#FUCK I LOVE WOMEN I LOVE WOMEN I LOVE WOMEN I LOVE WOMEN I LO

[spaciebabie]

i love muscular women i love women who are absolutely jacked i love women who look like they could rip my head from my body i love women who could end my life with a single punch ta the jaw

#oh my godd #sorry. my demons. #spacie spoinks #god i love women have u ever seen a woman b4 guys arent they neat #fuck women are so pretty and cool #what the fuckinkg fuck #im looking up references and im getting a bunch of jacked women thats what inspired this godd they're so fucking hot #FUCK I LOVE WOMEN I LOVE WOMEN I LOVE WOMEN I LOVE WOMEN I LO #OH MY GODDDD #HELP #GAY GAY GAY HOMOSEXUAL GAY

[mo-ok]

🤍🩷🌊 Sayaka + Mai 🪽🩷🤍

#changeman #*in my best kurenai otoya voice*: yuri #i love them i love them i lo #this is why its important to have two girls on the team #they wORE EACH OTHERS OUTFITS YOUR HONOUR #mai isnt normally in the helicopter she's only there because sayaka let her have a go flying it do yOU UNDERSTAND #they managed to turn a crying over a boy scene into THE MOST sapphic scene in the whole fucking show someone please help me #2024 the year of being normal about women

[robocops-a-christ-allegory]

“Young men are so unhappy and its why theyre turning to fascism and being incels : (” as a generally unhappy young man I am gonna keep on saying these guys are just jerks who became incels because they were jerks

#d/o/nt///// reb/lo/g/// I do not want discourse on this #Im having a good day today and keep feeling the need to say like 'oh im fine actually : )' but did wake up like #with some thoughts that were delusional. Also I get it Im trans #And have friends I love very much but still its like #stop making excuses for these guys you dont turn into a fucking incel just because you have depression #Women shouldnt be expected to take on the responsibility of keeping these #men from turning into hateful bastards because they got taken in by these hategroups who manipulated their depression #Like Im not saying thats not how it works because it is but the idea that you can 'save' these guys 'just by being kind' is wrong #not everyone has it in them to be a fucking deprogrammer and you cant get someone out of that kind of thinking with #A Few Kind Words And A Smile : ) #And you know these idealogies arent like 'women dont wanna fuck me and it makes me sad : (' #Its that and like a violent hatred against women that manifests in real violence. Like theyre not innocent little boys #'we should just be nicer : (' THESE PEOPLE THINK IT SHOULD BE GOVERNMENT MANDATED FOR WOMEN TO FUCK THEM.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

i watched My Neighbor Totoro for the first time, here's my chronological viewing experience:

woo-hoo! dusty old japanese house with japanese architectural details aplenty

these kids got some ENERGY my goodness

family dynamic's adorable. peak quality dad humor

kids: our house is haunted. parents: that's so cool!

hell yeah, wrinkled old lady rep. we need more friendly old women with potato faces and warts like storybook witches. the backbone of society, these ladies

Plot Summary: Small Child Bothers Local Wildlife

sacred tree sacred tree sacred tree

Introducing Totoro! nobody said this fucker's got TEETH???

Uh-Oh! Inadequate Parental Supervision Detected

(you misplaced your four year old! you're not supposed to do that)

4-year-old: i met a magic forest spirit. dad: oh shit fr?

4-year-old: *angrily hugs sister* missed u bitch

this small child has a smile like a toad. like a really really cute toad. like the cutest toad in all existence. i love her she's perfection please just let this child be happy

rice paddies are so pretty....so back breaking....rice is such a prissy crop

*my crush is stranded in a rainstorm* takethisumbrellait'syoursnowBYE *runs away in panic im so good at flirting*

Giant Chinchilla Learns To Hold Umbrella, Is Fucking Delighted By Experience

take this, it will help you on your quest! *hands u trail mix wrapped in a leaf*

LO-FI HIP HOP STUDY LIST!

crouching down to peer at dirt--A++ top notch foundational childhood experience

mom has a big ass forehead

honey! the chinchillas are performing Rituals in the backyard again

help yeah let's jack and the bean stalk this shit

huh so we're all just climbing aboard the giant chinchilla's tiddies now ok

class trip!

the pure adrenaline of Vegetable Gardening

no! the small child is crying! she is bawling her eyes out. no no no. i can't cope with this. emotionally i cannot cope 🥺🥺🥺

i've only had Mei one hour but if anything happens to her i will raze this earth and everyone on it

please someone make this small child smile again

oh no the tall child is crying too

i can't take this. my heart can't take this.

i need a drink

small child running determined to deliver magic veggies to the hospital. this kid is my hero

she is also unsupervised. so, so unsupervised

babe you are FOUR

godDAMMIT ghibli, you cannot give me watercolor sunsets while a small child is missing. u are killing me. my heart is giving out. this is me, experiencing heart failure.

Totoro to the rescue!

no wait CATBUS to the rescue!

i admit i initially thought the cat was a creep. alice in wonderland prejudiced me. i have revised my notions of smiling cats

i've decided the cat is a metaphor for the magic of a robust public transport system

MEI'S OKAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and so is mom. she's a lovely lady im sorry for what i said about her forehead. it's a noble forehead.

happy ending YES bitch!!!!!!

ok. ok ok ok. that was magical.

(as a first-time adult viewer i was worried i wouldn't be able to Access the Magic. but i could and i did and it was incredible. that was culture. that was ART. joy distilled into animated form. holy rites of childhood. i understand now. how glorious, this world we grow out of. how full of marvels. i'm going outside to smell grass and sun and get dirt under my fingernails. miraculous.)

