with a pointed finger, “And I leave with this case of seltzer and two packs of Marlboros, no charge.”

“I didn’t say two, I said—”

“Two packs of Marlboros,” You repeat with emphasis, jabbing your finger towards the back wall of tobacco products. “And we never fucking mention this again.”

“Jesus, bleedin’ me fuckin’ dry over here,” Joel mutters, his eyes dipping to the counter and then up to your tits. “Better be a sweet fuckin’ pussy.”

“Sweetest you’ll have till you kick the bucket next week, old man.”

“You got some fuckin’ spirit, I’ll give ya that,” Joel chuckles. He holds a hand out and you eye it tentatively for a brief moment before clasping it and giving it a solid shake. “We got a deal, sweetheart.”

Joel pushes himself off the counter and lifts the hinged countertop to pass through. He sticks his head out the door, looking left then right, and shuts it. He flips a sign on the glass to read “Be back in 10!” and bolts the lock, testing the door to ensure it holds. 

“Come on then, darlin’. Better make it quick.”

He guides you to the back of the store and through a locked door labeled “Employees Only”, rushing you in with a hand on your lower back. The room is bursting with boxes, stacked near the ceiling in some places. Unsettling stains are splattered on nearly all visible floor space, some looking stickier than others. You gingerly set your purse down on a box by the door. 

“Leave the dress on, but take those beautiful titties back out, sweetheart,” Joel directs, already working on unfastening his pants. 

You roll your eyes a little, but oblige, dipping your dress down underneath your tits again. You back up against the door and toy with them absentmindedly as you watch Joel’s cock spring free from his boxers and holy shit. 

“Woah,” is all you manage to vocalize. 

Joel looks at you with a smirk, his wide hand stroking down the full length of him and dipping a thumb into the wet slit. “Biggest cock you’re gonna take ‘til you kick your own bucket, darlin’,” He chides, stepping toward you. “‘N you’ve got a hell of a lot longer to go than I do.”

“Yeah, no shit,” You breathe out, feeling your pussy gush into your panties at the thought of that inside of you. You idly reach between your legs and ruck up your dress, pulling your panties to the side and running a finger through your already-soaked folds. 

“That’s a pretty little cunt, sweetheart,” Joel says with a voracious look in his eyes, laying a palm against the door level with your head. He’s so fucking large when he’s up this close, it makes your breath hitch. Even with your hips apart, you feel the tip of his cock graze the backs of your fingers where they’re playing with your pussy. Joel’s head dips down between your tits, nose tracing the curves before he sucks a nipple into his mouth.

You press your eyes shut for a moment to clear your head with a steadying breath. “Condom,” You order as the raised bud pops out of his mouth and he locks eyes with you. 

“Ah, fresh out. Sorry, darlin’,” Joel says with a tone and expression that belies his complete lack of real remorse. 

“You literally sell them. Right outside this door. Probably even have some in this room,” You argue back. 

“I can’t be givin’ you any more of my stock, kid. You’re already cleanin’ me out.”

You roll your eyes and push off from the door, ducking under his arm and digging through the inner zipper pocket of your purse. You spin back around to him, holding a condom packet between your fingers with raised brows. 

“Well, aren’t you a regular fuckin’ Girl Scout,” He mumbles with a tinge of irritation in his voice, snatching it from you. “Not a chance in hell this is gonna fit.”

“Oh fuck off with that bullshit,” You scoff. “You’ll be just fine.”

He rips the packet with his teeth and spits the strip onto the floor, the remainder of the foil following a moment later. He winces as he pinches the tip of the condom and rolls it down. “Fuckin’ hate these things.”

“You wanna fuck me or not?” You ask, your ass leaning against a smaller stack of boxes. “That’s my stipulation. Clock’s ticking, old man. Someone’s gonna be banging on that glass door sooner or later.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joel mutters, pulling on his cock lewdly, “Bend over, little bitch. Let Daddy Joel take what he’s owed.”

“Jesus Christ,” You say under your breath incredulously, actively fighting the urge to roll your eyes again. You turn around and bend over the boxes, tucking your cheek into the loop of your arms and sticking your ass out. 

“That’a girl,” He croons, pushing the hem of your dress up over your hips. He whistles at you for a second time, palming your ass with both hands and landing a sudden smack to your flesh that makes you jump. “That’s an ass fit for Playboy for sure.”

His thumb traces the strap of your thong down the crack of your ass, stopping at your blooming wet spot. “Look at that pussy. All drenched and waitin’ for me.”

You feel his hands slide into the gusset of your panties, and they tear apart under his fists with nothing more than a grunt and a tug. “There we go.”

“Hey!” You shout back, your head whipping around. “What the fuck, dude? Those aren’t cheap.”

Joel just shrugs, pressing a hand between your shoulder blades to bend you back over. “Should’ve taken ‘em off.”

Another tug at your waist and your panties fall from your body completely. 

Joel’s hand nestles between your shoulders again as the other guides the fat head of his cock through your slick pussy. Your hips jolt when he catches on your clit, and he gives a satisfied breathy laugh. 

“Oh, she’s creamin’ for it, ain’t she?”

You cringe internally at his phrasing—so fucking unsexy, but somehow making you wetter at the same time. 

“God, just fuck me,” You moan, flexing onto your tiptoes to try and guide him where you want him. 

“Mmm, needy little thing,” He rumbles, but sits his cock at your entrance. Joel flattens himself against your spine and nuzzles into the back of your neck as he rolls his hips into you, the head of his cock stretching you open. 

You gasp out a pained whine, biting into the flesh of your arm as Joel continues to push his way through. 

“Shit, this little pussy fucks right open, don’t it,” He grunts, securing a hand onto your hip as he slides all the way inside. His panting breaths waft over your skin, tickling the hairs at the nape of your neck. His other hand comes up to grope at your breast, tweaking the nipple between his pointer and middle knuckles. 

It feels like he’s ripping you open from the inside, like he’s shifting your organs as he makes room for himself inside your body. You squeak out a quiet, “Ow,” as his hips collide flush with your ass and his length bottoms out, stretching you more than you could even fathom before. 

“Yeah,” Joel moans in your ear, pulling out a few inches and slamming back in as you cry out. “Bet you like it when it hurts, don’t ya, sweetheart.”

You squeal when he pulls out further and fills you completely again, setting a languid pace as he retreats slowly and then rams all of him back inside you at once. The sting of him fades into the background, but the overwhelming size of him, the all-encompassing fullness that you feel just gets more intense. 

You muffle your cries into your arm as he whispers filth into your ear. 

“Splittin’ you open just right, isn’t it, sweetheart? Daddy Joel knows just how to give it to you. Make you scream for it. Make them legs shake. That’s right, baby, take it good for Daddy.”

And you can’t do anything but take it. Take his huge cock pounding into you, take his disgusting words spilling in your ear, take the sound of slapping reverberating around the stockroom as your ass crashes against his hips. 

“Yeah, you like Daddy Joel’s big cock, don’t ya?” His voice rasps over the crude slap of his skin against yours. Your brain feels scrambled, only spluttering out a strained whimper in response. 

A hand slides down your thigh and hooks around the back of your knee, hauling it up onto the top of the box and spreading you wide open for him as your sandal clatters to the ground. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” Joel groans obscenely loud in the small, crowded space as he sinks even deeper into you, pulling a noise from you that’s so foreign you’re not entirely sure you’ve ever made it before. Somewhere between a moan, a scream, and a gasp shredding your throat at the impossibility of him filling you any more than he already had. 

“Fuck, I can’t—I can’t—” You cry out, tears welling in your eyes, hands scratching for purchase on the edges of the box. 

“Yes you can, darlin’. Takin’ it so good,” He grunts, gripping your shoulder for leverage as his relentless thrusts devastate your very core and lick at your cervix. 

“Too—too fucking big, please. Please hurry,” You whimper, your hand flying back to push back against his hips. He slaps your hand away and grabs at your wrist, bending your arm and locking it at your back as he ceaselessly fucks into your clenching hole. 

“Daddy’s too fucking big, huh?” He teases with laughter in his voice. “‘F it’s too big, why’s your pussy takin’ it so easy? It’s fuckin’ squeezin’ me, darlin’. It don’t want me to leave.”

You sob into your arm as your one leg remaining on the floor starts to quiver beneath you. 

“Mmm, fuck, that’s right. Want you shiverin’ and shakin’ on Daddy’s cock. Fuckin’ you so wide open, y’could probably fit one of them seltzer cans up your snatch after this no problem,” Joel grits out. 

Your eyes threaten to roll back in your head as sweat gathers at your temples and your body feels like it’s buzzing. “I fuck—I fucking can’t—t-t-too much, too big,” You stutter, feeling your pussy shuddering around him in what you think is an orgasm but you can’t even fucking tell from how foggy your brain is, how overstimulated every cell in your body feels. 

Joel grunts loudly as your cunt pulses around him, jerking his hips faster into you as you constantly strain to catch your breath. “Fuckin’ take it, bitch. Fuck your Daddy for your booze, and he’ll let you have it,” He growls out, before you distinctly hear him spit, and then feel a splash of saliva hit the crack of your ass and drip down between your cheeks. 

“Goddamn, wish I could coat this fuckin’ pussy with my load. Pump you full of my come, watch it drip outta ya,” He moans, his voice becoming increasingly unsteady as his hips snap into you faster and faster. “Gonna bust inside this little cunt, darlin’. Fuck, take it, take it, take it, bitch,” He grunts with one last obliterating thrust inside you, and then he’s coming with a guttural moan. You can feel his cock pulse with how tight your walls are choking it out of him, even with the condom. 

Your mouth is dry and your thighs are soaked as Joel pulls out of you gingerly. You startle when he smacks your ass with a heavy hand again. 

“Some good fuckin’ pussy,” He pants out, making quiet little noises of sensitivity as he slips the condom off his softening cock and ties it off, tossing it in a nearby trash can. 

You lower your leg back down to the ground carefully, and you somehow become less balanced, your legs collapsing out from under you as you crumple to the floor onto your hands and knees. 

You hear Joel chuckle in time with the zipper on his jeans. “Take your time. Gotta open back up.”

You hear the door shut after him, and you just breathe, limbs still vibrating as you kneel on the tacky floor. 

What the fuck just happened to you, You think. 

You just got fucked within an inch of your life by a sleazy gas station clerk, that’s what happened. And you have no fucking idea how to process it. 

When you’re pretty sure you can tolerate it, you muscle yourself up off the ground and stuff your tits back into your dress. The panties are a lost cause, so you leave them littering the floor. Fuck, he can have the souvenir. He deserves it. 

You ruffle your hair, slip your lost flip flop back on, grab your purse, and stumble out into the store. A couple haggard souls browse the aisles with glazed eyes as you make your way to the front, oblivious to your presence or from where you just exited from. You approach the counter where your case of Truly still sits. Joel is back up on his perch with his ragged boots propped on the bottom rung of the stool, the Playboy suitably stashed away from sight. 

“Get everything you need?” He asks coolly, a coy smile playing at his lips. 

“Um, two packs of Marlboro Reds, please,” You answer softly, your voice cracking slightly and prompting you to clear your throat. 

Joel nods with that grin still in place, spinning on his seat and snagging the cigarettes. He tilts the cartons to and from his head in some semblance of a saluting gesture and places them on top of the seltzers. “Pleasure doin’ business with ya, darlin’. Come back anytime.”

Your eyes involuntarily flit toward his crotch and back up. A spark lights back up in your chest and you grant him a playful smirk. “I just might.”

Part 2

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us #tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #katy wroted fic

[shellxrls]

BABYTRAP !

— r. cameron

synopsis: rafe cameron x fem!reader… stumbling upon your ex at a party, you can’t help but fall into the trap of sleeping with him at least once more.

warnings: manipulative!reader / exgf!reader / babytrapping / aggressive, unprotected sex / dubcon (rafe is high & drunk) / mentions of substances such as weed and alcohol

a mixture of masculine cologne and the unseemly combination of alcohol and weed — you could smell rafe before he stumbled into you. he was being forced out one of the rooms lining the hallway of tannyhill, a crass hand shoving him out while he muttered a stream of curses in retort and attempted to single-handedly rebuckle his belt over his sagging trousers.

considering you were just about deeming your search for him futile, you seemed to have lucked out, grabbing the hand that had now moved on to buttoning his shirt. and cooing at his face, “she seemed like a bitch, wanna hang with me for a while rafe?”

his lips draw into a line at first, tension lining his face as he weighs up his options, but you pout your lips and pull down your shirt and once his eyes gravitate towards your tits, he lets you lead him into a private room.

“wanna tell me what happened?” you nod towards his haphazardly buttoned shirt, raising your eyebrows in question.

“nah,” he slurs his words a bit, torso leaning towards you until his head was looming over your own, “bought me in here to fuck hmm?”

you pause, slightly taken aback at his blunt nature — but it was rafe, so it’s not like you expected any less, it wasn't a surprise that the combination of intoxicators floating in his system had only made him more prone to aggression.

“c’mon tell me i’m wrong,” he pushes, heaving his body closer until he was shoving into your chest and you could feel his liqueur-stained breath on your cheeks.

he wasn't exactly wrong, but that didn't mean you weren't ready to retaliate, “gonna fuck me like you mean it this time? or you gonna cum before you make me like i bet you did with that girl earlier?”

“fuck you. actin’— actin’ as if i didn’t do enough for you while we were dating, always comin’ to me about some stupid shit ‘n crying, now i’m in the wrong?”

before he’s realised he’s driven your back into the headboard, spitting in your face with the mass of unresolved emotion bubbling to the surface— yes you were his ex, but more often than not it seemed like it was built on the foundation of mutually beneficial emotional support, fixing each others faults in a way.

sighing, you can’t help but tongue your cheek, you wanted a quick (and good) fuck, not to be forced into listening to his critiques of your side of the relationship, “you done yet?”

“mmh,” he grunts, clearly riled up “imma show you who’s fucking done.”

with that he’s straddling you over the bed, your back pushed into now mussed sheets and eyes already glazing over in preparation for the intensity of his sexual frustration.

hastily, he drags down your panties and discards your dress into some crevice of the carpeted floor, wordlessly manhandling his palms over your body, just feeling— reminiscing.

“fuckin’ hate you,” he huffs clearly exasperated at the weakness of his own will as he jerks himself against your slit, coating himself in the arousal glazing your pussy to prepare both of you for the stretch.

you both sigh when he finally gets it in, whinging until he’s reached the hilt and his balls are meeting your ass.

“missed you rafe,” you hum, creeping a hand to his lower back to push him in closer, encouraging him to start thrusting.

he smirks a little, eyes flickering in cynical joy, “forgot how easy you’re swayed with just some dick, princess.”

you mewl at the nickname, patting him on the back for penance when he increases his pace, the sound of skin-on-skin overtaking the bass leaking through the door and forcing punched out whines and whimpers to exit your mouth— noises of pure and utter degradation, all at the mercy of rafe’s cock.

rafe’s nearing the edge soon, you can feel it from the way he throbs and somehow grows heavier inside of you, and so you clench a couple times to motivate him, forcing higher pitched noises out of your mouth to which his own lips contort into pleasured grunts.

“fuck ‘m gonna cum baby, you’re close right? fuck, yeah you’re close,” the words tumble out of his mouth, his pelvis clenching tighter.

ever so slightly sex-dazed, you struggle to form the words, but once you finally regain your motive, a line of “love you rafe, i love you, iloveyou” ‘s spew out of your mouth, just in time to have him gasping around air and looking utterly confused as he’s forced into cumming.

before he has time to regain his bearings and pull out, you wrap your legs around his torso, digging your heels into the meat and repeating your prior words. constraining him into cumming deep inside of you, trapped into rutting it back into your pussy, oversensitive dick going flush at the base and squelching perversely while cum trickled out of you and oozed onto the sheets, sticking to your thighs and his crotch.

“fuck, ‘m sorry- i— i just, i got so.., you love me?”

“mhm rafey. gonna have all your babies now right? so we’re gonna have to love each other,” you faux pout, patting at your stomach and gathering his trembling hand to finger his release back into you.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe smut #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron smut #obx smut #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron one shot #rafe cameron drabble #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron thoughts #rafe cameron x reader smut #rafe x reader smut

[perlelune]

Training Wheels | Coriolanus Snow | iv.

Your mother's macabre work never appealed to you as you always preferred the comfort of your books, but when her apprentice takes a special interest in you, your safe, quiet world is flipped upside down.

Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Gaul!Reader, Shy Reader, Manipulation, Parental Neglect, Drinking, Peer Pressure, Hazing, University set, Loss of Virginity, Dumbification, Insecurities, Abusive Relationship, Degradation, Suicide Attempt

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

“Oh, do you mind if we take a little break?” Clemensia asks almost as soon as you’ve begun working on the task she gave you. You blink, a little confused as your gaze roams across the table. There’s still so much to do. You’re not sure if the girls are just that slow but it’s clear that it will take at least a few hours to get all of it done.

But Clemensia is in charge of the ball committee. You don’t picture yourself telling her what to do or how to do it. After all, you are an outsider. A foreign element infiltrating their ecosystem. You have to play by their rules.

If they want to take a break, who are you to argue with that?

You begin to rise.

“Oh, a break, sure…”

Clemensia’s lips pinch as you try to follow them. “It’s just that…we’ve been doing this for so long, all by ourselves. I even broke a nail.” She pouts, showing you her hands. “But it needs to be finished today.” She nibbles her bottom lip and sighs, eyes pleading yours. “If no one stays behind…”

You mull it over. While you’re not thrilled over the idea of working on the decorations by yourself, you did just get here. You suppose you could hold the fort while they stretch their legs…or whatever Clemensia and her friends like to do when they hang out.

“I guess I could stay,” you concede.

Clemensia flashes you a broad grin.

“You’re so sweet,” she chimes. “Thank you. We won’t be long, promise. Ten minutes tops.”

You shrug and return to your chair. Ten minutes. That sounds reasonable. You pick up the scissors and start cutting more of the tree shapes. 

“No problem.”

But one issue arises. 

The promised ten minutes expand into thirty. Then an hour. Then two. At first, you don’t let your mind dissect it too hard. It’s a stupid thing to overthink, isn’t it? A silly thing to chop into pieces until your mind bleeds with doubt and insecurity. You surmise it was more of an approximation. People do that all the time, say something while meaning another. At least you believe they do. Besides, you find ways to keep yourself busy, even getting started on the sparkly globes lying on the side of the room. You figure out how to use most of the tools on your own and get wrapped in your own bubble of quietness. 

Silence is a familiar companion, the one constant that never judged you, never asked for more of you. In your Silence, you get to be you. Nothing more; nothing less. So you let yourself sink in its warm, snug embrace.

Still, somewhere in the back of your mind, thoughts meander passively… What is taking them so long? You steal a glance outside the window. Orange and purple hues are already bleeding into the sky, a sign of the evening nearing its end. 

You retrieve your pocket watch from inside your skirt. A frown wrinkles your brow. At a time like this, you would usually be home, curled up with Walter on your bed as you go over your notes for the week. It often takes you hours just to decipher the course transcripts. 

“Wow, you did such a great job,” Clemensia whistles from behind you. 

You gasp and whirl. All smiles, the girls fill your sight.

They approach the table and examine some of the decorations you put together on your own. Realization sweeps through you as the fog of your thoughts clear. It didn’t hit you before, not until you absorbed the current state of the crafts table, brimming with the results of your solitary labor. You’ve been busy. Spinning crystal balls, pine cones, silvery garlands and a heap of snowflakes meant to hang on the walls and ceiling. Clemensia admires your handiwork, seemingly impressed. 

A little peeved, you point out, “I mean…had you guys even started? Most of the decorations needed to be cut, glued or assembled…”

“I have delicate hands,” Livia sighs, examining her manicured nails. 

“I’m very slow, sorry,” Ivy says apologetically.

Your frown deepens. Was this whole thing a setup? You sacrificed precious time to be here and you shudder to think the entire purpose of your presence is some kind of childish prank. 

Coriolanus’ words echo in your mind. He argued the girls weren’t like that and that they left the immature tricks back at the Academy. You truly want to believe that none of this is designed to embarrass you, that perhaps, again, all of this is in your head. But your aching fingers, sore from doing crafts most of the afternoon, suggestotherwise.

Unleashing a sigh, you gather your satchel and head towards the exit. 

Clemensia obstructs your path, holding up her hands in apology. 

“I know we should have been back earlier. I’m so sorry. We ran into the Dean and it turned into a whole thing.” She seizes your hands, remorse twisting her pretty features. “I feel so horrible. I invited you so we could do it together as friends.”

Your shoulders slump. As you soak in the look of genuine contrition on her face, doubts lurk inside you. Your confidence about being the victim of some prank wavers. Perhaps, you overreacted. Incidents happen. Besides, the chances of you joining Clemmie’s committee are slim, as you’re already swamped with assignments. A promise was made and you kept it. But this likely will be a one time thing. School dances are at the bottom of your priority list right now.

So you discard it all with a wave of your hand and a contrived smile.

“It’s okay. No apology needed. It’s not your fault.” You note how much darker it’s gotten outside. “I should go back home though. It’s already so late-”

Clemensia stops you again, her hand tightening around yours as she offers excitedly, “Wait, you should come to game night at Liv’s.”

“What?” Livia snickers. Clemensia shoots her a withering glare and the blonde clears her throat, correcting herself, “I mean…yeah, you totally should come.”

You fidget and adjust the strap of your satchel. You may have heard whispers of those game nights. Mystique surrounds them as only a few chosen people are invited to attend. You, of course, were never invited. And it isn’t hard to gather how Livia feels about you coming from her reaction. Why force your way into places where you aren’t wanted?

“I’m already behind on my revising for the day. If I don’t go over my Molecular-”

“Boring,” Ivy sings sarcastically.

“Don’t be mean, Ivy,” Clemensia scolds, elbowing her in the rib.

Clemensia tilts her head, her tone turning beseeching.

“Please…I really want to get to know you better.” She huffs out a long breath as she seems to sense your hesitation. The brunette leans closer, hands clutching your forearms. Sympathy twinkles in her onyx orbs. “You know, I used to be a lot like you. Always striving to be the best at everything I do.” A hollow giggle slips through her lips. “It’s how I got in trouble with your mother actually…I wanted to win so badly and she decided to teach me a lesson.” Sadness pinches her delicate features. “But by always striving for greatness, you miss out on life. I learnt that during the Games...”

“...Surviving isn’t living.”

She studies you before saying, “And it’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? Surviving.”

Eyes on the ground, you chew on your lip. You never imagined someone like Clemensia Dovecote - the most beautiful, popular girl at the University - could feel this way…let alone relate to you.

“Clemmie…”

She hunkers a little so your eyes meet.

“Come on, I really want to make up for today.” She laughs. “Show you I’m not a bitch.”

“I don’t think you’re a bitch,” you say.

She places her palm on your cheek. “See? You’re so nice. That’s why I want us to be friends.” She bends over your ear, the words she mutters almost too quiet to be heard, “I can barely stand those two on most days, but appearances must be kept.”

Your gaze swings upward, shock pulsing through you.

She beams at you. “It’ll be an intimate gathering of just a select group, close friends. We play cards, chat, and have a few drinks. That’s it.”

Your forehead creases.

“I don’t drink.”

Squeezing your shoulders, she assures you, “Then I’ll make sure not a drop of alcohol passes your lips. Promise.”

“It’s casual, I swear. You can even leave early if you want.” 

This grabs your attention, as you aren’t sure you’ll make it through the night without craving to return to the safe, familiarity of your apartment. The potential for escape makes the offer far more enticing.

Obviously, Clemensia cares about you showing up. While you don’t fully grasp why, you also never had anyone go out of their way to spend time with you. During the Academy days, everyone avoided you like the plague, either finding you odd or fearing you were as terrifying as your mother. The University doesn’t seem much different so far, groups having already formed from previous camaraderie. Bonds that were forged years ago and cemented over time while you endured in the back of the class. The forgotten one. And you always figured it is the most you can aspire for. Being ignored and left alone.

Until now.

“Really?”

Clemensia’s smile widens.

“Yes. You can stay as long as you want and leave.”

“I don’t have anything to wear to a party,” you muse, pursing your lips. Your tiny, limited wardrobe has always prioritized function over fashion. There are your Academy uniforms, a few loose, unflattering clothes you rotate between. A single formal dress more suited for a funeral than a game night. Nothing impressive because you never had anyone to impress.

You also have no sense of fashion, the trends shifting too quickly for you to keep up. So you’ve stopped trying to. 

“Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out,” she chimes. “The girls and I always get ready at each other’s house anyway. And you’re one of the girls now.”

You peer down at you and Clemensia’s entwined hands. One of the girls. No one’s ever spoken about you that way. As if your mere presence made something better, uplifting it instead of leading it to its ruin. As if you were solid, more than a wisp of air, a waste of breath. As if you mattered. So, despite the sizzling weight of Livia’s blue eyes on you, you smile back at Clemmie and give a bashful nod.

Your eyes feast on every detail of Clemensia’s living room as you enter her home. Her parents’ apartment is every bit as large and opulent as you imagined. Every exquisite detail screams wealth. The unabashed, showy kind that stoked the embers of bitter unfairness in the Districts, leading the Capitol to where it is today. A city risen from the ashes. Your attention lingers on the expensive artwork exposed in glass cabinets. A lot of it appears to be memorabilia from before the war. You’re willing to bet the combined value of every overpriced trinket in the house could feed an entire District. Paintings of Clemmie’s illustrious ancestors hang over the damask walls, their stern stares seeming to follow you. Almost as if they were ready to leap from the eroded gilded frames and berate you for being an intruder in their family home.

Clemensia tugs you along.

“What are you dawdling for? Come on,” she urges. 

You trail behind her as she takes you to her bedroom. You smile when you see it. The somber, tasteful hues are so very her. The hinges of her wardrobe whine as she opens the large, wooden doors. A vertiginous row of clothes crowd your sight. You gawk, a little amazed but also slightly terrified. Who needs this many clothes? A sour expression scrunches her features.

“I know,” she sighs, placing a hand on her hip. “This is a little embarrassing. Most of these are soo last season.”

You tilt your head at her dizzying collection of shoes, clothes, accessories…the kind a legion of girls would kill for.

“Right,” you blindly agree. Nevermind you can’t even tell the difference. You glance around. “Shouldn’t Livia and Ivy be here too?”

Her brow twitches as she sits on her massive canopy bed. She pats the spot next to her and you awkwardly plop down. The plush silk and soft mattress dip under your weight.

“We decided to meet later,” she reveals. She pauses, a heavy sigh fluttering through her painted red lips before adding, “Besides, I told them to be nicer to you and they got upset and pretended not to know what I was talking about.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble.

She waves her manicured hand dismissively.

“No, don’t be. This isn’t your fault.” Clemensia licks her lips, her face etched with reflection, as if she were assessing the weight of her words before releasing them. Her hand settles on your arm.

“Look, here’s the thing. Livia’s had a crush on Coriolanus since he returned and they had a sort of fling.” Your mouth drops open. This is news to you. You didn’t catch any hint of lingering longing between the two back at their lunch table. But now that you’re mulling it over, perhaps…Perhaps, Livia’s eyes kept seeking Coriolanus’, while his treaded their own path, never crossing hers. “Things were going pretty well...for a little while. But then, you came along.”

Your brows furrow. “What does this have to do with anything?”

Clemensia’s bell-like laughter resonates in the room.

“God, you’re a sweet thing…just like Snow said.” She beams at you. “Don’t worry. Liv will get over it. She’s all bark and no bite, trust me.”

Her attention travels to the dark fabric peeking from your bag.

“What’s that?” she asks, pulling out the garment.

“The only dress I have.”

She inspects it with a displeased frown.

“Were you planning on wearing this?” She shakes her head as your mouth clamps shut. “Oh, this will not do.”

She takes your hand and drags you to her wardrobe. Brow wrinkled in concentration, she rummages through a numberless heap of garments.

“I have some clothes that my cousin left,” she explains while frantically searching. After a while, victory flares in her orbs. She unhooks a sleek, crimson dress with a tight bodice and flowing sleeves from a hanger. She holds it against your body, chiming, “She’s about your size so they should fit you.” 

“I can’t accept this, Clemmie.”

You attempt to push her hands away but the brunette shoves it in your arms, insisting on you at least trying it on. You press the soft fabric between your fingers. It’s more revealing and form-fitting than you’re used to. You gather it would cling to your body like a second skin…one you aren’t used to wearing. Still, you must admit that it’s a lovely dress. One that could look good even on you. Temptation claws at your resolve, digging deeper and deeper grooves, right into every insecurity you ever had. That thing other girls had that always eluded you. That little secret you were never privy to. The key to that door that never opened. The dress is the key. And you find yourself unable to resist turning the lock to find out what secrets lie beyond that mysterious door.

Beneath Clemmie’s eager stare, you remove your clothes and slip on the dress.

Smug satisfaction hovers on her lips as you peer at your reflection. Words fizzle out on your tongue. You are looking at a complete stranger.

Clemmie rests her chin on your shoulder. “See? I knew it.”

She then has you sit at her vanity to help you do your makeup. Do your makeup…The words sound alien even in the private confines of your thoughts.

As she draws a neat black line over your eyelids, she says, “It hasn’t been long since makeup’s returned to the Capitol again. It used to be near impossible to find.” When she’s done, she turns you towards the vanity mirror. “Those colors will bring out your eye shape and color.”

The air leaves your lungs in a quick rush. You lean closer to the mirror, once again in disbelief that you are truly looking at your own face.

Fingers twisting the delicate fabric of the dress, you pivot to Clemmie.

“Why are you so nice to me?” you blurt out.

Her eyes widen briefly before her expression softens.

“You remind me of me.”

Confusion surges through you. There is an ocean of glaring differences between you and Clemmie, one you couldn’t swim through if you tried. 

“What?”

“Believe it or not, I wasn’t always this confident.”

Your brows knit, Clemmie’s statement making little sense. If confidence wore a face and had a name, it’d be Clemensia Dovecote’s.

Gripping your shoulders, she turns your focus back onto your dolled-up appearance.

“Alright. Look in the mirror, what do you see?”

You blink. You see a girl playing dress-up, pretending, but you don’t utter those words aloud. They sound lame, even in your own head.

“Nothing,” you tritely respond, dipping your head.

She lifts your chin, moving her head to disagree.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Her eyes twinkle. “I see infinite potential. So stop selling yourself short.” Covering her mouth, she laughs. “His jaw is going to drop.”

“Whose jaw?”

She smirks at you. “You know whose jaw.”

Heat sneaks inside your face.

You fidget in the chair. It’s not like what he thinks matters, right? He is no one to you, just that boy with the unsettling blue stare who won’t leave you be for some strange reason. 

So why is there a tiny shiver of excitement coursing through your veins when the thought of him seeing you like that permeates your brain?

A vigorous gust of common sense sweeps away your wayward musings. 

You don’t care what he thinks. Of course you don’t.

“I-It’s not really my style,” you stammer as you get to your feet.

The sparkle in her onyx orbs doesn’t waver.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have a style yet…so how would you even know?”

“Shouldn’t we be at Livia’s already?” you ask, hoping to steer the conversation in another direction.

She considers you as if you were the most endearing thing in the world. She grabs your hands. “Here’s another rule. Never be on time for anything.” A haughty smirk creeps upon her red lips. “Make them wait for you, not the other way around.” She cocks her head. “One of the things about confidence is knowing that you are the sun, and standing in your orbit is a rare privilege.” She scoffs, “People should feel lucky you even bothered showing up.”

 She approaches you and touches up parts of your hair, visibly elated with the result.

“Perfect,” she trills. “Like I said…potential.”

She herself finishes getting ready. As you absently meander about her room, the doorbell chimes. 

Clemmie pauses as she applies powder on her face. She sets aside her makeup tools and escorts you to the lobby, arm threaded with yours.

“Must be our chauffeur,” she states.

Your eyes round. “You have a chauffeur?”

She cloisters herself in cryptic silence, humming as she drags you along.

When the brunette swings the door open, a towering, familiar figure darkening her doorway, time hangs still for a few seconds.

Your mouth opens wide enough to catch flies.

A smug smile unfurls on his lips.

“Angel,” he greets, gaze locking with yours as he completely ignores Clemmie.

Her sharp irritated tone shatters the spell.

“You’re late, Snow.”

Coriolanus snickers. 

“As if you’re ever on time.”

You trail behind Clemmie as she and Coriolanus keep bantering, his presence still swaddling you in sheer shock. When she tries to take the passenger seat, he drapes a placating hand over hers.

She rolls her eyes and begrudgingly heads to the back of the car.

He opens the car door for you. Recalling the fruitlessness of arguing with him, you climb into the seat. Still, saying you feel awkward riding in the front while the brunette is sulking in the backseat would be a massive understatement.

Few words can accurately describe how peculiar all of this is for you.

“You look surprised,” Coriolanus notes as he takes his own seat and slams the door shut. Your heart misses a beat when his hot breath caresses your earshell. “I did say I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

You look down at your lap. Breathing is laborious, the air in the vehicle coated with the lingering smell of his pricey cologne. You are literally choking on Coriolanus Snow with every breath you take.

“Will you just drive, Snow?” Clemmie snaps, crossing her arms.

“Relax. Patience is a virtue,” he says, not sparing her a glance, zeroing in on you instead. The drumming of your heart swells to an uproar in your ears when he reaches across your body. You hold still while he ties your seatbelt for you. Blue eyes rake over your form in brazen appraisal, his deep voice lowering. “And good things come to those who wait.”

#dark!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games #tbosas fanfiction #dark!coriolanus snow x reader

[poeticpascal]

I've Got You (Dbf!Joel Miller x Reader)

Masterlist | Request here!

Summary: When a date set up by your father goes wrong, your secret boyfriend and Dad's best friend races to protect you.

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: smut, 18+, MDNI, attempted sexual assault, abusive language, reader's date is a tory prick, soft!dom!Joel, blowjob, unprotected sex, use of pet names.

A/n: So... this is my first time writing smut. I am super proud of this one, so please let me know what you think! Requests are open so for more Joel/Pedro action, you know where to find me x

Dating your Dad’s best friend is hard. And stupid. Really, you have no clue why either of you thought this'd be a good idea. But you were so far down this path now, so entangled in late night meet-ups and whispered phone calls and unspoken thoughts that sounded a lot like ‘I love you’, that it was too late to turn around and steer the sinking ship of this utter mess back to shore.

More than anything, you hate not having any normalcy with him. You can’t fall straight into his arms after a hard day. You can’t cuddle into his side with a bowl of popcorn watching crappy weeknight telly. You can’t go to the store together, holding hands and making him laugh as you insist on buying a flavour of ice cream that you know he’d love. And it sucks.

Because everyone said Joel would never be one to settle down. He’s too wild, too rough to fit into a polished little box like that. And you’d thought the same. Until you fucked him, then fucked him again, and kept going back until you could see the pain in his eyes each time you left. You could practically feel the heaviness settle in his stomach as you left his bed to sneak back home. It hurts him as much as it does you, and if you weren’t so incredibly in love with him, that would’ve been enough to make you run.

Despite how long you’d kept this going now, a good 6 months at least, it never got any easier. Especially when your Dad started talking about dating. He was protective, but more than anything he wanted to see you happy. So when you suddenly became distant, hiding in your room more often and going out on dates much less, he was concerned. Nowhere near as concerned as he’d be if he found out why you were acting that way, you thought, but concerned all the same.

So when he came home one day, beaming and shouting for you to come downstairs, you thought nothing of it. When he explained there was a new apprentice at his work that he thinks you’d like, you weren’t surprised. And when he told you he’d set up a blind date with said boy, you felt sick.

Because you really couldn’t get out of it. You tried.

“Dad, I just don’t feel like dating right now.”

“Oh come on, you used to have a new date every few weeks. I’m just worried about you. Matthew's really nice, and he likes the same shitty music you do-”

“It’s good music.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I just…” he paused, his worry painted on his face, and there's no way you could’ve said no to him. “Honey, I want you to be happy. I don’t know what’s gotten into you recently” - your best friend, you thought - “but I just need to know you’re okay. So give this a go, for me, alright? And if you have an awful time, that’s it, I’ll never set you up again.”

You sighed. He was right; it’s just one night, one date. One box you have to tick to relieve the pressure that comes from having an affair with your next door neighbour, the one more than twice your age, the one your Dad would call a brother. And besides, your Dad would be working an overnight job, so you’d be spending the night at Joel’s anyway. Something to look forward to.

“Okay, yeah. I’ll go. For you.”

He pulled you in for a hug, tight, and you hugged him right back because you really do hate having to keep this from him. He pulled away, smiling - “great! It’s tonight at 7. He’ll pick you up.”

“You already arranged it?!” You near enough shrieked, but he’d already sauntered off to the kitchen, giggling as he went. 

Typical.

So that’s how you ended up here, at 6:55pm, waiting by the front door for Marcus - or Michael, or something like that - to pick you up. Your phone buzzes, Joel’s name flashing on the screen, that alone making you feel that much calmer.

You’d text him as soon as you talked to your Dad, letting him know about the date. He understood, and you loved that about him; he was mature, compassionate, and he was more than secure in the fact that no matter who you talked to, who flirted with you on nights out, who you were set up with… you’d always come back to him. 

Don’t worry about tonight, baby. It’ll go quickly. I’ll leave the door unlocked for when you get back. Text me if you need picking up. J x

You smile at his initial at the end - it’s such a Dad thing to do, but it makes you happy, especially when he adds a little kiss. He only does that for you.

The sudden sound of a car door closing snaps you out of your thoughts, Joel’s text left on read as what you assume to be your date heads up the driveway. You take a deep, nervous breath, smoothing out your dress and heading to the door just in time for his knock.