#mr ghibli please you cannot do this to my heart #totoro #my neighbor totoro #spoilers #? #initially i misspelled Totoro as Tortoro throughout the entire post #i fixed it but dear heavens i was tempted to leave it in. you're WELCOME

[american-denim-parano]

#california #vintage #i love you #vintage denim #just women #vintageshirt #los angeles #denim #vintagesweats #vintagesweatshirt #harmony #fuck the world #mongol empire #mongols #hellsangels #hells #hells angels

[luminiamore]

hiiii i really liked your suguru hoochie fic and i was wondering if you could do one with ony where she’s like a tomboy and she has a smart mouth and fights a lot but when she gets with ony he makes her chill out when she start to act up.

thank youuuuuu🫶🏾

best friend ony x black tomboy reader

warnings: a bit of angst in the beginning? fam issues, reader can throw hands, car sex, angry sex a little, overstimulation, best friends to lovers, a teensy bit of manipulation? if you squint

a/n: hope you enjoyyyyy :33

Second year, first semester. You honestly were starting to get tired of this hell people call college. You were drained, which was weird since you loved what you were there for. Fashion design has been your passion ever since you were a child. It was nothing out of the ordinary for anyone in your family to see you declare that as your major after being admitted to FIT, one of the best fashion schools in New York.

Your parents, comprising a lawyer and the top doctor in the city, fully supported you in pursuing your dreams. They were impressed by your decision to launch your own fashion line, and before you even reached your third year in college, you had already established your own business. 

The outcome was much more successful than anticipated, making your first $100k in less than 2 months. However, there are drawbacks to being raised in a traditional Haitian family. 

‘Tifi pa mete gwo pantalon konsa.’ Girls don’t wear big pants like that.

‘Buy that skirt. Ou bezwen abiye tankou yon dam.’ You need to dress like a lady.

It was a broken fucking record, and you were tired of hearing it. You would call them out on it, never being one to hold your tongue. Your parents scolded you for that, too, telling you that no one likes a lady who always has someone to say. You swear you would pop a blood vessel if you heard another one of their lectures.

Of course, you never wore the skirts or dresses they would waste their money on for you. Your family’s Christmas gifts would be just that now. You couldn’t help but want to hurl when you saw pastel-colored tops, the shortest skirts you’d ever seen, and dresses that made you shiver in discomfort.

They weren’t ugly. You recognized the beauty in them when other people wore them. But putting them on your body made you visibly uncomfortable. You always felt awkward in them, and you realized that while you loved your parents, you couldn’t change how they viewed things. 

So, you moved out. After six months of telling your parents you were leaving. They never believed you. On a warm summer evening, you packed all of your ‘ti gason’ clothes, as they like to call them, and made your way to the high-rise apartment that you paid a deposit on three weeks ago.

You were happy. I mean, you had no reason not to be. Your parents came around to you not being home anymore, your business was doing exceptionally well, and your best friend was taking you out to eat later tonight.

You were happy. 

So, why are you leaving room 109 on the verge of tears after being scolded by your Fashion Management professor for missing yet another assignment?

You were at your limit. You weren’t by any means sensitive, always known for being quick on your feet. Usually, when there is a problem, you are the first to fix it. You were smart, having a high 3.9 GPA, and are even on the principal’s honor roll. That didn’t stop you from getting into a few fights here and there. 

Now, you were by no means were you the type of bitch always looking for a fight. But the girls at your university were bullies, and unfortunately for them, you don’t take no bullshit. Not from your parents, and certainly not from them.

You should be a MMA fighter with how these women are left twitching after you’re done with them. And you probably should’ve been expelled, but you were one of the school’s head designers. It would look bad on their part if they let you go, which is why you’re still here. Utterly drained, hungry, and twisting your personal locker open.

“Yo!” 

You hear a loud shout from behind you. You take a pause from stacking your latest edition of the Vogue magazine, featuring your designs, in the plain navy blue locker. Nah, not me. You really weren’t in the mood today.

“Excuse you, miss. With the big ass pants,” You entirely stop all your movements and take a deep breath in. Not fucking today. 

The outfit you wore was cute, you looked adorable. Standing with a basketball jersey shirt you stumbled upon while thrifting a week ago and oversized jeans. Your new blue Balance 550s were free of scratches and fit perfectly with your mid-calf length socks. Your bohemian braids are tucked into a messy updo, and your vintage jewelry completes your look. You were bad, and no amount of bullying from insecure women could ever make you feel different.

You continue ignoring the person. Your best friend of five years, Ony, told you not to get into any more fights. He said you were too bright for that, that they only wanted a reaction out of you. On any other day, you would’ve taken his concerns into consideration. Today was absolutely not one of those days. Today was one of the days where if someone said the wrong thing, you wouldn’t flinch before knocking their head off their shoulders.

To be honest, he should’ve known better; you always had a short temper. 

Still, the whiny voice pesters you until they got right within your vicinity. “I know you hear me talking to you,” 

Your method of ignoring is futile now; the girl was so close you could smell the cheap Victoria’s Secret perfume she over-sprayed. You were forced to turn to your right and face the culprit, your sharp eyes squinting at the girl.

You notice you’ve never seen her before. She wasn’t drastically shorter than you, maybe an inch or two. Even you knew, though, you could spank her with no problem. She was pretty, but her style was the complete opposite of yours. Her brown skin was well-compensated by the short pleated cream skirt she wore, and the bow-shaped crop top caused you to look twice at her tits.

You would’ve forgotten that she approached you all hostile if she didn’t put her pink glossed lips together to say her following words.

“You fucking with my man?” Didn’t I mention that you have never seen this girl a day in your life? How the fuck were you supposed to know who her man was? You’re stuck in a dilemma, a mind fucking dilemma. 

Should you walk away and be the bigger person, or should you indulge in whatever this was and risk listening to what would be your second lecture of the day from Ony? You shiver at the thought alone. You don’t think you can take another earful. 