You open the door, take a good look at your date, and he’s… okay. Not unattractive, per se. Though you’d come to accept a little while ago that being with Joel had soured your perception of pretty much every other guy. His dusty blonde hair is slicked back with gel, his teeth are way too white, and he’s dripped in designer clothing that just screams, “I have a trust fund.”

“Oh, hi! I’m Matthew.” Right. Matthew. “You must be (Y/N).” He leans in to peck your cheek, and all you can think about is how smooth his skin is as it grazes yours. Nothing like Joel’s coarse stubble that you love so much - especially when it leaves red patches on your cheeks, and your neck, and if you’re really lucky -

Matthew leans back a little, confused, and you’re brought out of your daydream. “Sorry, yeah, that’s me. (Y/N).” 

Well, that was awkward.

You just need to get through these next few hours, you think to yourself, smiling at the boy and letting him lead you out of the house and into his car. You can’t help but glance towards Joel’s place across the street; it looks quiet tonight, though his truck is in the driveway, and as soon as you look up you’re sure you catch the living room blinds suddenly draw shut. You smirk.

──────

The date was going… okay. About as okay as a date you don’t want to be on, with someone you have no interest in, and another man constantly on your mind could go. You could see why your Dad liked him; smart enough, well-polished. His father was a partner in the company, you learned - oh, he’s a ‘Daddy’s credit card’ type you’d thought - and by all intents and purposes he was the sort of guy any parent would hope to see their daughter end up with.

It’s never that easy though, is it?

Because he isn’t rough around the edges like Joel. He doesn’t have his stature, or carry himself with the same brute certitude. You can’t imagine him fucking you up against the wall, working himself up until he’s almost animalistic, somehow using you and worshipping you at the same time. And you can’t see him wrapping you up so tightly afterwards, holding you close and whispering how good you were for me, how proud of you I am.

No, only Joel could do that, and that’s how you like it.

The bill comes, Matthew suggests you split it. You don’t mind. He takes out his credit card, flashing it in front of you. “This is my Dad’s. I can use it as much as I want.” He’s smirking like he’s got something to be proud of, and you really had to fight the urge to roll your eyes. Instead you just smile, before paying your share and making small talk as you head out the door and towards his car.

“So, I thought we could head back to my place.”

You freeze. Yeah, no, not gonna happen. He’s got this shit-eating grin on his face, one you knew all too well from past college boyfriends - that’s a boy who thinks he’s getting some tonight. You shudder, wrapping your arms around your waist and trying to sound sincere as you reply, “this has been lovely, but I’ve got an appointment early in the morning” - not really a lie, if staying in bed with a man over twice your age getting fucked or cuddled or both counts as an appointment - “so I’d rather just head home.”

You reach for the passenger side door, but it’s locked. You try again, pulling on the handle, but it doesn’t budge. You realise then that he’s stepped closer, too close, crowding your vision as you turn to face him while keeping one hand on the door’s handle. He leans an arm against the roof of the car, right beside your head, staring you down. 

“Oh, come on, (Y/N). I’ve got the house to myself tonight, it’ll just be us. I know that’s what you want, don’t be shy.”

His free hand pinches your chin, his touch aggressive where Joel’s is rough but careful, and he tries to close the already too-small gap between you.

You dodge him quickly, slipping out from under his arm and backing up, away from the car, away from him. Matthew just watches you, incredulous, before laughing to himself and taking a step forward. “Look, baby, I know you want this. What is it, are you scared your daddy’s gonna find out?”

“What? No, I-” you splutter, but he interrupts.

“Get in the car, (Y/N). You don’t have to worry about anyone finding out. I can see the way you look at me, I bet you’re dying to fu-”

A heavy sickness has flooded your stomach, your nerves shot from the sudden escalation of what was supposed to be a quiet, albeit tedious, night. But his words hit you, and before you can even think, you’re shouting back at him. 

“You seriously think I want to fuck you? You can’t even pay your half of the bill with your own money. Fuck that. I’ll make my own way home.”

The smug look on his face is quickly washed away with anger, and you continue to slowly step backwards as Matthew follows you. A lick of fear sets in now as the pale streetlights cast shadows on his darkened expression, and you scold yourself for opening your mouth.

“The fuck did you just say to me? Do you know who my Dad is?” - this really isn’t a good time to roll your eyes - “You think you’re too good for me, you bitch? I’ll show you.”

He stalks you, and your eyes frantically dart back to the restaurant you’d just left, though you’d backtracked far enough to be almost at the door again.

People are dining and laughing, some just sitting and watching the world go by. You’re well within their view, and you turn back to see that Matthew’s gaze has followed your own and he’s connected the dots. He can’t do anything in front of them. He locks eyes with you again, scoffing, heading back to his car and loudly shouting something that sounded a lot like “fuckin’ bitch.” Nice.

He drives away; you’re safe, out of the situation, and as the relief floods you the adrenaline does too and tears prick at your eyes. You sit on a small bench just outside the restaurant, dotted with shrubbery and stains from spilt drinks you assume, and take out your phone.

Your last chat with Joel is already open, and you breathe slowly in an attempt to still your shaking hands as you type quickly,

Please come and get me. He was trying to get me to go back with him. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’s gone now but I have no ride home.

The text is marked as ‘read’ almost as soon as you send it, though you receive no reply. You didn’t expect to; Joel wasn’t much of a texter. Like, at all. He was slowly getting used to it, what with it being one of the only ways you could really talk when slipping over to his place was too risky. 

In this particular instance, you already knew he’d have read the text, dropped his phone without a second thought and hurried to his truck while muttering to himself what he’s gonna do to the kid, how he won’t see what’s comin’ to him.

Just how badly Joel might react worries you. He’s protective, incredibly so when it comes to you, and that combined with his white hot temper was surely a recipe for some sort of disaster.

Secretly, though, you loved it. And so as you sat on that little bench, frosty air nipping at your skin, you couldn’t help but revel in the warmth that pooled in your core at the thought of what sort of beast Joel would become tonight.

──────

It only takes him around 10 minutes to reach you, and you know for a fact he must’ve ran a red light or two because normally it’s a 20 minute drive at least into town. You stand, walking over to his truck, but before you can hop in he’s already storming out and wrapping you up in his arms, shielding you, eyes darting across the street.

“Where the fuck is he?”

“Joel, I-”

“(Y/N) where the fuck is he? I’m gonna kill that little bastard. Fucking-”

His body is tense, far more so than usual, and anger pours from him in buckets. You pull away to look up at him, his eyes still searching for the boy long gone, and you sigh. “He’s gone, Joel. He left.”

He finally meets your eyes, a cold frown etched on his face, and he somehow looks even angrier than usual. “Did he touch you?” His hands roam your body, searching for you didn’t know what, but you let him do whatever he needed to relax. To know you were safe.

“No, Joely, he didn’t. I’m fine, I promise.”

It usually softens him right up, your little nickname for him. Joely. The first few times you used it, he’d just scoff or roll his eyes, but the small smirk that crept onto his face each time let you know he loved it. Quite how much he loved it was a different story; you hadn’t got together then, though the both of you wanted it, and as your relationship blossomed you became the only one he ever let call him anything other than Joel.

It doesn’t work this time, though, and he remains stern, finally letting you go and searching your eyes for even a hint of anxiety or fear. “What happened?”

“He tried it on, I said no. He tried again, I backed up and made sure there were people watching,” you nod towards the restaurant, still bustling with life. “And he left.”

Joel nods. “You tell him to fuck off?”

“‘Course i did.” 

It seems as if he finally lets up then, giving you a proper hug, one arm around your neck and the other around your waist. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, hard, and the tension leaves him. “That’s my girl.”

You squeeze him tight, burrowing into his shirt and inhaling the scent of him that you loved so much. With one arm around your shoulders, he guides you back to his truck, opening the door for you and helping you. He does it everytime, but it still makes you blush, and you’re sure his lips smirk slightly as your cheeks turn red. Worth it.

The ride back to home is quiet, only the sound of his radio and passing traffic echoing between you. He keeps a hand on your knee, always protective, and every now and then you rub your palm over it to let him know you appreciate it. To say thank you.

Joel was never good with words, and you’d learned over the last few months just how much he relies on touch to express himself. To show love. You’d picked up on his habits, his little signs, his way of telling you his deepest thoughts without having to speak a word.

And when you reciprocated, when you wrapped your hand around his, or brushed his side at the neighbours’ BBQ, or kissed his shoulder in the kitchen, you knew just what it meant to him.

Your driveway is empty as Joel turns onto your street - your Dad must have set off for work already. You sigh in relief; you didn’t have the energy to explain all this to him, and certainly not the energy to try and sneak into Joel’s without him seeing.

Joel steps out first, taking a quick look around to make sure no nosey neighbours were watching, a precaution you were both used to by now. He grabs the door for you again, holding your hand and helping you out, holding you close to his side as he unlocks the door and you both slip inside.

“What do you want to drink?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

He pauses, looking at you, concerned. ”No. You need somethin’ to drink. You need to- to lie down, or somethin’.”

You follow him into the kitchen as he stalks past you, not giving you time to answer and filling a glass with water and ice. “Drink,” he hands it to you.

You take it, thanking him and sipping as he watches. It’s sweet; he cares about you, so much, and when he looks at you like this you can’t help but feel butterflies swirl in your stomach.

“I’m sorry.” It’s almost a whisper, so quiet you wouldn’t have heard if it weren’t so still already in his house.

“Hm?” You look at him, confused.

“I’m sorry he did that to you. S’not - s’not right. I mean, shit, what if you couldn’t get away?” He was spiralling.

“Hey, hey. Joel, it’s okay. I’m okay.” You set down the glass and take him in your arms. He calms, instantly, holding you tightly against him and cupping the back of your head with his hand.

“You shouldn’t have had to go through that.”

“I know.”

He sighs. “I just wanna protect you, honey.”

“I know.”

He pulls back to look at you, framing your face with his hands and running his thumbs along the edge of your cheekbones.  You lean in, letting his lips capture yours in that sweet but desperate way that only Joel can, and moan into his mouth. He slips his tongue against yours, letting one arm fall to your waist as his hand lingers around the hem of your jeans.

The kiss becomes desperate and you reach for his belt, your arousal becoming unbearable as the memory of him so full of anger and protectiveness spins in your mind like a carousel. He breaks the kiss and you groan, chasing his swollen lips with yours.

“We don’t have to do this.” His southern drawl is slick with need, his eyes closed as he rests his forehead against yours. The moment is so sweet, so intimate, that any thoughts of what had happened today were long gone and your mind was full with sweepings of him.

“I want to.”

He grunts, pushing himself further into you so his nose brushes yours like a cat. So much so, you almost purr into him, and it makes you giggle. You curse yourself as he pulls back, cocking an eyebrow and giving you that stare you’d come to know all too well; you’re a pain in my ass, it says. But the corners of his lips turn upwards, and you step forward so you’re once again pressed right up against him, pressing gentle kisses to his jaw.

“You’ve had a big shock today, sweetheart,” he sighs.

You know he’s given up. You know he needs this as much as you do. But you humour him, and tip his head down so you can kiss his lips again. 

“So make me forget.”

It snaps something within him, and you shriek as Joel sweeps you up in his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist in instinct and your head burying itself in his neck. He laughs at the sound you make, something you’d always known to be so rare for him, but that he does far more often now he has you. 

He carries you upstairs, gripping your thighs with his large hands, and the way he holds you so easily just turns you on more. He kicks his bedroom door open, all but throwing you on the bed and watching as you bounced softly on the sheets, undoing his belt that was already half-opened by your shaky hands.

“On your back. Lay your head towards me.”

You did as he said immediately, though your movements were slow, languid. He let you take your time; a part of you thinks he likes to watch you move for him, the way you put on a show, keeping your eyes locked on his and your lips slightly parted and puffy from his kiss. 

You lie on your back, your head dangling off the edge, looking up at him upside down. The hard outline of his cock is just centimetres above you, swollen already, and your desperation to taste it must’ve shown on your face because Joel groans out a soft, strangled “fuck.”

“You need this cock, baby? Need your throat fucked?” You just nod rapidly, desperate for him to do something other than just stand there and watch you, your arousal becoming unbearable. Joel seems to break, too, pulling down his jeans and boxers and gripping his hard length in his hands. 

It’s big at the best of times, but from this angle, his balls level with your eyes and his cock the only thing you can see when you look up at him, it’s painful how bad you need him.

You’d only discovered this position recently, on a night you’d spent at his place while your Dad was away with work, not unlike tonight. Joel had been floored, consumed with pleasure as the stretch of your spine made it so easy for him to slide himself through your mouth and down your throat, the muscles tensing around him and drawing his release much sooner than he’d have liked. 

He slides the head of his cock over your lips, painting them in his precum. You whine, lapping at his taste, desperate but you know better than to lift your hands off the bed. No, you give him control, and he lavishes it.

“Open up, babygirl.”

You comply, parting your lips and moaning as Joel pushes inside, giving you no time to breathe. You try to control yourself, inhaling through your nose and letting your muscles relax before he bottoms out, his groin almost entirely covering your face and your throat full of his thickness. 

It’s filthy, degrading, resigns you to nothing but his to fuck and use as he wants. 

You love it.

“Such a good girl, baby. So good for me, ain’t ya?” You can hardly even nod as your tongue flicks along a particularly swollen vein. He begins to move, pulling out almost entirely before slamming his cock back into your mouth. You moan again, and it hurts, in that delectable way that’ll spend the next few days reminding you of this moment.

Joel’s got one hand on the wooden foot of the bed, keeping himself steady. The other finds its way to your neck, and he stalls as he feels his cock beneath your skin, rapidly pushing in and out. He moans your name, his hips rocking into you harder and harder, chasing a release you knew he wouldn’t let himself have just yet. 

You’re completely at his mercy now, too consumed by his scent and his touch to think, and you hardly register him reaching for your hand and taking it in his own. He starts to mumble, and you only catch a few words - “my good girl. My girl. So- so fuckin’ pretty for me.”

He swells, your tongue working faster against him, his hand squeezing yours and his legs faltering when he suddenly pulls out and stands back with a whimper. Your eyes are glazed over, your sore throat misses him, and your pink swollen lips are trying to say something but you’re not sure what. It feels like his name.

“Come on, pretty girl, come here.” He sits beside you on the edge of the bed, wrapping his big arms around your back and guiding you into his lap. 

His fingers dance over your entrance, collecting the slick that soaked your thighs before pushing a single finger inside, revelling in your arousal. He admires you as you squirm, rolling your hips against his hand, desperate for more and moaning against his lips. 

It’s almost embarrassing how easy you unravel for him, and if it weren’t for your utter infatuation for the man, you’d have hidden your pleasure and at least tried to hold onto some sense of dignity. But you were obsessed, addicted to him, and he knew it. Because god, was he addicted to you, too.

He kisses you, letting another finger slip inside and catching your hiss with his mouth. “So fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, opening his eyes to look at you, his cock twitching against your thigh. 

“Tell me what you need, angel.”

“Y- you, Joel. I need you. Please.” You hardly register yourself saying the words, but they do the trick, as Joel removes his fingers and instead lines the tip of his cock with your soaking wet entrance. 

“Please, please, fuck me. Fuck-” 

He snaps his hips upwards, driving his cock into your cunt and you gasp as he stretches you. You grip at his shoulders, sure to leave marks, but you know he loves it. 

He sets the pace, guiding you to bounce on his cock as his hips snap upwards again and again, fucking you so hard you can almost see stars. 

His head is buried in your neck, kissing and nipping at the delicate skin, and you try to regain some autonomy and roll your hips side to side making him mewl. 

“So - oh, fuck - so good baby, keep doin’ that.” He spurs you on as your breathless moans and the heavy slap of skin on skin fills the room, lewd but addictive.

The pace is brutal, unforgiving as your thighs tremble and you wonder if he’s feeling the burn of his movements. If he does, he doesn’t show it, just ramming into you and moaning your name against your ear. 

His hand falls from your waist and finds its way to your clit, making you gasp as he circles his thumb around the spot. The near pornographic moan that falls from his lips as you roll into his touch is nearly enough to make you cum right there, but you know better than to cum before he tells you to.

Instead he hoists you further up, giving him better control of your hips, and angles his cock so it hits that perfectly raw spot deep inside you that has tears in your eyes.

“I- I’m gonna-” 

“I know, baby. Just hold on for me. I’ve got you.” You cry at his denial, though it’s quickly forgotten as he flips you over onto your back, his head still tucked under the crook of your neck, his cock still buried inside you. He resumes his fast pace, reaching even deeper inside you with your legs locked around his waist, and you moan so loudly you worry someone’s going to hear you.

Joel doesn’t seem to care as he pulls back to look at you, marvelling at how utterly fucked-out you look for him. His pace starts to falter, each thrust more desperate than the last, and he frantically pushes his tongue into your mouth as you moan in unison.

“Cum for me baby, cum all over my cock, that’s it.” You release on command, crying out as waves of pleasure spread like fire through your body, and the uncontrollable spasms of your orgasm make Joel groan as he spills inside you, still rocking into you and carrying both of your highs.

He doesn’t let his cock slip out of you as he wraps an arm under your back and rolls onto his side, holding you close as he brushes the matted hair away from your forehead and replaces it with a soft kiss. You hum, snuggling into him and trying not to gasp at the feeling of his cock inside you while you were still so sensitive. He can see you flinch and smiles, though he just wants you to rest for now.

“You okay, babygirl?” You just hum again, but he taps your chin and you look up. 

“Answer me, angel.”

“I’m good. Tired.”

Joel nods, running his hand through your hair and agreeing, “me too.” 

You’re quiet for a moment, almost dozing off as the heat that radiates from him lulls you gently to seep, when he breaks the silence again. “What’s his name?”

“Hm?” You reply, too fucked-out to really understand what he was saying.

“That little asshole. What’s his name?”

He’s looking down at you, brows knitted together, and you just sigh. “It doesn’t matter, Joel. He doesn’t matter. I promise.”

“But-“

You cut him off with a kiss, and the tension that built in his shoulders is quickly dissipated. “No ‘but’s. Get some sleep.”

“Aright,” he resigns. “I love you.”

It slips out, sudden, and he freezes before he realises the joy that’s spread across your face from his words. It’s the first time either of you have said it, and the way your eyes light up are enough to let him die a happy man. You nuzzle his nose, your hand gently lay on his chest, your eyes falling shut again. “I love you too, Joel.” He wraps you up tighter, grinning, happy. In love.. “And no asking my Dad, either.”

He scoffs, “I wasn’t going to!” You just cock a brow, eyes still shut, and though you can’t see him you know he’s rolling his eyes. “Let me get you cleaned up, sweetheart.” 

He pulls out of you slowly, making you wince at the loss, and sits up on the bed. When you can still feel his weight beside you, you crack an eye open to see him quickly typing something on his phone, and you frown. “Joel?”

He startles and drops his phone, turning to you and kissing the top of your head. “Sorry, baby, I’m going - just gimme a sec to get you a warm cloth.”

As he leaves for the bathroom you snatch his phone, already knowing what he’d done. Your Dad’s name is at the top of the screen, the chat from just moments ago still open:

What’s the name of that kid (Y/N) went out with?