“Y’know what? I don’t even think it was right of me to ask,” Thank you. You internally think you wouldn’t feel bad for fucking up someone’s daughter today.

“Yeah, there’s no way Ony would go for someone like you,” 

Silence.

There was an apparent silence among the crowded halls, everyone stopping what they were doing to stare at the two of you. Damn, does no one mind their business?

You weren’t lying earlier. You really didn’t have an issue with people dressing in the opposite way of you. In 2024, you have a fondness for the way humans express themselves through their clothing. What you didn’t like was how girls with the most basic outfits known to man would think they were better than you.

And did this bitch just call Ony her man?

Your anger was rising slowly the more you thought about it, and you were bout ready to strangle this girl. 

“Excuse me?”

Your usual sweet tone sounded almost chilly amid the suffocating tension. Everyone around the school knew who you were; being a fashion designer made the public eye fixated on you. Your fights were a natural source of mass attention. That was what all of your 1 million fans on Instagram liked about you, the fact that you never lost.

She had the audacity to keep talking. “Yeah, I mean, look at you. You should dress more like a-”

It’s a shame, really. You really didn’t want to fight today. Your fist went swinging before your mind even processed what was happening. It was a little uncanny how you didn’t let the girl get any punches; it was simply hit after hit. Were you at 7 now? Or maybe it was 10? You couldn’t tell. 

This wasn’t because she was weak; it took about two solid punches to the face before she fell down. But you were just so heated. That comment made something snap in the deepest crevices of your bone. There was an intense sobbing from underneath you, and in the corner of your cloudy vision, you saw pecks of blood staining your knuckles. 

You didn’t get to finish your assault on the poor girl; in a split second, you felt an arm snatch you up from your stomach. You raise your head from what feels like someone’s shoulder- Why was everything upside down?

You heard a deep mumbling in the midst of the cheers coming from the hallway, something along the lines of “Never fucking listen,”

Ony?

It seems you voiced your thoughts out loud because the 6’3 man responds with a quick, “I don’t wanna hear shit till we get home.” 

Your thoughts were jumbled, and you didn’t have a clear head. You were angry. You were an angry black woman, and you had every right to be one. Ony is your best friend, not your father. So, you were stuck trying to figure out just who the fuck was he talking to?

In a hiss, your voice whispers by his diamond stud earring, “Who the fuck- Are you crazy? Fuck ass nigga, put me down!” you start sending harsh slaps on his back, the fabric of his white tee swaying. But he wasn’t budging; not a single hit swayed him.

Your words must have been a source of tension, causing him to finally put you down. The blood rushing from your body into your head makes your vision hazy, and as you look around, you realize you’re in the school parking lot. Alone. Alone with Ony.

He doesn’t let the thought simmer in your brain, not when you’re more concerned about the fact that he has a tatted hand on your throat and just pushed your body to the nearest concrete wall. 

“Watch that mouth. You should know better, Y/n.” 

His voice is more calm now, though you can hear the underlying irritation. You’re both glaring at each other, your breathing audibly heard amid the empty oversized garage. His grip on your throat is making you feel things, things you shouldn’t be feeling for a best friend. 

You were never intimidated by Ony, and he knew it when you continued glaring and uttered, “Get the fuck off of me,” You try grasping at his arm, but he’s quicker than you. Ony doesn’t hesitate to put your arms above your head, the scent of his YSL cologne filling your senses. 

Is he- Is he closer than before?

“Nah, you’re not getting out of this one.” He pressed into you harder, and it was getting a little difficult to breathe. His body heat somehow mixed in with yours, creating a heated symphony. You knew it was coming, another scolding. At this point, you were starting to think you’re 9 again.

“What did we talk about yesterday, ma?” His voice goes an octave lower, and you’re almost sure he’s doing this purposefully. You roll your eyes, refusing to let him see the effect he was beginning to have on you. You decide you don’t even want to let him hear your voice.

Ony doesn’t hear a peep out of you, and after 10 seconds, he loses his patience, “You deadass? Don’t make me fuck you up, Y/n.” You feel the hand on your throat squeeze tighter twice as if he’s warning you. Damp are the only words to describe what your panties are experiencing right now. 

Still, you keep up your facade. Ony can see right through you, though, you’ve never had someone put you in your place. You’ve never had someone match your energy like he did. It usually never got this bad; Ony never got upset with you after a fight he had to pull you from. A calm talk and a little praise got you to calm your nerves.

This was before you got the fame you have now. Ony thinks, no, he knows, that you’re going to be much bigger than you already are. And he doesn’t want you being held back by some petty fights. He always told you if you ever had a problem, go to him first, and he’ll always handle it. 

But you wanted to be stubborn. You weren’t used to someone taking care of you, relieving some weight off of your shoulders. Being the first-born daughter issued a connection with hyper-independence. And all Ony wants to do is engrave in your pretty little head that he’s got you. And he always will. He genuinely cannot understand why you make it so difficult for him.

“I’m not in the mood, Ony. Let me go-” He cuts you off, coming closer to your soft lips. 

“I don’t care, Y/n. Talk it out right now, or I swear we’re not leaving this parking lot.” He read you like a book; he knew you were trying to run away from him. To dismiss this and to never bring it up again. He was done doing that, and the attitude you’ve been giving him ended today. He’ll fix it for you by whatever means. 

You knew Ony meant his words in the least sexual way possible. Yet, you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering, why does he look so good? The thin gold chain you gave him for his birthday last year makes his brown skin stand out. Through your adrenaline haze, you didn’t even notice what he wearing. 

It’s sinful. How the outfit you know he barely put thought into putting on makes you want to pounce.

A white tee that alone made your breath stutter with the way his abs pressed through. You could make out the outline, damn. Black sweats that sit so low, the white Polo Ralph Lauren briefs he had on were teasing you. 

It wasn’t your first time having these thoughts, but moments with Ony made you think this way often. 

When you guys would smoke together, and Ony would feed you the blunts, his eyes would never leave your lips. When he would come over and cook with you, small brushes behind your hips. You would always brush it aside; that wouldn’t be appropriate for a best friend to think. You were just best friends, right?

You’re questioning everything because of this moment. This isn’t what best friends do. Why is his hand squeezing your throat? Why is he pressing his body flush against you? 

Most importantly, why aren’t you stopping him? Why is this making you so fucking wet? You know, if you told Ony you were uncomfortable, he would back off in a second. But you weren’t. The only thing making you uncomfortable is the slickness you can feel drip down the fat of your soft thighs. 

Your next words leave him stunned, “Well, I guess we’re not leaving then.” 

When your words register in Ony’s brain, he moves quickly. Whispering a stern, “Bet.” With a smile on his handsome face. As if he knows something you don’t. After grabbing you by the throat and letting go of your hands, he swiftly moves to his car, an all-black Scat Pack. 

This was honestly your fault. The position you were in, your back arching perfectly, and your slobbering pussy receiving the deepest back shots from Ony’s long dick. You were scrambling in his back seat. You’ve already came twice due to his fingers, and his precision in piercing your squishy spot would make you cum again. You weren’t even sure you could.

You tried running away from the pleasure, pleading for him in your shaky voice to just “G-give me a b-break! I can’t-” 

It wouldn’t be a punishment if he did, now would it? His hands would only grip the sides of your hips harder at your words; it would probably leave a dent mark. Ony was letting his dick stir up your insides because he needed to teach you a lesson. It seems this is the only way your mouth wouldn’t retort anything to him.

“Not happening, mama. All you needed was some dick, right?” Heavy pants fill the air, and you start seeing smoke fog up his tinted car windows. Ony was honestly losing himself with how tight your pussy was squeezing him. He doesn’t know why the fuck it took him so long to get you like this. It’s all he ever dreams about. 

Making you scream out his name, making you cream all over his dick as he makes you take what he knows nobody could ever give you. Fuck, he swears he’s in love with your fat cunt, with you. “Don’t it feel good when I fuck you like this?” 

The more he kept talking, the more you felt like you were losing your mind. You didn’t know if he wanted an answer. But you were already gone, high off the pleasure his fast pace was giving you. You had no control over your lips when they parted and screamed, “S-so good, Ony! Oh-fuck. It f-feels so-”

He went faster at your words, and your mouth was dripping with drool as your face pressed firmly against his leather seats. After the fifth attempt at pushing him away, he tied your hands behind your back with the durag he wore. You had nowhere to run. You were forced to take Ony’s mean pumps inside your folds.

He pulls you up by your hair, never stopping his assault on your battered pussy when he whispers, “I know, ma. I always make you feel good, yeah?” 

He slithers a hand to your throat and another down to your twitching clit. Rubbing so fast, your squirt was coming out in small streams. Your sinful sobs made his body shake while he was inside you. God, your pussy was so heavenly. So wet and perfect, he never wanted to pull out.

You squirm under him, “So good! Make me- Ouuuu shit- feels so f-fucking good,” Your body was shivering, you didn’t even realize you were coming. Your eyes rolled into the back of your skull as your stomach clenched so hard it hurt. Your pussy mirroring around his aching thrusts, you were fucking up his seats. He didn’t mind; he just wanted to make you forget everything that happened today.

You thought it was over; you thought he would stop or, at the very least, slow the fuck down. But he never let up on your poor pussy, he just kept feeding you his strokes, and he kept rubbing your puffy clit. “So, why don’t you fucking listen? Don’t you love me?”

The anger he felt earlier was coming back, and you could feel it with the way his fat dick was penetrating you so good, so deep. The tears falling down your cheeks came down ten times harder, your clit couldn’t take anymore. Why was he fucking you like this?

“I do! I- I love you- so much, Ony! I’ll listen- I swear! P-please just-”

Ony could feel his heavy balls twitching as he fucked up into you, he was going to cum. He knew you loved him, but hearing you say it. Saying those words in such an intimate position, he doesn’t think he can hold back anymore. He just wanted to dump his seed past your lower lips.

“Yeah? You’ll listen, t’me?” You nodded so quickly before your brain even registered his words. He was pushing you past your limit, your pussy being so overstimulated that your next orgasm was just seconds away from wetting his seats even more.

“Y-yes- Fuckkk! I’m coming.” That was his only warning before your pussy sprayed all over, and your sticky cream coated his dick. Ony groaned deeply in your ear, the hand on your throat giving one final squeeze before he came so deep you swear it was touching your womb. 

There was nothing in the air but heavy breathing. Your body, weak and unable to hold itself, fell back against him when Ony let you go. His following words break the silence, 

“I love you too, mama.” You feel your heart squeeze, but he doesn’t stop there. “I’m getting you some food before we get home, and allat’ best friend’ shit is dead, by the way. You’re mine now, okay?” 

He presses a chaste kiss to your wet cheeks as you lay against him. It was a trip. He fucked you all crazy like that but then spoke to you in the most gentle tone possible afterward. You couldn’t process it. You can’t do anything but nod, your mind still barely processing what he just did to your body, to you. 

What were you upset about again?