Matthew Wicks, he’s the new apprentice at work. Why?

Just wondered.

You’re weird, man.

Joel creeps out of the bathroom, frozen as he sees you lock his phone. He offers a small, guilty smile, quickly wiped away as you grab his pillow and playfully launch it at his chest. 

“JOEL!”

──────

Thank you so much for reading! As ever, comments and weblogs are so appreciated, and please let me know if you'd like to be tagged in my future fics!

#dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel x you #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x yn #dbf!joel x reader #dbf!joel #joel miller #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x yn #pedro pascal #tlou fic #tlou show

[katakaluptastrophy]

One thing that has me gnawing on the metaphorical drywall is that Abigail Pent apparently never learned just how awful Jod is.

There she is, in the River, murdered by one of god's fingers and gestures, having been invited to the First so that she could kill her husband and eat his soul and...she's triggering Harrow by exclaiming that "The King Over the River is good!" when she learns some people survived.

Having worked out that there is something fundamentally, practically, metaphysically wrong with the River she...just assumes poor old god doesn't know and could do with some Cliff Notes.

And then there's the battle with the Sleeper. She's hiding from a mad, gun-wielding ghost, her husband shot in the stomach on the other side of the room, and her carefully planned exorcism in pieces, and Ortus begins to recite the Noniad. And realising the impossible thing he wants her to do, Abigail - who pages earlier expressed her doubts about god's omnipotence, prays: “Oh, God... God, please help me” (which makes her the only character who isn't a literal priest or member of a religious order who we see praying).

When she describes her childhood bedroom to Harrow, everything she mentions sounds like something of significance to her: her grandfather's bones, her desk, the bed where her brother sometimes slept, and "a pretty chroma of the Prince Undying, but a little cockeyed." (think mass produced 1950s Sacred Heart picture and you're probably not far off...)

Despite having formative memories of having weird devotional art in her bedroom, Abigail is miles away from that other enjoyed of Jod pictures in their living space, Silas Octakiseron. She's open about her heterodox views, and clearly has the knowledge to back them up (including, it should be noted, at least one degree taken on the Eighth). And she clearly has form with going off on a heterodox tangent, as Magnus seems to have a well-rehearsed pattern for bringing her back to an acceptable line. And while she's happy to acknowledge that her views aren't orthodox, she's not being pointlessly controversial: she doesn't mind being a heretic, but she's rather upset by the idea that Marta might think her a mad one.

Marta, meanwhile, is one of several characters who show us that Abigail's intensity isn't just the result of living in a theocracy: “No. The Second House doesn’t overthink the River...If we did we’d just have to fill in forms.” Meanwhile, Ianthe is clearly thinking about dogma with an eye less to worship than replication.

And maybe it's because I know a lot of people who are devout but heterodox, and in relationships only tenuously accepted in their tradition (or only in their specific bit of the tradition)...but I just have a lot of feelings about Abigail here. Someone who's willing to be frank and informed about the complexities inherent in her belief system, but who seems to be committed to her faith. She seems so willing to think the best of Jod, to pray to him even when she's intellectually aware it may not be quite that straightforward and...he doesn't give a shit. He isn't god. He's a stupid little man who looks down on the humanities and I wish Abigail Pent got the chance to say something devastating to him.

#the locked tomb #tlt #tlt meta #abigail pent #john gaius #harrow the ninth #Let Abigail Pent emerge from the River and hit Jod with a steel chair I am begging you Tamsyn #Obviously as a queer anglican with a history degree my feelings about Abigail here are entirely intellectual...

[riizeblr]

when your bestfriend!wonbin asked you to stay the night, you assumed his two roommates, eunseok and sungchan would be gone. it’s not like you dislike them, they just made you a bit uncomfortable with the greedy stares they alway sent your way when wonbin wasn’t looking. when you bring it up to your bestfriend, he rants about how “he forgot” and “they won’t bother you”. which to your luck, they didn’t. you’re not sure if it was because you were glued to wonbin’s side the whole night or if they were just ignoring your existence as a whole…either way, you’re grateful. shortly after wonbin falls asleep, you hop in the shower. after a few minutes of letting the water run over your body, you hear the door click. opening the shower curtain, your heart sinks as you watch eunseok and sungchan make their way into the steaming bathroom. you felt a sob leave your throat as you also see wonbin walk in with a grin on his face, locking the door behind him.

rating: 18+. mdni.

content: noncon, wonbin x reader x sungchan x eunseok

it was just supposed to be one night.

wonbin had found out about that you had spent days sleeping on shotaro’s couch, waking just as the sun began to rise to ensure that you would be gone before he woke up. wonbin found out that you hadn’t eaten in two days, scrounging up any spare change just to afford a basic meal. he wasn’t happy about it. he felt upset that you hadn’t gone to him first, your best friend. though, you knew that he knew why.

you would rather feel pain run up your back when you finally mustered up enough energy to leave shotaro’s stiff and flat couch, than be stuck in the uncomfortably small apartment wonbin shared with sungchan and eunseok. they were nice, or at least some variation of nice, sure, but you weren’t stupid. you felt the scorching stares, the shifts in the air that made your skin itch, doing all you could to make yourself as small as possible. they were shameless when wonbin wasn’t around, taking their eyes over your figure, sliding their hands over their upper thighs, sometimes groping their softened cocks while looking you in the eye.

but wonbin’s worried expression, wrinkling his delicate features was enough for you to reluctantly agree to stay a single night.

it wasn’t as bad as it usually was, or maybe you were just too occupied to notice their lingering as you finally filled your stomach with a meal. you couldn’t care less about the fact that it was prepared by eunseok who watched with a teasing grin, or the fact that it was sungchan’s hoodie keeping you warm. the only thing on your mind was the savory taste on your tongue, wonbin’s calloused fingers on your knee and his doting smile as he asked you about your day.

the rest of the evening was just as comfortable. you felt at ease, especially when eunseok and sungchan had disappeared, leaving you and wonbin alone in his bedroom.

wonbins eyes had shut, his breathing began to slow, his grip on your waist loosening. you nearly vibrated with excitement, rummaging through wonbin’s drawers as you had one final thing in mind. a shower.

you sighed as the hot water ran down your aching back, eyes fluttering shut, mind nearly blank as you stood beneath the steady stream. you almost missed the creak of the old hinges of the door, only becoming alert as heavy footsteps sounded against the tile floor.

you could see two silhouettes against the shower curtain. too tall, too broad to be wonbin. fear replaced the relaxation, the muscles in your back stiffening again as your hands wrapped around your chest, knees touching to hide yourself. you could feel tears pricking your eyes, your breath coming out in short puffs as they began to walk closer, slender fingers wrapping a round the curtain. sungchan opened it slowly, teasingly, eyes widening with amusement as he spotted you. eunseok tucked his bottom lip between his teeth, gaze steady trailing down your exposed skin.

you shook your head as eunseok’s hands began to reach for you, looking all to eager to rip your hands away from your chest. you inhaled, preparing yourself to call out wonbin’s name as loud as you could before air caught in your throat. long inky locks, and familiar dark eyes peered into the bathroom that felt smaller than usual, a grin playing on plump lips.

tears finally came rushing down your cheeks, betrayal swimming in your eyes as you looked into wonbin’s that were filled with want as he, too, wandered inside, taking his place in between eunseok and sungchan.

everything moved quickly from then, hands you couldn’t identify pulling on your skin, lifting you off your feet with ease no matter how hard you tried to stop it. your slippery wet skin soaked their clothing, dripping onto the ground as lips attached to your neck, pecks trailing down your stomach to your legs that were still shut tight. hands pulled on your knees, a frustrated grunt that turned to a satisfied groan when they were forced apart, your cunt exposed to their preying eyes.

you closed your eyes at the first graze of fingertips against your slit, the outline of one of their cocks pressing against your back. you could only assume that it was wonbin who pressed a kiss to your cheek, the familiar pattern of breathing fanning your ear.

#tw noncon #discography ! #feat. eunseok ! #feat. sungchan ! #feat. wonbin ! #wonbin x reader #sungchan x reader #eunseok x reader #eunseok smut #sungchan smut #wonbin smut #riize x reader #riize smut #riize hard hours #dark riize #dark wonbin #dark sungchan #dark eunseok #riize #wonbin #eunseok #sungchan

[stargazedwinchester]

Soft Sounds | Dean

Summary: Dean mocks you for listening to nature sounds/lo-fi music while you sleep.

Based off of this request here, thank you! <3

Word count: 996

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

Sleeping with any sort of noise has always been so comforting for you, having to live with the loud sounds of the world, all of the trauma you've endeavoured keeps you awake at night, memories creeping back from the most horrific times in your life.

You bought yourself your own little white noise machine a week ago, it makes multiple different sounds, and your favourites are lo-fi music and rain/thunder sounds. It's not every night that you have to use this, though, but it really does help. Especially with sleeping alone, your brain loves to play tricks on you during your quietest hours.

Tonight, you turn on your machine, clicking the button on top to change which sound you'd prefer to hear tonight. Your door is slightly ajar, knowing that the brothers were in the kitchen sharing a couple of beers and catching up. You had already told them you're going to have an early night for once and try to catch up on a lot of sleep you've missed out on recently. Doing this could probably help your awful sleep schedule.

You change into your pyjamas, a t-shirt and shorts combo that you threw on from the night before. Trying to look good while you slept is never the first thought since you literally live with two men who couldn't give any less of a crap, also, you're not dating either of them. You climb into bed and throw the covers over you, moving your hair out of your face, and lay on your side. Scrolling through your phone, you try to focus on the sounds coming from your machine, and within minutes, you're knocked out.

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

As Sam and Dean call it a night, Sam stays to watch a movie in the main room, whilst Dean makes his way down toward the bedrooms. He notices your bedroom door is still slightly open, and he assumes you're awake.

"Hey, Y/-" He pauses, seeing you're fast out with your phone screen lit up, the lights still on and some noise coming from a weird-looking radio. He frowns, not knowing what is going on. He very quietly makes his way into your bedroom, and locks your phone, placing it on your bedside table. He dims the lights as he pads on over to your radio. "What the Hell is this?" He asks himself, keeping his voice just above a whisper. He glances at the tiny screen that presents what's playing. "She sleeps to this?" He scoffs, and a small grin appears on his face. He looks back at you, huffing. "This is such a Y/N thing to have." He says, standing back up and glancing over at you. Why would she ever own something like this? He thought to himself. It's stupid.

Your positioning in bed makes Dean chuckle to himself. You quite literally take up the whole bed, sprawled out like a starfish. It's mostly funny to him because of how cute you look when you're completely conked out. Your hair in your face, your shirt slightly riding up your torso from the amount of times you've tried to get comfy. "Hold on, is that my shirt?" He laughs quietly, admiring how natural you are.

Dean usually goes for the typical blonde, blue-eyed type of girl. The ones that show that they know they're sexy, that they can get any man they desire, but you - you were different. You never gave a damn about how you looked. If someone liked you, you'd make sure they get every single side of you, every single flaw and weakness. Having Dean see you completely barefaced and look like you just collapsed on your bed was the least of your worries.

Dean's gaze hovers over you for another minute or so, he catches himself smiling, noticing how comfy you are. You shuffle, which scares him a little, panicking that you're going to wake up to him watching you sleep.

"Dean?"

"Y-yeah?" He whispers, taking his hands out of his pockets.

"What are you doing in here?" You groan, wiping your hair out of your face, barely opening your eyes. "I um, heard your little radio thing and... I got curious." He says, an awkward smile appearing on his full lips. He reaches up and scratches the back of his head. You hum quietly in agreement with what he said. Whether Dean understood or not, it didn't matter. "Are you staying?" You mumble, shuffling yourself to the side to make more room. You quietly pat the side of the bed, inviting Dean to join you.

His heart skipped a beat. Sharing a bed with the only girl who genuinely liked him for him? It's almost unbelievable.

"Are you sure? I can go back to my room-"

"Dean, just get in." You say, pulling the covers open for him. His eyes lit up and the smile on his face looked as if it had been slapped on. He takes off his flannel shirt revealing his dark grey t-shirt underneath, and also taking his jeans off down to his underwear. He gently sits down on your bed, ensuring there's still enough space for you. He keeps his space, though, not wanting to give any wrong ideas. "Why were you looking at my machine?" You say, and Dean grins. "It looks weird. Why do you sleep with it?"

"It's to help me sleep."

"It's to help me sleep," He mocks, shutting his eyes. "Just sleep in silence, it's not that hard." He adds, and you huff. "So funny." You grin, slowly moving closer toward him. "It's nice though, really nice..." He trails, his eyes are fully shut, and his body is relaxing. "Come here," He says, adjusting himself so he's lying slightly above you, and you move in to lay on his chest, your leg intertwined with his. He keeps his arm rested above his head, his other hand caressing your hair. "This is nice," He mumbles, almost instantly drifting to sleep.

#supernatural #spn #supernatural imagines #spn imagines #sam winchester imagines #dean winchester imagines #sam winchester #supernatural imagine #dean winchester #dean x reader

[nsharks]

HC of Ghost and his gf/wife fighting pls?

a relationship with simon is far from easy

Simon comes home that first night while you’re asleep.

Kicks off his boots by the door and doesn’t even bother changing out of his uniform when he slips into bed beside you. You hadn’t seen him in six months, and you really wanted to pick him up from the airport, but he’d insisted gruffly over the phone that’d he find his own way home.

“Are you sure? You’re going to be tired-“

“Don’t,” he’d breathed on the other side. “Don’t push this. I’ll get a cab.”

You should’ve known right then and there what version of Simon was coming home to you. It was strange, almost like he didn’t want to see you.

You wake up when he gets in the bed, but his body feels cold and foreign next to you. He’s still clothed, and you imagined that he might wake you up to at least give you a kiss, but instead he says nothing. Just lays there, eyes closed, and you’re almost certain he’s pretending to be asleep so you don’t try talking to him.

Things only get worse from there.

Over the next few days, Simon lives up to his name. He’s uncomfortably quiet around you, except to complain about small, stupid things.

“I told you not to go through my stuff while I was gone,” he had grumbled one day. Noticing that you had moved one of his books from his bedside table.

“It was just that one book,” you’d said quietly. “I was trying to clean up before you-“

“‘Don’t go through my stuff’ means don’t touch anything. Is that understood?”

Your tongue poked your cheek. You didn’t want to push his buttons. “Understood. Sorry.”

You try your best to give him space.

But Simon’s presence is starting to get suffocating. He hasn’t kissed you once since coming home. You’d try asking him how his time was, if anything had happened that he wanted to talk about, but he’d just shake his head in irritation and say there’s nothing to talk about.

One evening, you come home from work after grabbing some takeout for dinner.

Simon’s in the bedroom when you arrive. Large frame hunched over his desk, headphones clamped over his masked ears, and the music is so loud you can hear it from the doorway.

“Babe, I brought dinner,” you tell him, tapping his shoulder.

He tenses from your touch but nods, shucking off the headphones and following you to the kitchen.

You don’t even get the chance to eat before he’s looking at you intently, asking, “Did you remember to grab the thing for my car?”

His car. You freeze by the kitchen counter. You’d completely forgotten; he’d asked you to get… something because his car hadn’t been working for him since he got back. You told him to just take it to the shop but he said could fix it himself.

“What thing again?” you practically squeak.

The air shifts. “The breaker bar.”

“No… no, I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

You’re expecting it at this point, but that doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable. Simon snaps. You see it in his eyes, a darkness flashing through them that you don’t see often. His hands roll up at his sides.

“Do you… know how to listen?” he asks coldly, voice low. “I told you where to find it and everything. You said you would.”

“I’ll get it tomorrow-“

“That’s not the point. First, you…” he’s shaking his head to himself, “First, you touch my stuff after I told you not to. And yesterday, you didn’t listen to me about-“

“Simon,” you cut him off, frowning. “I am not perfect. I make mistakes.”

“Well, you wouldn’t make so many mistakes if you just did what you’re told.”

His voice is at a level that makes you shiver. You normally love the sound of his voice, miss it like crazy when he leaves, but right now, it’s hurting you. Making your eyes turn damp and the hairs on your arms stand up.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” you find the strength to snap at him. “You’re overreacting, Simon.”

“Overreacting?” He scoffs and you can see the veins on his forearms ticking. “This is more than… Do you know what happens when people make stupid mistakes? They fuckin’ die.”

In the back of your mind, you realize that Simon is unintentionally admitting to you what’s bothering him. Something happened. Something awful, something even he couldn’t just forget, and he brought it all the way home with him. Been taking it out on you all week long.

And on any other day, you might have had the patience to deal with it. But today, your durable patience is cracking at every seam, unable to handle the way he’s been treating you.

“Jesus, Simon, this isn’t a life or death situation,” you furrow your brows. “I’m not a soldier.”

“Thank god you’re not,” he barks. “You’d get everyone killed. Can’t follow simple fuckin’ instructions.”

“What are you trying to say? What, Simon? That I’m stupid?”

“Fuckin’ hell,” he breathes out through flared nostrils. “Maybe you are.”

Your patience is nowhere to be found as his words hang in the air. Hurt, and beyond fed up with him, you tear your wet eyes away from his darkened ones and walk away to the bedroom, locking the door behind you because you don’t want to be anywhere near him.

Soaking the pillows with your tears, you feel defeated. Six months without him had been painful; your heart aching whenever you made yourself a cup of tea, wishing he was there. You’d been so worried about him coming home, but now that he’s here, you wish he wasn’t. It feels hard to breathe, even as your tears dry and you lay there depleted.

You hear the shower run.

You hear shuffling around outside, somewhere in the living room.

Then finally, sometime after midnight, there’s the gentlest of knocks at the door.

“Can I come in?” a low voice hesitates on the other side.

You sit up on the bed and tell him yes. Once Simon’s in the room, the sight of him brings tears to your eyes once again. You thought you were done crying. You keep wiping at your cheeks, but he kneels in front of you and grabs your hands, replacing them with his own as he brushes his thumbs to your tears. It’s uncharacteristic of him to get on his knees like this. Submitting to you in remorse.

“Sorry,” he whispers. He bows his head. “I’ve been awful. You deserve… s’much better.”

“I can handle you ignoring me,” you croak. “I can’t handle you being mean, Simon.”

“No,” he narrows his eyes. “Don’t. You shouldn’t have to handle either of those.”

You nod in agreement as his hands splay over your thighs and rub them gently.

“Something’s hurting you,” you whisper carefully. “Something happened. Maybe… maybe you need to talk to someone.”

Hours ago, you might’ve worried about what he’d say. But now, his anger has dissipated, washed away by the hot shower he took and the sound of your crying in the bedroom. It pained him. He hated himself for not knowing how to deal with these feelings without being a dick to you.

Finally, head falling to your lap, he says, “Maybe I do.”

#didn’t edit this sorry #getting ready for work tomorrow sadly #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod

[annwrites]

you're stuck with me, baby.

— pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader

— type: ficlet

— summary: billy treats you sweetly for once, but something is up. and then you have your absolute worst fight yet.