#onyankopon x black y/n #ony x black reader #onyankopon x black reader smut #aot onyankopon #18+ only #aot smut #aot x black reader #ony x y/n #onyankopon x reader #x black reader #x black reader smut #black y/n #black reader #lumiwrites

[servicpop]

Hhhhhhh this is gonna be embarrassing 4 me to write out shshjsjs but I LOVE your writing and I have a request

If your like up for it, could you write another yanfic? But cowboy x ‘showgirl’ (a dude cross dressing for fun) it’s sfw

Like the cowboy goes to one of the readers shows and is immediately obsessed with the performer who he assumes is just a really flat woman, but when the cowboy goes backstage to find the woman he’s met with a man who looks identical to the woman on stage and realizes that the woman of his dreams was actually a man and to the cowboy that’s even better

N they go on a date and it’s fluffy and shit cus i love fluff and cowboys, i really fucking love cowboys

-🎱

✶ ﹑ love at first performance ﹏

NOW STARRING : Soft cowboy (Cole Hudson) x show"girl" reader

「ㅤSFWㅤ」ㅤCole goes to watch one of reader's show and was captivated by the performance but he didn't know that reader wasn't really a showgirl.

✙ warnings — fluff, reader cross-dresses, addresses reader as woman in the first bit (he doesn't know yet) use of her once! I'm not very good at portraying a cowboy well...

notes ,, this got me doing my research ! not too sure if this is accurate for show girls (⁠｡⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠) not proofread!

Dusty boots scraped on the floor as Cole navigated through the bustling crowd; his heart raced from how many people there were. As the cowboy wandered in the dimly lit venue, his gaze fixated on the stage where beautiful women dressed in flamboyant clothing that glittered and swayed with their movement, danced along with the rhythm of music blaring through speakers. One showgirl especially caught Cole's attention. The way your body moved like water was hypnotising and he coupling stop his heart from thumping against his ribcage.

At first, Cole wasn't interested in these loud events; always scarin' his poor cows and his horse, but this time his pal had really insisted for him to visit one. 'It would be fun,' he said, 'see lots of spectacular performances and maybe some cute girls,' he said. So, Cole rode his horse into the heart of town and here he was now, stuck between sweaty bodies and glaring lights in his eyes.

That one performer though, your radiance was brighter than the other showgirls. Cole was entranced by your dancing, oh how he wishes he was there with you, hand on your hips, slow dancing under the soft streetlights of his home town. He slid his hat off, placing it over his chest almost like he was trying to muffle the sound of his racing heart. The costumes were bright, dazzling, and flowed easily in the wind. They were also quite revealing, accentuating the girl's cleavage and showing off the performer's midriff. All but you.

Cole noticed the lack of well— a larger chest like the other girls had, but he just assumed you were flat-chested. That didn't matter to him, besides, he prefered modesty anyways. After a few minutes, your performance was unfortunately coming to an end. The music faded out and the vibrant lights dimmed as he watched you all bow. The venue filled with deafening clapping but Cole couldn't help but stare starry-eyed at you as you walked off stage. He needed to meet you in person.

The next act slowly made their way to the stage but Cole couldn't care less about them; it was a horse show! He's pretty skilled with horses himself so there was no need to stay. Once again he pushed through the crowd of cheering people, weaving his way out of the venue. When he emerged out, Cole was hit with the crisp night air, a stark contrast of freshness compared to inside the venue. His eyes scanned the area, trying to find where the performers went after their show and he was able to spot a small tent that had light seeping out of the gaps. Cole walked over to said tent and grazed the fabric with his fingertips in hesitancy. He took a deep breath; his chest heaving before he shut his eyes and pushed the fabric aside, walking inside.

He opened his eyes as he walked in, a few showgirls turned around to look at him with confused faces and he just stood there dumbfounded. The words he wanted to speak were clogged by the lump in his throat. You walked up to him, waving your hand infront of his face, "Hey, are you okay?" You asked with a raised eyebrow. He blinked a few times before tilting his head down to meet your gaze. Christ you were beautiful, almost hauntingly similar to the showgirl he was infatuated with earlier. "U—um, I'm looking for a specific showgirl that performed tonight and I was wonderin' if I can... find her," He mumbled out, his eyes locked onto your features as if he was assessing your face. "Are you two, by any chance, relatives of some sort?" He questioned, his country accent shining through his voice.

The girls giggled while taking off their make-up and Cole shot them a confused glance. You sighed with a small chuckle and you looked down at your feet, "By any chance, would this 'showgirl' you're looking for, be me?" Once again, Cole stared at you with his jaw open. He felt his heart strangely flutter despite knowing that you were a guy. He swore he wasn't into guys but you were— different. Not like any man he's seen. He just couldn't shake off his attraction towards you.

"You're a fella?"

"Yeah, you got a problem with that?"

"Well I'll be damned, you are one beauty."

The mixture of his country accent and your more refined accent strikingly contrasted but for some reason complemented eachother. City boy meets country boy. It seemed like Cole had a staring problem because once again, he was blankly gazing into your eyes. It was charming though, how Cole always looked like he was admiring you. Pretty flattering to say the least. Out of nowhere he spoke up...

"How 'bout takin' a ride on my horse?"

How did you get here? Holding onto Cole's waist, you screamed pathetically. Your eyes were screwed shut and your cheek was pressed against his back, all you could hear were hooves thumping on the ground and Cole's warm laugh that echoed through the valley. You two were going so fast that you swore you'd fall off if you didn't hold on tight enough. "You enjoying the ride darlin'?" Cole chuckled, peering over his shoulder to see you clutching onto him like a koala, "Slow down, please!" He ignored your pleas to slow down, "C'mon sweetheart, open your eyes, the stars tonight are just somethin' else!" He yelled through the noise of the wind instead. When he saw that you didn't budge from your terrified position, he just let out a soft laugh and placed one hand over your ones that were clasped around his waist. The warmth of his calloused palm spread to your fingertips and you almost forgot how cold it was tonight. "We're almost there, don't worry," his voice was gentle and thick like honey as he reassured you.

You weren't used to this, not used to the serene silence of the nature, not used to the wind beating so hard against your body, not used to clinging onto a cute cowboy for your dear life as he rode his horse with such passion. You've grown used to the smoke filling the city, used to the loud noises of late night partiers and engines running, used to being by yourself in an apartment with only the warmth of your blanket to keep you company. When was the last time you felt so— free?

The wind died down and you two slowly halted to a stop; you didn't even realise. "You can let go now sugar," Cole giggled as he waited for you to look up from the comfort of his back. You raised your head, your eyes meeting the beautiful scenery of a small cliff with forests lining the background and a starry display of the night sky that seemed like the stars were winking at you. This was a sight you could never see in the city. Cole slides off his horse, planting his two feet on the floor before extending a hand up to you to help you get off too. Your hand reluctantly meets his, the warmth of his palm returning to your finger tips as he guides you down, catching you when you hopped off. The way he handled you was so gentle, as if he was a beast and you were a fragile butterfly.

"Guess you could say we're on a date, huh?" Cole's smile punched your gut from how soft he looked, his hand never left yours. You scoff at his remark — but in a light-hearted way — as your eyes leave his instead, and returned to the scene presented infront of the both of you. It really did seem like a date, far more romantic than any fancy dinner in the big city. Oh and the way his eyes aren't even looking at the sky. He's looking at you. "Ain't it a sight for sore eyes?" He marvelled, and you know he's not talking about the scenery.

"Yeah, it really is," You breathed out quietly like your breath had just been taken away. Cole's eyes finally leave you and he stared at the soil beneath him before he spoke, his voice hushing to barely above a whisper, "You goin' back to the big city soon?" He doesn't want you to leave. Not now. Not yet. Before you could speak, his large hands bring yours together and he traps them between his. His eyes were wide and his brows were furrowed, "Please don't go," he blurted out, embarrassingly higher pitch than he wanted his voice to be.

Your eyes soften as you couldn't help the giggles that escaped your throat. Your eyes lingered on his hands over yours and you noticed the way his fingers trembled slightly but his strength in his grip never faltered. He wasn't allowing you to leave. You did have time before your next gig so, why not?

"Maybe I'll stay for a little longer."

Your heart ached when you saw Cole sigh in relief, his eyes darting everywhere but yours with dusted rose cheeks. He let go of your hands, clutching his own. "I reckon I'll take you out to the strawberry farm my buddy owns. You can't find nothin' sweeter than the fresh grown strawberries out here," He proposed, his fingers skimming over his own knuckles. He was somewhat afraid that you'd reject him. You were so sophisticated, so refined that he couldn't help but feel silly next to you, a big performer who traveled the country to entertain. You, on the other hand, almost instantly fell to your knees from his adorable invite. Strawberry farming? With this cute cowboy you just met? Hell yeah!

"Sounds like a deal, um—" You just realised, you never got his name, "Oh! It's Cole, Cole Hudson," He replied, tipping his hat at you. Jotting his name down in your mind, you glanced at the sky, and noticed that it was incredibly dark, your manager and the girls would be worried if you were nowhere to be found in an unfamiliar place, "Well, I guess it's time to let you be. Let me take you back to your place for tonight." A whistle breaks through the silence in the air as Cole called over his horse, her hooves tapped against the floor in a trot as he took your hand in his and hoisted you up onto the horse's back before hopping on himself, "Hold on, sweets," He smiled, waiting for you to wrap your arms around his waist, securing yourself to him. With a gentle nudge of his foot and the flick of the reins, he guided his horse forward.

You were a little braver this time, keeping your head up as you tried to look around you but it was practically useless now as everything was pitch-black. You wondered how Cole could navigate in such darkness, maybe it was because he travelled up this same path multiple times and knew it better than the back of his palm. As of now, you put your whole trust in him to escort you to your hotel safely.

The lights of the town in the distance inched closer as you two finally made it back. The town was eerily quiet as many people were presumably asleep at this hour — it was so different to the city. "Thanks for the ride, Cole, I really enjoyed it," You thanked him while fumbling to get off his horse; you were still getting used to it. Cole had a hand gently caressing the mahogany-coloured fur of his mare as he looked at you with those hazel eyes of his.

"See you here tomorrow?"

"Yeah, sure."

You found yourself rushing to meet up with Cole the next morning. Something in you just— felt at home with him. You met up with him, he took you on his horse, and after a few long conversations about seemingly anything that popped into your minds, you and Cole arrived to the strawberry farm. It was a surprisingly big farm with green rows of leaves with a pop of red peaking out from behind the leaves. Cole helped you put on your boots and strapped a hat to your head to shield you from the harsh sun of the countryside.

"I'll teach ya how to find the sweetest ones," Cole grinned, flicking his head to the side as he encouraged you to follow him. He trudged along the rows of strawberries with his sleeves rolled up above his elbows, showing his well-built forearms. He had given you a little basket and labelled you on 'basket duty,' but you didn't complain. You stared at his back while he proudly walked infront of you, it was now that you realised how big he was compared to you, both in height and muscle. Could you grow to his height in the future? Probably not.

You were snapped out of your trance when Cole squat down and reached a hand out to one particularly red strawberry, "Here, this is a good one," he hummed contently before plucking it off the stem before handing it to you, "Y'see, a bright red tells you its a sweet strawberry, and these green caps are also good," Cole explained. He placed the strawberry into the basket and turned back around, walking forward with peeled eyes. He wanted to find the best ones for you.

"How 'bout you try, darlin'?" Cole asked, glancing over his shoulder before reaching out his arm to encircle around your waist, drawing you closer and leading you forward. "Alright," You hesitated on agreeing but why not give it a try? You couldn't get this experience anywhere in the city. Your eyes caught on specific strawberry that fit the 'Sweet Strawberry' criteria that Cole suggested to you. Vibrant color? Check. Green cap? Check. You picked it off the stem and showed Cole for approval. He placed a hand on his chin as he looked like he was lost in analysing the strawberry. A smile plastered on his face and his dimples appeared, "You'll ain't gonna know 'till you try it."