— tags: billy being a (manipulative) sweetheart. billy getting violent. billy being very sorry.

— tw: domestic violence

— word count: 3,105

— a/n: don't worry guys, i can fix him.

find my other posts concerning billy, here

By that night, you've nearly reached the Texas border. When you stop at a red light, Billy rolls his head back against the seat, looking at you, who's looking out the window, arms laid atop one another on the sill, taking in the neon lights all around you.

He reaches over then, sliding his large warm palm up your bare thigh.

Your head jerks in his direction. "What're you doing?"

He doesn't reply. Doesn't smirk or smile, or have so much as a twinkle in his eye. Instead, he just looks at you softly.

Your brows furrow, his hand sliding closer to your inner thigh, then stopping, thumb rubbing circles against your soft skin.

You look out the windshield. "The light's green."

You look back to him.

He just keeps looking at you.

And then the car behind you honks and he huffs, rolling his eyes, putting his hand back on the shifter as they lay on the horn yet again. "Yeah, yeah, I fuckin' heard you the first time."

For dinner, Billy pulls into a small diner, and you both exit the car. He holds the door open for you and you pause, looking at him, surprised he didn't go ahead of you. "Thanks."

He gives you a small smile.

You feel like something is up, but don't want to ruin the moment—rather, him acting like an actual human being for once—so you say nothing of it.

You both take a booth by the window, looking over your menus after giving the waiter your drink orders—a lemonade for you and a Coke for him.

You begin perusing their dinner options when you feel Billy's foot brush against yours under the table, just like that afternoon.

You don't react. You're tired of taking the bait every single time. It was just that he knew exactly how to get to you somehow every time.

You set down your menu, knowing what you want, then look dreamily out the window. You smile to yourself and you don't notice it, but Billy is watching you with observant eyes.

You're too lost in your thoughts to take note of him. It's something about being on the road at night that makes you feel so hopeful and content.

All the neon lights, the cars on the road, the warm feel of the summer air on your skin as it washes over you through the open passenger-side window, music playing softly as other cars pass you, people walking along the sidewalks. It makes you feel less lonely. Like the world really can be a beautiful place sometimes.

"What're you thinkin' about, baby?"

You look at him then, shifting in your seat at his soft tone.

"Just how nice things are at night."

He leans back. "Oh, yeah? How so?"

Are you about to have an actual conversation again?

"You'll just tell me that I sound stupid."

"I won't," he replies, brushing his foot against yours.

"It's just pretty. All the lights and the cars and people. Don't you think so?"

He shrugs slightly. "I definitely think at least one thing is pretty."

Back to hitting on you again, then. Never one to give up, clearly.

Your waiter returns, then, to take your orders and Billy speaks. "It'll be one check." He then looks to you. "You want to order first, angel?"

That was a new one. 'Angel'.

You get a salad and a small side, which consists of two pieces of fried chicken, while Billy gets two barbeque sandwiches. Before he even takes one bite of his dinner, though, he looks at you.

"You want to try a bite, sugar?"

You glance up to him from your salad. "I could always throw it on the floor after eating half of it."

He bites back a smirk. "Maybe that's why I got two."

You gingerly take the sandwich from him, taking a small bite, then handing it back.

"Good?"

You nod, chewing.

"You want the other one?"

You shake your head, swallowing. "No, thank you. And...thank you, for paying."

"You're welcome, darlin'."

Something was definitely going on. This wasn't him. But if he knew how to act like this all along, then why was he such an asshole all the time instead?

Once the two of you have finished eating, Billy goes up to pay the check, you standing beside him. As you go to head outside, he holds the door for you again, hand pressed against the small of your back, and then even opens the car door for you as well.

"T-thanks," you say, sitting.

"Welcome," he replies, turning the key in the ignition. He then looks at you. "You want to find a place to stay for the night, or do you want me to drive around some more so you can enjoy the lights?"

You stare at him for a moment. He was asking what you wanted to do? You honestly don't know how to reply to that.

"What do you want to-"

He shakes his head. "I'm asking you, baby."

"I'm kind of tired, actually."

He nods. "I'll find us a motel, honey."

He does the speed limit the entire way to the nearby Days Inn, following the letter of the law to a T the whole way over. You find yourself impressed that it turns out he knows how to drive with common sense.

Once you've arrived, he goes inside, getting you both a room for the night, then comes back out to find you leaning against the trunk, waiting for him.

He throws the key to you and you catch it between your hands.

"One bed again. Think it being cheaper that way is going to be a common trend as we travel."

You nod and step to the side as he unlocks the trunk.

You reach down to grab your backpack first, until he gently grabs your hand in his, his silver ring glinting against the lights overtop the both of you. "I've got it, sweetheart. Let me get it for you."

You merely nod and watch as he loads all three bags onto himself and he follows you up the stairs to your room. Once you've unlocked the door, you let him go in first, then close it behind you.

This room is a near-duplicate of the last one, except for the color-scheme being different. Gaudy oranges and yellows litter the space, from the wallpaper, to the carpet, the curtains, even the bed-spread.

Billy lowers your bags onto the floor, then turns back to you. "You want to shower first?"

He's being very considerate tonight...

"Sure," you say, bending down to your bag, grabbing a pair of shorts and a tanktop, as well as clean undergarments, then stepping into the bathroom, softly shutting the door behind you.

You take your time bathing, trying to understand his sudden shift in mood. Maybe he finally felt guilty about how poorly he'd treated you so far? Maybe he was just tired. Maybe... You sighed. Maybe a lot of things. You didn't pretend to understand him, or the way he acted from one moment to the other.

When you step out of the bathroom, now clean and freshly shaved, you find him laid back against the headboard, flipping channels on the TV.

"You look nice," he says.

You put your hairbrush and razor away in your bag. "Oh, thanks."

He stands, grabbing a pair of briefs and sweatpants. He gives you a light tap under your chin as he goes to step past you, even kissing your cheek, which takes you by surprise. "Welcome, doll."

He shuts the bathroom door behind him this time and you sit down on the edge of the bed, head spinning.

If he'd been this guy from day one, you would've already returned his efforts in dating. How could he not understand that being an angry, vulgar ass was going to get him nowhere—not with you, at least. The 'bad boy' act would only get him so far with girls. But not very far in life, that was for certain.

You stand then, padding over to your bag, deciding to go ahead and pick out an outfit for tomorrow—something to occupy you for a moment, instead of dwelling on him and how he was now acting.

You even bother pulling a few things out, refolding them, then deciding to reorganize half the bag in general.

When Billy emerges from the bathroom, he comes up behind you, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your head. You spin around in surprise, bumping against the wall behind you. "Oh."

He steps closer to you, leaning down, wrapping one arm around your waist, while pressing the palm of his other hand against the wall. He begins planting hot wet kisses along your neck and your eyes go wide. He spears his tongue, licking gently, then kissing that same spot. The smell of Old Spice and spearmint invades your senses.

He pulls back, then leans forward again, pressing his lips to yours, softly, gently, his hand now moving to your waist, pushing your tanktop up.

You push lightly against his chest. "Billy, what're you doing?" You ask, voice laced with confusion and concern.

He gives you a small smirk. "Trying to kiss you, pretty girl."

He moves his lips back to your neck again, trailing kisses up to your ear, then whispers into it, "Don't worry, I have condoms."

You shove him away from you then.

"What was that for?" He asks, mildly irritated, erection already standing present.

"C-condoms? I told you earlier I-" You suddenly stop speaking, and then your eyes burn with unshed tears, hope that he was going to finally start being nicer to you shattering.

"That's why," you say tone defeated.

"Why what?" He spits.

You see the real him slowly returning.

"Why you've been so nice to me tonight. You found out I was a virgin and really thought it'd only take a couple hours of buttering me up for me to spread my legs for you. God, you're so pathetic."

His lips sneers. "Why do you have to be such a fuckin' cock tease all the time, huh? Everything I've done—driving your ass across how many state lines, buying you food, a room for the night, keeping you safe, and you don't think I deserve anything in return?"

He felt entitled to it? Sex? With you? You suddenly feel incredibly unsafe. Like you did back in that house with a father who ruled with fists and harsh words. How could you not have seen it before? They were two sides of the same coin.

"You're not entitled to anything. I never asked you for any of that. You practically fucking volunteered."

You angrily wipe tears from your eyes and he lets out a mocking laugh. "Here comes the fucking water-works. Every bitch's greatest trick. Well, guess what, cunt? They don't work on me."

You flinch at the vulgar name.

You watch as his hands tighten into fists at his sides and your heart begins to pound.

He steps closer to you. "I'm pathetic? Me? At least I was making fucking friends. People liked me. You lived in that goddamn town for how long and had nothing to show for it? I could've been king of that school and had any pussy I wanted. But, for whatever reason, you were the set of lips I chose to chase after. What a waste of my fuckin' time. I should've left your ass on the side of the road that night. Be one less problem on my fucking plate."

Your chin wobbles. "Fuck you. I would've been just fine without you. Better off, probably. You think you're so irresistible and different, don't you? Instead, you're just like your daddy."

He roars in anger then, and his fist lands inside the drywall directly next to your head.

You stare up at him in terror, silent tears slipping down your flushed cheeks.

He looks down at you, expression unreadable, his eyes flitting between both of yours.

"P-please don't hurt me," you say, voice small, somehow childlike, even.

His face falls, hurt flashing across his features. His fist loosens as he pulls it back, palm now-flat against the section of wall above the damage he'd just done.

You wrap your arms around yourself and he realizes that you think he's going to hit you next.

He staggers back, hands on his knees for just a moment before abruptly grabbing his bag and going in the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

You sink down to the floor, bringing your knees up to your chest and you lower your forehead to the top of them, rocking yourself gently as you sob in fear.

When Billy comes out of the bathroom, he's dressed in jeans and another button-up shirt, but you don't see him.

His stomach turns when he sees you curled into yourself, crying, shaking, whispering to yourself. "Please...no....don't hurt...."

He lets out a quiet swear, slipping on his boots and jacket, grabbing his car keys and wallet from the table. "I'm going out," he throws over his shoulder before closing the motel door behind him.

Once he's reached his car, he slams the driver's-side door and goes to stick the keys in the ignition, then falters for a moment. Was he really about to leave you all alone like that?

Images of you staring up at him with wide eyes full of fear—just like how his mom used to look at his dad—flash through his mind.

He turns the engine over. Yes, he was.

Billy drives around town for two hours. At first, he'd wished he'd brought his bag with him. He could've just passed over into Texas on his own by now if he had. Instead, he was stuck in Oklahoma with you for the moment being.

Eventually, he parks in an empty lot somewhere, pressing his forehead against the steering wheel. He doesn't want to focus on the way he's treated you since day-one. Shitty. That's how.

With most girls, he only had to put in minimal effort to get them to give him what he wanted. He had his looks, the way he dressed, a nice smile, his thick head of hair, a cool car, and a devil-may-care attitude. None of them ever asked for more. Well, they did, but he didn't much care what they wanted. Once he got what he was after, he was satisfied.

He leans back against the seat, eyes closed, unable to get the fucking image of you out of his head.

You'd called him out on his behavior every time—read him like a goddamn book—and that was what really got under his skin. Most girls he came across were either doe-eyed idiots, or sluts. There wasn't an in-between. Not in his mind. But not you, clearly.

But, he supposes, growing up with an abusive father forces you to become adept at reading others to anticipate their future actions, or understanding why they are the way they are. Why they do the things they do.

"For fuck's sake," he says, turning around to finally head back to you, deciding he'd apologize for scaring you. But that was it. Even if it had been your fault. He didn't want to think about how it was really his. How he'd caused this entire damn mess in the first place.

He was about to ruin a good thing. Like always.

It was like he couldn't help himself. What was it his dad had once said about him? Self-destructive behavior? Yeah, well, what did that asshole know? He drove his mother away—his own wife.

He had no room to fucking judge him.

No one did.

Billy slowly climbs the stairs to the room and finds the door thankfully unlocked when he turns the handle.

And when he steps inside, his stomach drops. You're gone, as well as both of your bags.

He steps over to the small table on the other side of the room and picks up the notepad set atop it and reads your delicate handwriting: Don't look for me.

"Fuck that," he says, throwing it down, heading back down to his car.

He tears out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell.

The longer he drives, the worse his anxiety gets. It was almost midnight now. What if you were in some strange man's car, bound and gagged and—no, he can't think like that.

He searches for your face in every woman he passes, but doesn't find you.

Then, he remembers you telling him before about how, had he not come along, you would've 'thumbed a ride'.

"She's on the fucking interstate," he says, making an illegal u-turn, nearly hitting another car as he climbs over a median, racing to you.

He downshifts, RPMs climbing, nearly in the red, then backing off just as the needle hits it, then downshifts again as he jumps on the interstate on-ramp.

He flies past other cars, barely paying attention to the road ahead as he searches for you on the shoulder. Then, "Ha! Fucking found you!"

He pulls over, slamming on the brakes, then gets out, closing his door, coming back toward you.

You stare at him in fear, then turn around, walking quickly away.

"Stop!" He yells, but you of course don't listen.

"Goddamn it," he mutters to himself.

When he finally reaches you, his hand grabs your own, tugging you back in the direction of the car. "C'mon, I'm taking you back."

You turn around, yanking your hand back away from him, staring up at him with bloodshot eyes. "Leave me alone!"

"No way in hell," he says, going to grab you again, but you step back.

He lets out a low swear.

You step forward then and slam your palms against his chest. And then you do it again. And again. And again.

And he just lets you at it. He deserves this after...well, after everything.

Finally, he wraps his arms around you, one around the backpack behind you, his other hand cupping the back of your head.

You sob against his chest. "I fucking hate you."

He shooshes you. "I know."

"You're abusive."

"I know."

"I told you not to-"

"You really think I'd ever listen to that shit?" He pulls away, looking down at you, his hands cupping your cheeks, brushing tears away. "You're stuck with me, baby."

He continues. "Please come back with me. I can't do this without you." He pauses, then, "I don't want to be alone anymore."

#fic: stranger things (billy hargrove x reader) #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove x fem!oc #billy hargrove x female reader

[just-some-random-blogger]

Accidental Targ

Scene III: i told you to hold my hand! | Masterlist

Daemon Targaryen x Modern!Reader

Summary: After coming to terms with the fact you were in King's Landing some two thousand years before your birth, you get reunited with your friend and try to manifest your way back to the present. For the meantime, Harwin Strong is your bodyguard.

Word Count: 4k+

Warnings: fem!reader, time travel au, descriptions of reader's hair, incestuous gremlin!daemon, very sus and innappropriate boss-employee dynamics, low key sugar daddy!otto hightower vibes, crackfic, typos, etc.

A/N: GUYS I DID IT. I FINISHED IT 😫 Also, its come to my attention that perhaps the way i planned out everything geographically is ??? bad but no its not just roll with it AND!! remember yall voted for him ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i have a feeling you didnt read the prompt fully but whatever HAHAHAA i honestly have no idea where i meant to take this fic, so ???? enjoy?? HAHHAAH

Shoot me if I ever say it again, but for now: gods bless capitalism, specifically for it desecrating a national landmark.

Where once I was one of the people who protested against the building of the High Garden Centre, girl, was I thankful that the old ruins of the fucking Red Keep laid there as a little ol' artsy featurette.

"What's that sound?" Daemon asks as we stand from our spot.

I turn to my side, never before so relieved to hear and see, no more than two blocks away, a rave spilling out of a club, the very one Libby and I were at before we got into this shit show. "That, my prince, is called EDM."

I hurriedly run to Libby's side to pick her up, but Daemon does that himself. He get down and pulls the blue haired woman on his back, and I help him. At the same time, I feel a buzz from my satchel.

My phone!

Daemon watches me as I frantically claw for my device. The amount of texts and call notifications that pop up on my screen is overwhelming. I decide to just let it go off and grab Daemon's arm, "come on."

We walk down from the ruins, shifting through the shrubs and foliage around it. I catch the sight a mall cop and feel agitated when he looks over. He couldn't care less though, the site was open to the public after all, and with a literal club being right there, we were the least of his worries.

We pass the rusty chain fence surrounding it, and draw near Harrenhal (the club). Once we're there, a bunch of men hoot and holler at me. I ignore them as they say something about my 'Targaryen' hair and it dawns on me they were probably calling me princess and lady because I was still in a fucking Targaryen era dress.

Still, I ignore the stupid fucks as they ask to see my pretty skirt, opting to walk faster instead. I was horrified by how loud and violent Daemon's scream was.

He shouted so gutturally that I couldn't understand a lick of The High Valyrian flaming out of his mouth. The vein on his neck popped out and I literally had to hold him back from charging and dropping Libby.

"Daemon, please!" I whimper, heart racing, "Libby's still on you-"

"Grab her and I'll fucking ram steel down- COME OVER HERE AND SAY THAT AGAIN. SAY THAT-"

Steel? I look to his belt. Fucking seven hells, he brought Dark Sister?

I look back at him with wide eyes, feeling nauseous now that I've caught how maddened he looked.

In a panic, I gently pat his face while pulling his arm back, "Daemon, please."

He doesn't look at me.

My voice gets softer and my eyes water, "Daemon, I beg you."

He huffs and clenches his jaw, still not sparing me a glance.

"We don't have time for them," I whisper and keep my hand on his cheek, "I'm just going to connect to the club's wifi from here, then I'll can call us an Ubor."

Daemon does not tear his gaze from the men, who eventually waddle away to whatever sewer they came from, still hollering bullshit as they did.

"Kesan daor nārhēdegon naejot nyetodha aōha irosh," Daemon mutters. I will not forget to slit your throats.

The relief that washed over me was unparalleled when I booked an Ubor set to arrive in 3 minutes. I whimper and rub my eyes, "okay, not long now."

Daemon finally looks at me, still visibly pissed, and adjusts Libby on his back.

I wipe my face, "we're just going to get in the c-" Fuck... I should probably prepare him for the car.

"Okay," I raise my hands, "we're going to get in a metal..." I motion to the space, "... there's going to be a- a- carriage? But with no horse... but and when I get in, you just get in with me, okay?"

Daemon's expression is now one of confusion.

I sigh and place a hand on his shoulder, "it's going to be okay."

His lips curl, "... OK."

I screw my eyes shut and shake my head rapidly, "I mean alright. Alright! ALRIGHT!"

Daemon takes in my visible frustration and nods slowly, "OK."

To be honest, Daemon was a pretty good Ubor passenger, save for the fact his sword nearly cut me, Libby, him and the fucking car seats when he tried to sit without removing his scabbard first. We were lucky the driver seemed to be used to... ren fair people.

He also seemed to be used to driving people to the ER. I was too relieved to think realize how fucked up that kinda is in the moment. Needless to say, I gave him 5 stars and an extra tip.

With Dark Sister in my grip and Libby in Daemon's arms, we finally made it to Lannister Medical Center.

The moment we get there, I run inside the ER and break down at the first nurse I see. I infodump everything, how Libby got attacked, how Harwin lost her, how some maesters tried to help us, how she lost a lot of blood, how I'm afraid she's going to die, how Daemon ended up carrying her, and I just keep going up until I saw Libby's blue hair scattered on a stretcher and the nurse told me to sit down.

I didn't have much fight in me left to argue, so I sit myself down on the bench. But then I see the nurse speaking to Daemon, who, seemed to be explaining what had happened, and I panic all over again.

Before I could stand though, another nurse was there to accommodate me. He did a checkup on me, asked me how I was feeling, and asked if I needed anything to calm down.

I told him I was fine and proceeded to answer his other questions. Daemon eventually came to my side and eyed him.

The nurse gives me a nod and offers a smile, "you seem to be physically well. Just let yourself relax. The doctors have your friend; they'll do their best to help her."

"Thank you."

The nurse nods again. He gives me and Daemon one last look before walking off.

I grab Daemon's hand once it's just the two of us. I look up and shudder, "we did it."

He looks down at me, violet eyes solemn. He brings a hand to my cheek and swipes at my cheek, "ȳdra daor limagon."

"I don't know what that means," I mumble.

"I said don't cry, pretty girl," he kneels in front of me, "worrying will not save your friend."

I stare at him, feeling my heart race and belly roll because of the look he had. He brushes my silver hair back behind my shoulders, only intensifying the flurry in my stomach. Just as I opened my mouth to speak, suddenly, my stomach growls. Oh.

Daemon turns his eyes to my belly as I clutch it.

"You want something to eat... prince?"

Daemon reaches a hand out, "lead the way."

I take his hand, grab Dark Sister, and hand it to him. He fastens his scabbard as we exit the ER and I go through my satchel, fishing for my wallet. Just before I get it, I remember that I blew most of my money on the Ubor.

"Fuck," I curse and turn to Daemon, "I don't have enough money."

Daemon rests his hand on his sword and simply stairs.

"I don't have coin," I clarify. I look around the road and figure our chances of riding a bus at this hour was nonexistent. I give him a look, "do you mind walking home with me?"

Daemon raises a brow, "as opposed to swimming home with you?"

I raise my brows and sigh, "Daemon-"

"Lead the way," he nods and points, "I am not one to tire easily."

I nod and slice through air to drive a point, "okay. No matter what happens," I reach out to him, "you have to hold my hand, okay?"

He looks at my hand then my face, his violet eyes sparkle with amusement. He chuckles but he links his fingers between mine (overkill if you ask me). I'm glad goosebumps don't form.

Daemon smiles softly, "you take me for a child, riña?"

"This child knows how to cross the street," I squeeze his hand harder than necessary and begin to walk off, "I'm not sure you do, kekepa." Grandfather.

Daemon laughs, full-on throwing his head back, "how hard is it to cross? You jus-"

His words go dry when an empty school bus passes us. He was so stunned by the yellow contraption, I had to tug his arm to continue walking.

Just then, a Megatron looking-ass truck drives down the street. I hiss and curse the 14 wheeler for emitting such horrible smoke, eyeing it as it drives away.

Meanwhile, I catch the prince's stunned reaction and almost feel bad for finding it funny. Almost.

We arrive at my apartment about 20 minutes later.

I press the elevator button and turn to Daemon, "don't put your arm between the door, okay?"

Daemon gives me a look.

The elevator opens and we step inside. Daemon gives me a look, "we have lifts you know."

I pull my head back, "you do?"

"At the wall," Daemon retorts as the elevator door closes.

"The wall?" I think for a moment, "ahh. You're right."

A beat.

I knit my brows, "wait, you've been to the wall?"

"Of course I've been to the wall."

The moment we get to my place, relief washes over me. I take my shoes off and scoop my hair in front, "fucking rip this dress off me."

Without a single thought between his brows, Daemon's reaches out to undo the ties at the back of my dress.

Just before he does this, I hear him walk in with his boots and nearly have a heart attack when he passes my threshold.

"OH, ABSOLUTELY NOT!" I turn and shove him back, "take your crusty boots off now!"

Daemon looks at me in bewilderment but walks back and doesn't protest as he removes his shoes. He places his shoes on the rack along with mine.

Not wasting time, he catches my arm and yanks me towards him. He spins me around and immediately undoes the back of my dress. I hastily begin to tug my dress down once I can.

He chuckles, "eager girl."

I rather literally jump out of my dress when I can. Pent-up rage overcomes me. I turn around and start kicking the dress away, releasing all my frustration and anger out on the thing. I curse 8th century Westeros and the Red Keep in particular and assault the object until I'm out of breath.

I proceed to jump onto my sofa and allow exhaustion to finally take over my being.

A second later, I catch Daemon's expression and realize, he probably thought he was going to get lucky when I asked him to basically strip me naked.

"Ahh," I get back on my feet, "sorry about," I point to the dress, "that."

Daemon says nothing as he steps closer. He reaches out for my hip and I swat his hand away. I shake my head, "this is my house."

He chuckles as I evade him on my way to the kitchen, which was not nearly as far as it should have been. The prince eyes the space, "yes. An impressive little room you've got." He follows after me, "I'd love to see the rest of it."

I look at him as I reach my fridge and open the door.

Daemon squints at the light that radiates on me. I cuss at the fact I only had cereal (no milk) and some vegetables that have gone bad. I grab the paper box and hand it to him. He blankly stares at it as I discard the vegetables.

Daemon's brows contort at he box, "it's cold."

I wash my hands, "yeah, refrigerators do that."

"Gra'-nola," he reads.

"Granola," I correct as I dry my hands on my shift.

I'm suddenly struck with the realization his grubby has have never seen antibacterial soap. I snatch the box from him and motion to the sink, "wash your hands."

Daemon turns to the sink and purses his lips.

For a second, I debate if he'd melt if he uses something antiseptic, but then figure I should still take my chances.

I prop the cereal on the counter and exemplify him how to wash his hands. Daemon, with slight reluctance, pumps some hand wash on his palm, opens the sink, and rinses.

I excitedly applaud him once he was done.

"A hand towel," he raises his dripping hands.

I look around even though I didn't have a hand towel. I shrug, "I usually just use my pants."

Daemon shakes his hands by the sink, "your pants?"

"Yeah. They're like clothes that you put on your-"

He grabs my shift and pulls me closer. He wipes his hands on it, "I know what pants are, princess."

I push him off and smirks as he dodges. I make a face, "well, I do so beg your pardon, your majesty."

The prince lets out a low laugh, "don't get too brazen, or I'll have you begging till you weep."

I quickly change the subject, "get that damned sword off your hip." I shoo him and rummage through my kitchen cabinets.

Daemon watches this and chuckles again. He tilts his head as he eyes my legs. He undoes his scabbard, sets it on my dining table, and pulls out a chair. He sits down just as I find a can of Sbam. Huzzah!

I grab a chopping board and open the can. A small smile spreads on the prince's lips as stares. But then, his expression drops when I shake, or try to shake, the processed meat out of the can.

I huff once I've succeeded, and I begin to cut the Sbam chunk, "you know this was in created during the war," I slice a piece, "it saved a lot of people from starvation."

"Which war?"

I freeze when he says this. I open my mouth then close it, unsure if recounting the details of world wars to him was a good idea, "you know what, never mind that."

Once I was done with the Sbam, I got a pan and heat it up. I get a plate and a loaf of bread, then place it on the table.

I click my tongue at the sight of his sword, "off the table!"

Daemon watches as I take Dark Sister and replace it with the plate and bread. I place the sword by the shoes and he takes the plastic wrapped bread. He feels the material and opens it, "what is this?"

"Bread," I retort, going back to my pan.

"No, I know that, but what's it wrapped with?"

I give him a quick look, "oh, plastic," I begin to cook the Sbam, "it's made of carbon... I think- I dunno- don't quote me on that."

Daemon opens the bag and takes a slice of bread. He pulls his had back, "it's sliced."

I beam and jump excitedly, "it is! It's sliced bread! Betty White is older than sliced bread! And so are you!"

Daemon ignores this as he sniffs the piece in his hand. He takes a bite then and makes a face, "why does it taste like that?"

"Like what?"

His brows knit and his eyes narrow, "like a pretender."

I burst into a laugh. I flip over the Sbam with a spatula, "imitation bread?"

"It wants so earnest to be bread," he pushes the loaf away and shakes his head, "but it clearly isn't."

I laugh even harder.

He snorts at my reaction. He smiles as leans back on his chair. A few moments later, he grows serious, "you ought to dismiss your royal baker."

Oh. My lips twitch and I chuckle under my breath, "ah, yes. My royal baker. Yes, I will dismiss my royal baker for making horrible sliced bread. Yes."

The Sbam was now cooked. I present it to him on a plate, "bon app-- ... I hope you like it."

Daemon leans forward to scrutinize the dish.

I press my lips into a line as I sit down next to him. I take a slice of imitation bread and fold in a slice of Sbam. I realize just how hungry I was after taking a bite. Through half-full mouth, I mutter, "it's good."

Daemon watches me and follows suit. He takes some bread and Sbam, then chomps.

I stop chewing. Wait, what if he gets an instant heart attack because his living fossil-self can't handle processed food?

He licks his lips and chews. I begin to grow more agitated as he makes a face.

"It's delicious," Daemon says, going in for another bite.

My agitation turns into shock, "really?!"

"Well, it's no roasted pork, but it'll suffice," he mutter between chews.

I let out a soft laugh and nod, "I'm glad it's enough for the prince."

"I'm honored the princess herself made it for me."

Aw, fuck. Who's gonna tell him?

There is a knock on my door. At the same time, my phone rings.

Daemon is alerted by the sound and I dash away to finally answer my phone.

"What is that?" the prince asks.

"It's my phone. Remember? You can call people with it."

Daemon narrows his eyes as I rummage my bag for my device. The knocking on the door gets louder.

I turn to the door, "just a minute."

I find my phone and feel my stomach drop at the caller ID. The banging on the door persists.

I answer the phone and head for the door, "hello?"

"Fucking hells!" the voice is worn and apparently worried, "where the fuck have you bee-"

"It's not you outside, is it?" I cut him off as I head for the door.

"What?! No! I'm in the fucking North, dammit! Your friends have been calling me nonstop, since fucking Sunday! -"

I open the door and my face falls. Standing before me is a man in a dark teal suit; his tie was loose, his stubble was thick, and he held what looked like a dozen bags in his hands.

"- You and Libby have been fucking missing for days! Where-"

"Mr. Hightower," I lower my phone as the man on the other end continues to chastise me.

Otto Hightower looks me up and down, then sighs, "out of the way."

Without another thought, I step back to let him in. He expertly slips out of his leather shoes then heads towards my sofa. He places all the bags on the coffee table. I follow after him.

I hear my name being shouted from my phone. I close the door and follow after Otto.

I listen in on the call again and I hiss when the voice pierces my ear drum, "Jon, calm down."

"CALM DOWN!? HOW CAN I BE CALM WHEN YOU WON'T TELL ME ANYTHING!?"

I begin to panic when Daemon walks over.

"Who is that?" Otto asks me. He notices Daemon, then makes a face, "who are you?"

I look at Otto, then Daemon, and dash over to the prince, grabbing his hand. I watch in real time the recognition and disbelief that floods the Targaryen's features as he watches the other slowly remove his tie.

"Libby and I got stuck in the ren-fair!" I reply to my phone.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU FUCKING CALL?!"

"MY PHONE DIED, JON!" I shout back a lie.

Otto's brow raises. He looks at me and mouths, "Jon?"

I ignore that and groan "LOOK! I'm fine! Libby's-- ... Libby's," I whisper softly, "in the ER-"

"THE ER-"

"I'M TAKING CARE OF HER!"

"WHY THE FUCK IS SHE IN THE ER?!"

"Libby's in the ER?" Otto mutters.

I raise a finger to answer my phone, "Jon, please. I'll explain everything tomorrow."

He screams my name and I have to rip my phone away from my ear again. I vaguely hear him rant about how I should explain why his sister is in the fucking ER.

"Jon, Jon, I love you but I have to go," I quip and immediately end the call. I turn on airplane mode and throw my phone on to the couch.

I release a breath and find myself pulling a smile as the man in the suit eyes me. He's about to speak, but Daemon beats him to it.

"What was that?" the prince asks, pulling me by the arm to face him.

I turn to him and make a face. It's Otto that answers for me, "her ex boyfriend."

I turn to Otto as he tilts his head and raises a brow, as if daring me to correct him.

I do, "my best friend's brother."

Daemon eyes Otto; the latter makes a face, "who used to your lover," he crosses his arms, "I'm offended you take his calls but not mine."

"And who are you?" Daemon hisses, stepping towards him.

Without missing a beat, Otto meets his gaze and scoffs, "who are you?"

Daemon's pulls his chin back and chuckles dryly. His expression screamed FUCK AROUND AND FIND OUT.

I jump in front of him, my back presses his chest. I give a nervous laugh, "Mr. High- Director- Mr. Director- sir. This is Daemon."

Otto watches as I grip Daemon's hands behind me.

"And Daemon," I barely look at him over my shoulder, "this is... my... employe-"

"Otto Hightower," he cuts me off, bringing his hand into his breast pocket, "Director and CFO of King's Landing Holdings."

I wince, fuck.

"King's Landing?!" Daemon laughs out loud.

Otto produces a business card.

"It's a company!" I turn around and wave my hands, "it's a company! An establishment!"

Daemon does not tear his eyes away from him.

"He's my employer!" I explain.

Otto offers a piece of paper between his fingers.

The prince looks at it and slightly pushes me away, "what's he doing here then?"

"That's hardly any of your business," Otto retorts, tucking his business card back into his pocket.

Daemon laughs and finally turns to me. He mutters something in High Valyrian along the lines of 'let me do something' and 'stabbing'. I frantically shake my hand and push him back.

He thankfully relents and I sit him back down on my dining table.

My relief is fleeting when I realize the only reason Daemon didn't refute was because Otto was trailing right after me. My stomach drops when I feel a hand on my back.

Otto is right behind me. He places a few of the paper bags he brought on the table. He opens them, "I bought you dinner."

I turn to him, intent to tell him he shouldn't have.

"Amongst other things," he adds.

Daemon barks, "we have dinner."

"How did you even know I was home?" I say at the same time.

Otto's eyes flick to him, to the plate of Sbam on the table. His face is blank as looks back to me. He decides to remove his coat jacket, "I suppose you'd-" eyes Daemon, "-also think a candle equal to a campfire."

"Mister Hightower," I helplessly mutter.

He hangs his jacket on the backrest. He turns to me, "and you were missing--"

My expression sours.

"-- what did you expect me to do? I obviously utilized my connections. I'm offended you'd ask me such a thing."

Daemon mutters something in High Valyrian again.

"Of course, I had come see you myself," he looks at me through his lashes as rolls up his sleeves. My eyes dart to his sleeve tattoos and arm veins. When I begin to scrutinize the hairs on his skin, I realize I've stared to long.

In a panicked frenzy, I begin to unpack one of the paper bags. He, himself, brings out a stack of food containers and places them on the table.

The smell alone makes my stomach grumble.

Otto steps away and comes back with plates and cutlery. He places one plate in front of me, and has a prolonged stare at Daemon before placing the other in front of Daemon. He says, "I would hate for prince Daemon to be reduced to eating Sbam for dinner."

My expression drops. Daemon does not move an inch.

Otto turns to me and pulls out the chair. I take a moment before sitting down, because, really, did I have any other choice?

Otto opens the containers one by one and my mouth waters as I see lobster, lamb, and lemon cakes. He serves me meat and veggies, "I would assume you're not hurt like your friend."

I watch as he places food on my plate. I gulp before responding, "I'm just... tired."

"Then, I would also assume you'll not be attending work tomorrow," he takes my hand, putting the utensils in them. He scrapes a chair to my side and sits down next to me, urging me to eat with a motion.

I look at Mr. Hightower, "oh no- I will! I will-"

"You won't," he raises a hand, "see to it you're well rested."

I turn to my plate, feeling a flurry in my stomach over his words.

"Are you not going to serve your prince?" Daemon cuts in, raising his brows.

The lamb I was about to eat drops back to my plate.

The two glare, as if willing the other to spontaneously combust.

Before anything else could happen, I stand and reach out to Daemon's plate. I squeak when both grab me by the wrist.

My throat tightens.

My heart races when Daemon stands, "release her."

Otto raises his brows and tilts his head, "sit back down."

I rip my wrists out of their grips. Thankfully, neither put up a fight.

They stare at each other for what felt like ages. My agitation rockets when I see my boss begin to fidget with his hands the way he did when he was annoyed and ready to do something drastic.

I give Daemon a panicked look and grab his wrist, "kostilus." Please.

Daemon clenches his fist.

I continue to beg him until he sits.

I squeak when he grabs my chair by the seat and pulls me towards him. He mutters, "kesan daor emagon ao va bona run." I will not have you near that thing.

I turn to Director Hightower; I could see his annoyance building.

Fuck.

"Miste-" "Enjoy your meal then," he speaks as he stands. He grabs his coat and points, "I've bought some first aid things. I'm sure your friend can help you put that away."

I move to stand but Daemon stops me. He looks up at Otto in disgust, "do mind the steel contraptions on your way out."

I snap at Daemon, eyeing him hotly. He places a hand over my legs, ensuring I do not evade him. I watch as Mr. Hightower heads for the door, and in a split second decision, I turn to the prince and kiss him on the lips.

He is evidently taken aback, but it only takes him another second to get into it. Once he's put his guard down, I rip away from him and chase after my boss just as he exits my apartment.

"MR. HIGHTOWER!"

Otto turns around. I huff as I meet him just outside my door, "I'm really sorry about him. He's... he's just like that."

"You're not responsible for the actions of others," he retorts, nonchalant.

"I know. But still-"

"You are responsible for the company you keep," he adds.

I brush my silver hair back, "and you're not responsible for my well-being."

He snorts and shakes his head, "I'm your superior."

I press my lips into a thin line, deciding not to get into this conversation right now, "that, you are, Director."

We stare at each other for a moment. I examine his well-ironed suit, noticing how he didn't bother to fix his tie or buttons any more.

"I'll-"

"Is he not-" Daemon kicks the door open.

My eyes widen, "DAEMON-"

"-fucking gone yet?!" he points Dark Sister in an offensive stance. I yelp when he swings his weapon and scratches the door.

Otto's fight or flight instincts kick in and he takes flight down the hall.

"DAEMON-" I scream. I duck down and grab him by the torso, "STOP IT!"

Daemon screams out in High Valyrian. He laughs and lowers his sword, "yeah, you better run."

#daemon fanfic #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon angst #daemon fluff #daemon targaryen fluff #daemon x reader #daemon x you #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen angst #daemon targaryen x you #daemon x modern!reader #hotd time travel au #hotd au #daemon crackfic #harwin fanfic #harwin strong fanfic #house of the dragon fanfic #otto hightower fanfic #otto fanfic

[flowerandblood]

A Wife's Only Duty

Halloween Request Oneshots Series

[ Aemond • Targaryen x wife • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, toxic relation, violence, marital rape, choking, character death ]

[ description: The war changes Aemond beyond recognition, and his wife becomes the target of his eternal abuse, also in bed. One day, however, he crosses the limits and has to face the consequences. Angst, violence, marital rape, very dark!Aemond. ]

This oneshot is an Anon Request and is created with Halloween in mind, so unlike what I usually write, these oneshots will be very dark and uncomfortable. Keep this in mind before you start reading.