Bringing the strawberry to your lips, you sunk your teeth into it, the refreshing sweetness meeting your tongue. Your gaze was casted off into space as you took some time to process how to describe the taste until you suddenly felt warm fingers tilt your chin up. Before you could question it, Cole leaned down and pressed his lips against yours, savouring the taste of the strawberry that was lingering on your lips. It was only a small peck before he pulled away. You swear you were just swept off your feet and— was it getting really hot or was it just you? You stood there, frozen, unsure of how to act after that kiss. That was enough to send your heart running laps.

"It's real sweet, you sure did a good job pickin' that one sweetheart."

♡

notes ,, I loved writing this so much! Thank you nonnie ♡♡ I wasn't planning on writing this much but I just had to ,, anyways! If you wanna see more Cole please request scenarios/date ideas/etc etc, also, thank you for 400+ followers ♡ my read more thing keeps breaking so don't mind if its kinda weird!

#servicpop — fics/drabbles #oc x male reader #male x reader #mlm #male x male #sub male reader #male reader #cowboy oc #x male reader #m!reader #oc x reader #bottom male reader #x bottom male reader #fluff

[natailiatulls07]

could i request some leclerc!reader and so comfort with charles please

It's okay

Arthur Leclerc Charles Leclerc Lorenzo Leclerc Pascale Leclerc & Leclerc!reader

Summary - In order to find her way in life, Y/n Leclerc runs away in the dead of night only leaving a note

Warning - neglection, running away

-

Growing up with three older brothers and two of such competing in karting competions, life was hard for Y/n Leclerc. Pascale and Hervé invested lots of their money and energy into Arthur and Charles.

When she was seven, Y/n's interest in ballet started. The young girl had her heart set on being a professional ballerina. So thats what she did. Y/n convince Pascale to enrol her in ballet class.

From then on, she became more and more talented. Quickly becoming the top of class. Yet when recitals came round and she was the lead, the only person who came to watch was Lorenzo.

The rest of the family were out at karting competitions cheering on Charles and Arthur. Yes they would apolgise to Y/n for their absence but to her it never really felt quite right.

-

Y/n was 14 years old, life got harder. Karting turned to formula 2 and E. Lorenzo now building his own life, he moved out of the house.

And the worst of all, Hervé Leclerc passed away. This meant attention was limited, Pascale was busy. She had her salon to run, she was running around supporting the two boys racing and she was mourning the lose of her partner.

As much as he wanted to support Y/n during her recitals, Lorenzos life became busier and he could no longer come along each recital. She felt as though no one her family could see her or her talent.

So what did she do? Y/n collected enough money to enrol herself into a ballet academy. In the dead of night she packed just enough and left without a sound. Of course she couldn't leave without leaving a note, she loved her family.

Dear Maman, Charlie and Arthur, I love you all dearly, please don't worry about me. I will be gone for a while, Lo Lo knows where I will be but please do not pester him. Thank you for everything and more Love from your dearest daughter, Y/n xx

-

Y/n Leclerc was a sensation, one of the best of her age. She was a household name, even if you weren't that well educated on ballet you knew who this elegant women was.

However, it was rare for the ballerina to speak publicily, Espercially as many would ask of her surname and family relations. And it wasn't hard to understand why.

"So Y/n please tell me, any relation to formula one driver Charles Leclerc?"

"No comment, thank you"

Charles, Arthur, Pascale and Lorenzo watched on, following her social media through burner accounts not wanting to make this harder for Y/n.

They could see how she spent most of her time dancing, spending time to herself or getting cocktails with friends she made along the way.

~

yourusername

Week in my life...

Spending time alone, you must prioritize self care

Fruit cocktails with friends, the key to my heart

Looking after the minis, they're the cutest little things

Lounging on my sofa after a long day of rehearsals, it is tiring!

Liked by cl_2648749 and 146,283 others

comments are limited

username Gorg gorg girlie

cl_2648749 <3

username I so wanna be her friend omfggg

~

But she wasn't stupid, Y/n knew who those burner accounts were. Every single post, the burner accounts were there front and center. She felt their eyes on her, it was silly really but she constantly felt like they were watching her.

However, Y/n felt warm with that in mind. Like they were finally noticing her for the first time. No longer was she fighting for the attension with her two older brothers. But was it just online? If she were to go back, would it go back to how it was before.

Plus she had built up a life on ballet. Y/n made a family with her friends. Everyone knew her, fuck she is a household name hiding her Leclerc identity from the world, even herself.

-

"I think it's a good idea! It's been long overdue in my opinion"

"No. We need to work to her choices, not make her uncomfortable."

"Okay when?!" Charles throws his arms in the air with frustration. He was pacing in front of the television; Arthur, Pascale and Lorenzo all sat on the sofa watching him.

The topic of Y/n came up in passing by Arthur and it became much more. Charles was fighting, he was desperate to get his dear little sister back home. However Lorenzo, knowing how Y/n felt about everything, was fighting back and trying to prioritize her feelings.

The constant pacing stopped abruptly, and Charles turned to look at Lorenzo with a harsh glare. "Why do you want to so desperately work to her choices? Are you in contact with her?" You could hear a penny drop.

Eyes snapped over to the oldest boy, all confused and harsh. Lorenzo sunk into himself. "I um..." He took a deep breath before continuing. "Yeah um so I kept contact with her yes"

"Is she okay?" The first question Pascale asked. Years of guilt plagued her mind, she neglected her own daughter and she was now paying the price for that.

Lorenzo nodded. "Yes, she's okay...Y/n she um built up a family through her friends and as you know she is doing well for herself..." A small proud smile morphed onto his face, he was proud of her for doing this for herself.

"Does she hate us for what we did?"

He breathed in and out. "No, she doesn't hate any of us...she understands completely..." That did ease some guilt for the other three, it would of killed them to know that she hated them, her own family.