*English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy!*

My others works: Masterlist

____

At the beginning of their marriage he was terrified. He had no idea how to handle this young, gentle girl who, by his parents' decision, became his wife. Her presence embarrassed him, he hid his feelings behind a mask of indifference and hostility, he deliberately did not allow her to get close to him even when she tried.

He had had a few one-off adventures with servants before marrying her, but at the time he cared less for their fulfilment than for his own, treating them like vessels in which he drained his seed.

During their wedding night, he didn't know how to act, her face pale and frightened, he guessed her mother had warned her that the act would only be pleasurable for him.

He ordered her to lie on her stomach and she did so without a word. He told her to lift her hips and spread her thighs, and she did. He liked how meek and obedient she was and thought he would try to be gentle, that way he would reward her.

He heard her breathing hard and stifling sounds of discomfort as he entered her, as he began to move slowly inside her, panting hard, her hands clenched on the pillow. She was tighter than he had expected, her walls squeezing him from all sides, giving him pleasure he had never experienced before.

Unwittingly, he began to slide faster into her, panting louder and louder, her sounds of discomfort becoming more pronounced, he heard her cry out softly.

"− quiet −" He exhaled coolly, for she tightened her lips and fell silent, taking what he was giving her, cuddling her face into the pillow, obediently waiting for the end, which came soon after.

He cum inside her with a loud sound of relief and found to his surprise that he was satisfied.

"− you did well, wife −" He praised her with a low murmur, sliding out her slowly, and she breathed a sigh of relief, her whole body quivering.

He let her stay with him that night, she moved away from him to the other end of the bed and did not speak to him. The next day at breakfast, he saw that she sat up in pain, a look of discomfort painted on her face that she tried to hide by adopting at least a partially satisfied expression. She tried to start a light discussion about nothing, but he was not interested in that and remained silent.

After several of their close-ups, something changed, since she directed his hand between her thighs as he slid into her with deep, sure movements, since he discovered the point between her folds, her insides became exceptionally moist and sticky, no more gasps of exertion came from her lips, only moans, her insides clenched against him.

"− please, husband − touch me like this −" She mumbled, and he felt his manhood throbbing hard at her words, some kind of pride and satisfaction filled his chest, so he did as she asked.

That night was the first time he had seen female fulfilment.

Since then she had sought the closeness of his body herself, unable to bond with him outside of bed, approaching him in this way, and he had not spurned her. He could consider that at this point their marital life was quite successful, approaching what might be called a bond, even if only carnal, still close.

And then Luke died because of his stupidity.

He saw a change in her, her face, her eyes no longer lit up with desire at the sight of him, he saw pain and horror in her, she blamed him for starting the war, for making them no longer safe.

"What is the meaning of that look, sweet wife?" He asked, staring at her watchfully, his fingers rubbing against each other in a gesture of frustration that she knew all too well. She swallowed loudly, apparently wondering strenuously how to ease his anger.

"Forgive me. I'm terrified." She whispered, and he, without knowing why, burst into laughter. He approached her and she took a step back, her eyes wide.

He didn't like that.

"Come here. Come here, I say." He hissed, furious as she tried to pull away from him, his hand clamped tightly on her shoulder. He turned her around with her back to him and forced her to bend over, but she still tried to break free.

"− no − please − please, husband, I don't want to −" She mumbled out with difficulty, her voice and body trembling, her tiny fingers clenched helplessly on his skin. He pressed his lips to her ear.

"− you don't want to? − are you disgusted with your kinslayer husband? hm? − you swore to me, you fucking whore −" He growled furiously, struggling against her, pulling up her skirt in a violent motion, grabbing her head by her hair and pressing her cheek against the table.

She cried out loudly as he entered her suddenly and violently, panting hard, sliding into her hard and fast.

"− that's it − fucking take it −" He growled out, pumping his length into her so fast and aggressively that he felt like he was going to pierce through her stomach, her sobs mixed with her moans.

He slipped his hand between her thighs, teasing her pearl in circular, slow motions, her lips parted, horror and indecision on her face, her walls throbbing on him suddenly. He licked his lips feeling it.

"− just like that − that's my good wife − it's okay now, I forgive you −" He breathed out, fucking her with all his strength, the sticky, loud slapping of flesh against flesh echoing through his chamber. He chuckled under his breath as he felt her come suddenly, moaning and whimpering, her legs trembling all over as waves of pleasure ran through her body.

"− fucking knew it − greedy little whore −"

From then on, their rapprochements became more and more violent and aggressive because of him, because of what had happened to Aegon, because of what had happened to Helaena, because of Alys, whom he fucked every time he appeared in Harrenhal, because she was expecting his bastard child and his wife still hadn't given him an heir.

"− you drink Moon Tea, don't you? − say it, or I'll strangle you −" He growled, his cock slamming against her back wall again and again, pushing her walls to their limits, his two hands clenched on her neck. She cried out, all pale, shaking her head.

"− no − no −" She mumbled wearily, and he pressed his lips together, looking at her with rage.

"− fucking whore − you think I'm an idiot? − that I don't know? − that I don't know that you hate me, that you abhor the thought that you could bear my child? −" He wailed in despair, feeling like he was about to burst into sobs for some reason, her eyes rolled back, her breath caught in her throat.

If he had let her go then, she would have been able to tell him that she was expecting his offspring.

His hands held her neck in an iron grip until he finally reached his peak inside her with a growl of pain and relief. He looked at her face, panting heavily, her eyes empty, her body lying still.

She was not breathing.

He let go of her suddenly, looking at her with wide eyes, his hands trembling in the air. He touched her cheek and patted her lightly, as if he wanted to wake her from her slumber.

"My love? My love, wake up. I didn't really mean it, I would never hurt you." He babbled out with difficulty, his throat tighten, his heart pounding like mad, he felt like his head was spinning.

She didn't react, her absent gaze fixed somewhere far away, into nothingness, her lips slightly parted, her body soft and relaxed.

He whined like an animal, pressing his face to her cheek, holding her still warm body close, the tears he hadn't let fall for years dripping down his face.

"− I'm sorry − I'm sorry − I'm so sorry − please, forgive me −" He cried out in despair, cradling her in his arms like a small child, stroking her hair. He lowered her onto his bed again, stroking her cheek, kissing her nose, her forehead, her lips as tenderly and gently as ever.

"− please, wake up − please, I promise I'll change −" He mumbled, but it was too late, all that remained was her empty body, her heart no longer beating, on her neck bruises from the grip of his hands.

She ran away from him where he could no longer hurt her.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics @verena-targaryen-writes @travelingmypassion @cryingforlife

#dark aemond smut #dark aemond #dark aemond targaryen #hotd smut #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #ewan mitchell smut #ewan mitchell fanfic #hotd angst #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #aemond oneshot #aemond one eye #aemond kinslayer #prince aemond #aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond fanfic #aemond the kinslayer #aemond fic #aemond x oc #aemond x fem!reader #ewan mitchell #dark aemond angst #aemond targeryen angst #aemond targaryen angst #aemond angst #hotd fandom

[hidtired]

Unfortunate Timing [Part 2]

(Daryl Dixon x Reader) Masterlist

Description: You found out your pregnant early into your relationship with Daryl Dixon. To make matters worse? The apocalypse happens a few days later! (not fully canon)

4.2k words

Warnings (Pregnancy, gore, abuse, violence, fluff, walking dead stuff, ect.)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 etc.

A single moment can change your life, change the world. Everything only seemed to get worse. The quarry was a group of survivors that had formed. You and the Dixons were outcasts, at least it felt like it. The girls seemed to see you in low regard being pregnant. The men were no better. They saw you as a burden. The feeling of people talking behind your back stressed you out. Being pregnant also didn’t help. You felt tired all the time, also being plagued with morning sickness. Which is a stupid name when it happens all day. Throwing up in a world were food is now limited also leaves you uneasy.

You also see that stress weighing on Daryl. It wasn’t long ago he struggled with the fact of having a kid. Now seemed even more terrifying. He was becoming short tempered, to his credit only snapping at you once but regretted the way he almost made you cry. “No! I won’t take a break I have to keep going out there for food! You’ve been throwing up half the shit I’ve already gotten for you!”

He didn’t mean for it to sound like your wrong for doing so, he knew you couldn’t help it. He saw the glassy film come to the corner of your eyes. His heart tugged. You were in your tent you shared, sat on the sleeping bag with your head shamefully down. “No, no. Come on…” he angled your face back up to met his. He sank to his knees in front of you. “I know you can’t help it. M’ just trying to say you need more. I just want to make sure you’re gettin enough.” You had asked him to stay because he was rarely around. He was out alone looking for food and you couldn’t help but see every time he came back a little more on edge. He was getting into his head to much out there.

He knows you’re having a hard time. With being pregnant at this moment in time how could you not. You had tried to talk to the mothers of the camp for advice on anything, they didn’t bat an eye to you. You had looked for support and were denied it. He saw that you were being treated like a Dixon. Something he was familiar with, and something Merle also understood. Merle became more chill around you. No more sexual comments or sexist remarks. Doesn’t mean he is any less better to be around. He treated you like a sister you thought. He still was an ass. Making mean comments or complaining about something you did. But he had become family.

Andrea was your biggest pain. She seemed like she had something to prove. She hated the traditional female roles that had been pushed onto the girls. You understood her disliking for Merle but she attached that to Daryl and you as well. She didn’t say outright mean things but subtle jabs. Week after week it was chipping at your demeanor.

So here you are now, you think almost 3 months pregnant. Seeing Daryl was the highlight of whenever he appeared. You sat in your tent with him getting ready for his 2 day hunting trip for a deer he knew was near by. He sighed feeling your eyes on him, “Yer breakin my heart with that look.” Your smiling face replacing your sulking one, “I’m just missing you already.” You stood up, “You should see something before you go.” He turned to you questioningly. You pulled your shirt up over your stomach and turned to the side, “I know I haven’t seen myself in a mirror for a while but, I think I’m showing?” You looked up from your little bump that you could see spotting the surprised face he was making. He gulped before talking, “Ya sure are…” he walked closer placing a hand to your tummy. You saw his teeth were clenched. He felt the weight of pressure crushing him,

“We are doing are best, that’s all I could ask from you.”

He left for his hunt a little less stressed. You also saw Merle off later into the day with the first group run to the city. “Hey do me a favor and don’t get yourself killed.” Merle turned to you, “And have those freaks naw on m' sweet ass?” You chuckle as you walk away, “Let’s just hope you remember your ass from your elbow!”

The day progress like any other. It had just become the afternoon when the sound of the radio chirped on. It cause some disagreement about making a sign to warn others about the city. You just went back to minding your own business. You helped boil water taking notice of Lori trimming her son’s hair. You spoke up noticing the displeased look on Carl's face, “Going for a mohawk Carl? Or maybe you’re thinking bald.” His nose scrunched up at the thought. You laugh at the reaction, “Bald people run faster.” Carl smiled, “Nuh-uh!” You shook your head and shrugged, “How do you know if you won’t try.” He looked to his mom, “I’d rather have hair than be faster!” He said it to his mom like he tried convincing her to not make him bald. Lori smiled at her son, “Ya me to, but if you keep moving you might be bald at the end of this.” He straightened and stilled, but he still spoke, “I hate haircuts…”

Shane came and sat down looking at you briefly. “One of these days you’ll be missing your mother’s hair cuts.” Carl rolled his eyes, "I'd like to see that day!" It had initially shocked you that Shane wasn’t Carl's dad. You always assumed for how close they were and how often they would walk into the woods together. Then it put a gross feeling into your mouth that his father had only recently died. Shane was his apparent best friend and coworker. But it wasn’t necessarily wrong, you just didn’t like to think about it often.

After finishing with boiling water you handed it to Carol. You felt sweaty and all around unpleasant. You needed a nap. You said to Carol that you were going to lay down if they needed to find you. You woke up to arguing. The group that went out had radioed saying there was a problem. Everyone was scared for their respective family that had gone to the city. You felt a pit form in your stomach. The hormones in your body already swarming causing you to be unable to control them. You picture what happened to your Aunt in front of you. Sometimes it still feels as if the blood was still on your face. The thought of knowing she was one of those things walking around somewhere. Maybe they all were already dead like her. You weren’t exactly thrilled about Merle as a person but, you knew deep down he was another person to help protect your baby.

You decided there was no use in stressing yourself, so you went and distracting yourself with chores. Laundry, moving fire wood to our fire pit, took a walk near the perimeter, which now leaves you here at the waters edge. You used the cool water to help with the swelling in your feet and ankles. Week after week you had the sense that being pregnant is going to really suck farther down the road. You fiddle with your knife while swaying your feet in the water. Lost in your own world when an echo starts to ring out throughout the quarry.

The car alarm got louder so you slipped your shoes on and walked back up to the camp. You saw a red car and Glenn standing outside of it. Shane opening the hood and pulling something to stop its beeping. People were yelling at him for answers when a van appeared, ‘so everyone made it back.’ It was a relief to stop the constant thought of the worse. You couldn’t help but notice Merle nowhere to be seen. But that thought was pushed aside when you heard Carl scream,

“DAD!”

You watched with a smile at the reunion of the Grimes family. Also taking notice of Shane making a weird face. He probably was feeling sick to his stomach and you thought it kinda deserved. He did persuade his grieving wife. The thought was interrupted by T-dog coming toward you with a concerned face. You clicked something was wrong, then started to look around. Merle was still no where. The sinking feeling of realization hit you. T-dog watch as understanding washed over you. A hand over your mouth, “W-where is Merle?” A few others turning at the mention, Lori’s husband taking the most notice. T-dog spoke first, “He was putting all of us in danger. He was cracked out of his mind.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, ‘I told him to behave.’ You inhale trying to calm yourself, “He dead?” T-dog shook his head. You nodded looking at all the pears of eyes on you. Your eyes were shiny but nothing fell. You huffed and walked back to your tent. While you were upset about Merle being gone it wasn’t about that. It proved how fucked this new world was becoming. A world your child would have to be in. Suddenly being pregnant with them seemed like the safest place for them. Your thoughts of how it would suck later in pregnancy and 'couldn’t wait for it to be over' stopped. Your child is the safest it will ever be in its life. That terrifying thought scared you.

It wasn’t until later when the sun began to set that you had calmed. It was cold and you wanted to sit by a fire. People were surprised when you appeared and sat with them. You had over heard parts about what happened to Rick. But at the sight of you got them talking about Merle. It was Dale who brought it up, “Who is going to tell Daryl Dixon about his brother?” Rick glanced to you then back to Dale, “I will. I’m the one who handcuffed him.” Then T-dog shook his head, “Nah I dropped the key, makes this one mine.” Based on that information you started to piece what happened on the run. That thought stalled to a stop when Glenn stated, “Not to make it about race but maybe a white guy should tell him?” Is that what they thought about Daryl? They just assuming he is like his brother? You huff in anger, “Really Glenn? He is not racist. He’s only the person that, you know, been feeding all of you.” Glenn turned sheepish at your harsh tone. You stood, “But you know, leave his brother for dead seems like a good trade for how much he has been doing for all of you people!”

You visible deflate mood switching on a dime. You move a hand to your small bump, “Sorry I know you probably had a good reason, Merle is a hard ass.” You sunk back down enjoying the fire too much to go to bed. Rick’s voice spoke calmly, “Your pregnant.” He stated it more as a realization. You look to his shocked face, clearly thinking of how unlucky a timing it was to be. You chuckled speaking sarcastically, “Keep up with those observations and you’re sure to make detective.” His eyebrows drawn in by thought, “Merle was the father?” Disgust washing over your face, “Ew. God I take it back.” Everyone was surprised at your blatant dislike for Merle. They knew Daryl was the dad. You start to clarify, “Daryl is the dad.” You took notice of there original reaction, “Look I don’t like Merle anymore then you probably do. Half the time I don’t think Daryl does either! But he is still at the end of the day my family now.”

Peoples lack of trying to talk to you has put there own version of you in there head. They thought you were quiet and jumpy. Questioning if they did talk to you they would do more harm then good like with Carol. Now the few talks they’ve had or heard from you made sense. You were out spoken and just tired from being pregnant. You stood up again feeling awkward. “I’m going to bed, figure out what to say to Daryl. Maybe watch out for a punch or two.” So you walked off to bed. You were happy you could see Daryl in the morning, but the thought of him learning of his brother broke your heart. You tossed and turned most of the night with the thought.

The light shining through your tent lead you awake. Still trying to cling to as much sleep while feeling drowsy. Then you heard Carl and Sophia screams. You sat up and tried to get to your feet causing a wave of dizziness. The shuffling of stomping feet telling you people were running over there. You slip on shoes taking a moment to become alright with gravity again. Amy and Andrea walked away when you walked over a voice caught your attention, “Its gotta be the brain, don’t youall know nothing?” You smiled glad Daryl is back. When you turn the corner however you weren’t expecting a walker and deer to be sprawled out dead on the floor. You made eye contact with Daryl when the smell of the walker pulled a gag from you. The smile being wiped from your face as a hand comes to your mouth. You immediately turned back around and walked away.

Daryl was well aware of how sensitive your senses have become. You can’t handle anything raw at the moment. He noticed a week into the quarry how you would look at something raw, something that never bother you before, and it would make you queasy. Speaking of raw he should probably get the squirrels ready. He sighed watching you walk away with a love sick hopelessness washed on his face. Something that people have never taken notice of before. So he called for his brother to help, so he could get to you sooner. That's when all hell broke loose.

You heard the calls for Merle hearing Daryl walk back. Then you saw all the guys surround him. Then you watched him pace back and forth. You knew that was a coping thing he did so you decided to stand closer. By the time you had walked over he threw the squirrels he’d caught at Rick. You didn’t even have a moment to yell his name when the former policemen jumped him and pinned him. Shane putting him in a headlock and Rick getting in his face. You yelled in displeasure,

“Get the hell off him!”

It was the loudest anyone has heard you, also the angriest. Shane had glanced to you before releasing his hold on him. Daryl sprung back up frustration clear on his face. When he turned to make sure you were behind him you caught a glimpse of his eyes becoming glassy. T-dog chimed in from the earlier conversation you didn’t hear, “It’s not his fault, I dropped the key.” Daryl’s voice strained, “You couldn’t pick it up?!” T-dog looked down guilty, "Well, I dropped it into a drain. But before I left I chained the door shut." Daryl shook his head and started to back up, "That supposed to make me feel better! Hell with all of y'all, just tell me where he is so I can go an get him." You hated to see him upset. You weren't expecting Lori to pipe in and volunteering her husband to take Daryl there. Rick said he was planning to go back anyways saying it was wrong for anything to suffer like that. Shane being the typical hard ass and self employed leader strongly disagreed. With a few others joining it was decided, they were going to get Merle back.

You were finally alone with Daryl again. He still seemed riled over everything but also you could see he was getting emotional. He was turned around facing away from you. You slowly wrapped you arms around him, holding him from behind. He slowly turned into you resting his chin on your head and arms going over your shoulders. You felt him release air, sinking into you. He try's to hide it but you see he is exhausted. You saw he felt like he had to prove something to you, or maybe just to himself. He released you with avoided eye contact. He took a moment with you and collected himself but, he was still a man on a mission.

You watch as Daryl throw things into a bag and refusing to met your eye to avoid whatever look that would break his heart. They were about to take off back to the city and into danger, so you stopped Daryl by putting your hands to his chest. He spoke before you could, "Look I have ta go get him, I know you don't want me goin-" You cut him of by grabbing his face, "When you see him again you tell him I warned his dumb ass, and when you get him back here I'm going to chew him out for this!" He looked at you stunned. You use your grip on his face to drag him into a kiss, "And you better comeback here without a scratch!" He smiled at you, eyes soft, he kissed you again.

"Yes Ma'am."

They had left hours ago and you had that uneasy feeling again. You respected Rick more then anyone else at the camp and he just got here. He was a decent guy but feel bad watching Carl's worried expression. Lori even flipped that he was going right after she herself said he was. Mood swings on that girl, and your the one whos supposed to be pregnant. Jim was off digging which concerned a few. It led to him tided to a tree for his own safety. Granted it was the only eventful thing that would probably happen today. Unless a swamp monster dragged itself out of the water you and all the girls were doing laundry in. Although Ed was a close to one. It was a welcome distraction all the same. To have girl talk again was essential to any girl and none can say other wise. Most of the girls seemed like they could now talk to you and it was a relief.

Although Andrea kinda still sucks the life out of fun, "So how did you end up pregnant?" Most girls look over to her wet laundry in hand and displeased looks by the question. You tightly rung a shirt and looked at her in the eye, "Well, I think your a little old for the birds and bees talk." That gained an eye roll from her but chuckles from the others. You smiled before giving her the answer you are sure she was trying to dig for, "I found out a day before the fall." The thought making you think of your Aunt. You continued on anyways, "Daryl and I hadn't been dating that long I'll be honest, so it wasn't exactly planned. Then I thought it was the end of the world." You look around to the thoughtful faces around you and shrugged, "Turns out I was a day off on that though." It was lighthearted from there, mentions of things that they missed from before. Carols unexpected and less then innocent choice sent waves of laughter throughout the lady's. That fun was crushed by the swamp monster known as Ed.

It lead to something you didn't expect. His sexism rubbing everyone the wrong way. Making Andrea questioned what he did instead of sitting on his ass doing nothing. Which while true and agreed with it lead to him to try to take Carol away and most likely go hit her. When Andrea challenge Ed in doing so it left a sinking feeling in you. You were uncomfortable with confrontation, probably do with the way your parents had treated you. Even with the sinking feeling you try and pull Carol behind you. The exaltation of his action were unpredictable, "Think I won't hit some pregnant whore?!" That was the first swing. It almost fully landed grazing your cheek. Carol had used the arm you had on her to tug you back before he swung. The frightened yelps and yells grabbing the attention from those farther. Carol now stood slightly in front of you, your cold damp hand moving to your warmed cheek he clipped. Ed now focused on his wife slapping her and trying to drag her away but the other girls now stepping in and clung to her. You didn't even see Shane before he pulled Ed backwards and began to lay punch after punch into him. Everyone but Carol were stunned into silence. Carols cry's and the grunts coming from the men filled the air. So maybe Jim wasn't the only thing that was going to happen today.

Everything was tense after that. With the amount things gone wrong and the still missing members that went to the city, moral was low among the group. Later in the evening Amy and Andrea had gone fishing catching dinner. The sun drifted closer to fully set as the fish was cooked with one question still in there minds, 'Where were they?' The smell of the fish left you gagging and need for fresher air. You found you way back to the water to dip your swollen feet in the water again. It wasn't a unusual thing you did, you did it often. Knife in hand and legs swaying in the cool water. The light dissipated making you aware you should get back soon. You had heard laughs by the camp so moral was rising from the stressful day. You used your cold hands to press to your reddened face from almost getting flattened out by Ed. Daryl would will not be happy about that. You had pulled you feet from the water shaking the water off them to put your shoes on. Then the day got even worse. A scream ripped threw the air making you turn to the sound. You see outlines of figures in the dark. You feel fear crash into you.

'Walkers...'

There were even two coming closer to you from the woods to the side of the water. They had almost snuck up on you if you hadn't looked around because of the scream. A tremble was in your hand as you gripped the knife you had. You slowly back away, hearing gunshots off in the air. Daryl had taught you this for this moment. He had grilled this into you in fear that maybe he wouldn't be around to protect you. The first walker was a thin women, the other a male missing its arm and limping. You lunged the knife into the women's eye. Your knife breaking by the blade as the women fell over dead. The snapping of the metal was like slow motion, the other walker steps away from you. You step back bare feet getting hurt by the jagged rocks. You had looked down spotting a larger rock and hurriedly pick it up.

You remember the motions Daryl had showed you for self defense but had never practiced them with him. He didn't really like the idea of rough housing with his pregnant girlfriend even if it was for your defense. You reached and tugged the one arm the walker had and tripped the thing in the motion. It was flat on the floor about to get back up and grab at you. However, rock in hand you threw downward blows one after another even after the thing stopped moving. Blood splatting all over you shirt and down your arms. The buzz of adrenalin causing your hands to violently shake when you stopped swinging. The urge to cry was strong but you notice the now slue of gunshots that had increased stop. The silence broken by the yell and worried cry for your name.

"Y/N!!!"

Your body fluttered at the sound of Daryl. Still bare foot you ran up the gravel hill and yelling back to him with emotion in your voice, "DARYL!!!" You had made it to the top getting to see him wipe around to your voice. His crossbow dropped to the ground as you both booked it toward each other. He didn't know what to think when he couldn't find you after the last walker fell. The inability to find you cracking a desperate hole into his chest. When he heard you and saw you running to him relief flooded him. As he ran panic rose again seeing you dripping in blood. Inches apart he heard your desperate sobs before crashing into one another. He pulled you off your feet lifting you into him. His voiced stuttered out, "Are you bit?! Are you ok?!" You voice quivering as you sucked in a breath. "I'm alright-t." He felt you shaking like a leaf and whispered into you, "I've got ya, nothin is gonna hurt ya." You had barred your face into his neck now crying in relief. Daryl helped you get cleaned up, that night you clung to him while everyone 'slept'. A moment can change everything, and it was clear to everyone after today.

They were no longer safe here and things were only going to get worse.

Part 3

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[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-down AU Part 5

Part 1 Part 4

Eddie’s filled a shitty back-to-school backpack with anything useful he can find. There’s more wet wipes, and gauze, antiseptic, and a hammer. He’s got a lighter, a few newspapers, and a few shitty plastic cups. In a fit of whimsy, he stuffs a pack of playing cards in there as well. 

They go.

Hawkins is bigger than he remembers. Eddie’s not sure if it’s just the fatigue, the general atmosphere of this place, or it’s just another fucked-up thing that’s just a little off about this place. Hawkins, but not.

And god, he didn’t ever think he’d be homesick for Hawkins. His trailer, sure. Wayne, of course. But Hawkins? No way.

But he’s pretty sure he’d give his left kidney to be walking down 2nd street with all its residences clutching their pearls and crossing the street to avoid him. 

The street stretches out before him unnaturally. It’s quiet. There’s ash in Harrington’s hair where he walks by his side. Eddie’s never felt more out of place in his life.

“Do you think we’ll make it back?” he whispers. It’s so quiet, it feels like his words bounce across the town, anyway.

Harrington’s gait stutters. It could be from his fucked up feet. Eddie doesn’t think so. His brows pinched, lips pursed, skin golden under its ashen sheen.

“Someone will have noticed us missing by now, right?” He doesn’t sound sure. Eddie can’t fathom why.

“It’s…Sunday, Right?” Eddie asks, not waiting for an answer before continuing, “I’m supposed to be at band practice. The guys will notice.”

Harrington nods, starts walking again. 

“What about you?” Eddie asks.

Harrington’s eyes are shifting back and forth like he’s watching the ghosts of the real world in this fucked up mirror dimension. Hell, maybe he can. 

“Nancy noticed,” he says, quiet enough that Eddie barely picks up on it. He’s looking down at his feet and he looks small. Unsure. Before he looks up at Eddie from the corner of his eye. “Right?”

Eddie looks at this guy he’s hated for years, this guys who Eddie’s sure didn’t even notice him enough to hate him back, and says the only thing he can, “Right.”

“She’s smart.”

“Wheeler seems like a baddess,” Eddie says, even though she doesn’t. It makes Harrington smile down at his borrowed shoes. 

Eddie reaches out, squeezing lightly at Harrington’s elbow in comfort before skipping a few steps ahead, feeling his ears burn red. Harrington jogs to catch back up. They walk in silence after that.

The walk down the winding path surrounding the quarry is harrowing. It’s long, sure, but the way the red sky is reflecting back off the water’s surface has his gut sinking into his boots and weighing his feet down. It doesn’t look promising.

It looks even less promising up close. But beggars can’t be choosers, and Eddie feels one second away from falling to his knees and begging to a deity he doesn’t believe in.

He pulls out one of the stupid plastic cups, toes of his boots dipping into the red water as he bends over the reservoir and fills the cup, handing it to Harrington. Might as well take advantage of his tagalong jock test dummy,, and all that. 

Harrington grabs it from him, staring down at it dubiously. He tips it sideways, eyeing the liquid speculatively as it pours out of the cup and onto the concrete at his feet. 

It’s hard to tell if it’s actually red, even watching it drip onto the ground. The light’s too fucked, but it’s at least transulscent. It’s not blood, or at least not only blood. Eddie’s more concerned about the ash mixed in, to be honest.

Harrington’s still staring down at the remains of his cup like he’s not sure what to do with it. 

“Don’t drink that,” Eddie says.

Harrington doesn’t reply, but he can feel him watching as Eddie digs through his bag, pulling out a drugstore T-shirt and the second cup. He snatches Harringtons cup from his fingers, puts the T-shirt overtop, and then puts the other cup on top of that, before flipping the cups quickly.

Some of the liquid splashes out as it pours into the second cup, but most of it makes it to its rightful destination. Eddie pulls the T-shirt away and eyes the cup. He pours it out again, humming in pleasure and there’s no ash floating in the puddle at his feet.

A glance in the original cup makes him gag. Harrington siddles up to peer over his shoulder at the congealed black sludge left at the bottom, smeared with ash and dirt.

“I’m glad I didn’t drink that,” Harrington says.

Eddie laughs, handing the remnants of the second cup back over to Harrington. The look in the other boy’s eyes tells Eddie he knows he’s the guinea pig in this arrangement, but he gamely takes a sip. Eddie holds his breath when Harrington makes a disgusted face, but when he doesn’t keel over and die, he takes another sip. 

“Tastes like shit,” Harrington says, downing the rest. 

When Eddie filters the next cup, he can’t help but agree. It tastes like too-strong coffee mixed with blood, and Eddie’s never liked coffee. 

“How’d you learn to do this?” Harrington asks as the squat next to each other, Eddie filtering water, and Harrington filling the water bottles they’d collected from Melvald’s.

“I didn’t,” Eddie says, wringing the T-shirt out. When Harrington scoffs, he continues. “I just read about it in a book one time, and thought maybe it’d work.”

Harrington snorts. It sounds like a pig. Eddie hates himself for finding it endearing.

“You’re such a nerd,” he says, nudging his shoulder into Eddie’s. From his crouched position, Eddie almost goes tumbling into the water, but Harrington snags his shoulder and yanks him abc, laughing all the while.

“Fuck off, man,” he says, but it lacks its usual heat. 

It’s hard to completely hate a guy who dragged you bodily out of a window and away from your untimely demise. It’s hard, but damn if Eddie’s not going to try.

They fill the water bottles. It takes longer than it should, as Eddie tries to find clean enough spot on the T-shirt to make filtering the water any more even possible, but they manage.

Eddie doesn’t put the soiled garment in his backpack before slinging it onto his shoulders. It’s heavier now, but something in him eases with the time they’ve gained with the water. Days of survival has now stretched out to weeks.

He thinks of that Thing again and wonders if that’s a good thing at all. With the way Harrington is grimacing as he slings his own pack onto his shoulders, he’s having similarly grim thoughts.

They both stare up at the steep path they’d come down, hours before.

“What now?” Eddie asks.

Steve sighs, and starts trekking back up the hill. Without any better ideas, Eddie follows.

Part 6

#steddie upsidedown au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #my fic #ive started posting the new portion of this when i have completed a new portion with one part locked and loaded #it's going pretty well!!! #also i am Not Editing it so feel free to send any errors my way #i plan to just write and release and then clean it up for ao3 posting

[ayaboba]

DAY 1: FIRST FALL OF SNOW ❅⋆⍋

summary: activities you do in the snow

characters: albedo, childe, diluc, wriothesley.

notes: wc: 260-300 per character, roughly 1.1k total, gn! reader, fluff, mentions of reader being lost in the snow in childe’s, petnames, the madness begins.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ dreamy december event masterlist

albedo - how to build a snowman

All year round, Dragonspine is inundated with thick layers of gleaming snow.

Twinkling in weak sunlight, an ethereal sight both close-up and afar.

However, there was always something particularly striking about waking up to a fresh new coat of snow. Impeccably perfect, its raw beauty enthrals you each time. It was a privilege, you knew. Not just anyone could climb such an intimidating mountain, and the only reason you got to experience such phenomenons, the one who introduced you to this very mountain—was someone you’d never imagined to meet. Much less be more than acquaintances, a renowned genius, who currently stood completely blank in the suggestion of building snowmen.

"So, ah… I just add another pile on top?”

For the hundredth time this morning, you shake your head with an expression of amusement. “No,” you mutter, rolling the pile next to him into the shape of a sphere before placing it before him. “You need to make it into a ball shape, then place it on top. That will be its middle.” You point accordingly, an encouraging smile plastered on your face.

Albedo still doesn’t get it.

Instead, he watches silently as you enjoy yourself constructing a snowman. How interesting, creating little figures out of snow. He watches from afar as you unravel your own woollen scarf and wrap it around its uneven neck. He watches as you judge a variety of sticks to pick the most suitable to be its arms.

Albedo watches as you stand proudly beside it, a dazzling smile etching your face as he too, unravels his woollen scarf and gives it to you.

childe - snowball fights

You catch your breath behind a large cedar tree.

Was it a surprise? Surely not. Challenging Childe in any form of fight was the equivalence of battling in an arena, playful or not.

It also didn’t help that you were winning. For now, at least.

A strong gust of frosty wind brings a blizzard of newly formed snowflakes, collecting delicately on your hair and clothing. The fierce howls mask up any forms of sound, and the gradually falling snow covers up any traces of footprints.

Moreover, the temperature was severely dropping by the minute.

Perfect weather, you curse internally.

Your hands swiftly grab handfuls of the snow all around you, leaving a deep indentation in the shape of a ring all around you. Painfully obvious evidence that you were here, but at this point in time, you were more than ready to surrender. Between the choice of victory or frostbite, you’d willingly lose.

Cradling a dozen snowballs, your eyes are alert and searching as you attempt to outline any signs of a human. It’s hopeless; the wind is intensifying, swirling the frost like a snowglobe.

An anguished sigh escapes as you look down at the heavy layers of snow. Perhaps it was time to resort to something more desper-

Smack.

Something cold lands on the side of your face before falling to bits next to your feet. Another flies right past you.

You’re supposed to be mad; you’re supposed to shout and blame him for putting you in such a perilous and stupid situation, but you don’t.

As he catches you in an embrace, a contrast to everything you felt mere seconds ago, so frantic and tight, you realise how scared he was—scared enough to be rendered completely and irrevocably silent.

diluc - snow? my eyes are on you.

How long has it been?

How long have you been gazing, lost in your thoughts, through the window of your shared bedroom?

It’s quiet, but a comforting sort of quiet. The sort of quiet that you could appreciate for years and years and enjoy as if it were freshly discovered. Perhaps it was because of Diluc and the reserved and reclusive ambience he always carried. Whatever it was, you understood why he sought it so much.

Kaeya told you to expect snow tonight.

You love snow.

As soon as Diluc stepped one foot into the entrance of Dawn Winery, you had notified him most excitedly, “It’s going to snow tonight!”

You made sure not to mention that it was Kaeya who told you, though.

Being the gentleman he was, Diluc reciprocated your happiness most thoughtfully. Across the candlit dinner table, you swapped memories and dreams, all down until the last few tired murmurs sealed with a tender goodnight kiss planted on your forehead. A fond, “Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” as he drifted off to sleep.

Time steamed on; it must’ve been hours, according to the grandfather clock in the farthest corner of the bedroom, yet never once did your eyes stray from the window. You had long abandoned your previous sleeping position and now cozily huddled your legs, although still buried comfortably within the blankets.

Diluc seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

For a while, you observed in slight awe, the little rises in his chest as he inhaled, the serene expression decorating his face. It felt so intimate, so softly vulnerable—simply two people treasuring a moment in their lives so unknowingly—is what made it magnificent.

The first glimmers of snow lightly shimmered through the night sky as a familiarly snug hand pulled you beneath the covers.

wriothesley - ice skating

The many fountains in Fontaine had been frozen from the frigid weather, transforming the statues to behold graceful arches that glinted divinely in the feeble sunlight. Bound to be presented gloriously on the front page of the Steambird for the next three months or so.

Additionally, smaller bodies of water had completely transformed into ice, making it a perfect opportunity for extravagant winter activities. After all, Fontaine was never short of its flamboyance and charming flair when it came to anything of that sort.

That was the reason Wriothesley had spontaneously suggested going for a skate on the ice.

You had promptly declined at first, leaning over his desk, brushing the idea off with a brisk excuse of, “I can’t skate.”

Wriothesley had looked up from his stacks of documents, followed by a falsely exasperated roll of eyes, saying, “That’s what you said about dancing.”

"I'm not a very good dancer, you know that.”

“But I successfully taught you, didn’t I?" he confidently answered, standing from the overflowing desk.

You made a non-committal noise, shaking your head as Wriothesley chucked and wrapped an arm around you. “C’mon, let’s give it a try, all right, darling?”

This is precisely how you landed yourself in such a predicament.

The skates were easy enough to get on, but the process of skating, like you anticipated, was no easy skill.

Wriothesley, being the superb lover he is, let’s out a muffled snort as he watches you topple over for what could’ve only been the hundredth time that evening.

“Instead of laughing, you could actually help me like you promised, you know.”

With one last terribly hidden chortle, Wriothesley seizes your hands and gently guides your movements alongside his, careful and patient, as you both skate until the winter sunlight ebbs over the horizon.

#genshin x reader #genshin fluff #albedo x reader #childe x reader #diluc x reader #wriothesley x reader #anya writes ✧.*