There was silence for a couple of minutes whilst they all fell into their own thoughts. And then Pascale spoke up again. "Can you at least text her or call her whatever...talk to her, please tell her that we love her and that we want to see her again...we're so so proud and sorry"

Arthur and Charles both nodded in agreement. "I'll see what I can do..." Lorenzo promised.

-

It seemed that the next time they would see Y/n would come round much soon than expected. It wasn't planned, totally sporadic.

Charles was in the kitchen, in Lorenzos apartment. He was scrolling through his phone when there was a ring coming from Lorenzos phone. "Lorenzo! Your phone, it's ring!" Looking over the driver read the name.

Y/n

He knew it was wrong to answer the call, but it felt right like this would do something so he did. Charles picked up the phone and answer.

Before he could speak the voice he missed so dear filled his ear, yet it was panicked and he could hear uneven breathing.

"Lo I'm sorry please, I came back to Monte C but uh um the paps they um oh my god I can't breathe they keep following me! Please please I don't- I don't know where to go!" He missed her voice, granted it for much more mature and wiser now, he still missed it.

Though he was entranced by the situation, now very concerned. "It's okay, it's okay" His mind was on speed mode, much like it was in the car. "Send me the location, I'll come and collect you"

Y/n's voice came out calmer and confused now. "Cha...is that you?"

Charles nodded his head before realising she couldn't see him. "Yeah um it is Cha, I'm on my way" He rushed down to his ferrari.

-

Pulling up to her location, his heart clenched. Y/n had grown so much since he had last seen her, she had grown into herself and looked alot like Pascale now.

Charles climbed out of his car, walking over to her and collided her into a bone crushing hug. "Oh chérie, je suis vraiment désolé..." Oh darling, I'm so sorry

Tears soaked his shoulder, the whole chaos of the day and reuniting with her older brother weighing down on Y/n had finally toppled off completely.

She couldn't speak, just hung onto him. That long time spent away from her family catching up to her. "It's okay...it's okay..." Charles whispered in her ear.

-

#formula one #formula one x reader #formula one fanfiction #formula one x y/n #formula one x you #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfiction #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #charles leclerc #arthur leclerc #x sister reader #charles leclerc x sister #arthur leclerc x sister #pascale leclerc #leclerc #ferrari #scuderia ferrari #request

[runicarbiter02]

Helllooo! Request are open and I'm running over here. Can I request hdc for alejandro vargas and ghost, being jealous because there crush is a little bit touching with another men. Thank youu honey.

A/N: This is definitely an interesting one! I'd be happy to write these for you, since you specifically specified them, I'll just do them for this one. :) I hope you enjoy, darling! I'm still learning how to write for Ale, so I apologize if he's a bit OOC! Also, thank you all for over 1,000 notes on my first headcanon request! I am so, so happy you all are liking the post! ~ Hannah

ALEJANDRO VARGAS

I imagine with Alejandro, this would be a slow burn friends to lovers sort of situation. You, Alejandro, and Rudy have all been friends since you all joined up together. Alejandro has always been on the flirtier side with most people, which is why whenever he flirts with you, you don't tend to think much of it. That's just who he is, right?

Los Vaqueros had just gotten a new member, a young, handsome man in his mid-twenties. He's conventionally attractive and funny, which some of the other women definitely admire, but your thoughts are elsewhere. Unfortunately - or fortunately, if you look at it a certain way - you were assigned to show him around the base and get him up to speed.

Cut to the both of you in the mess hall on base, chattering away. Alejandro sees the both of you, and his blood boils. Who does this hijo de puta think that he is?

What really pisses him off is when the young man leans in, saying something that makes you laugh and you playfully shove him away with a coy smile. Alejandro quickly storms out, furious with the young man, but furious with himself for getting so upset.

He doesn't realize you follow him out until he feels your hand on his shoulder.

"Ale? What's wrong, hermano?" If only you knew how much he hated that nickname coming from your lips.

When he turns, one look at how concerned you are, and all his frustrations come spilling from his lips. He's just about to brush it off as him being silly when you don't respond right away before a laugh is erupting from you.

"Ale, he's not into me. He's just friendly. I thought he was flirting with me earlier, but he let me know that he's no even interested in sexual stuff. He's ace," You reassure, and suddenly, Alejandro feels ridiculously stupid. But that falls aside when you stand on your toes and brush a kiss to his cheek. "Now come on, cariño, you need to eat." His eyes follow you as you return to the mess hall, and he's stunned into silence.

Maybe he feels a little less bad about getting jealous.

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY

This man hates his jealousy. Despises it.

But, it's a part of him nonetheless, and it's something he has to live with.

I imagine it as quiet, little things around base that really gets to him: you're a medic, a really good one at that, and the men absolutely love you for how kindly you treat them all. You have patience, but you aren't afraid to bark orders at them if they're acting out of place.

"MacTavish, if you rip your stitches one more time, I'll kick your ass into next fucking week." "Captain, I don't care if you have more paperwork to do, get your ass in bed before I drag you there myself." "Hold still or I will personally strap you to this cot myself, rookie."

Your feisty nature and take-no-shit attitude is absolutely what drew him to you initially. Cue almost a year of pining on his end, and on your end, but not to his knowledge.

The final straw that ultimately cracks his resolve is a young sergeant that is trying to flirt with you while you stitch up a bullet wound on his side. It's obvious you're just being polite as you accept his compliments and hum in response at his attempts at flirting, but it still rubs Simon the wrong way.

Simon's jealousy is quiet, boiling, settling in the center of his chest. Every touch of yours against the sergeant's skin merely stokes the flames, but he does nothing, continuing to brood in the corner. He waits until you're done, shooing the young man off with a half-assed threat of harm if he ruins his stitches. That's when you finally notice him.

"Ghost, what have I told you about lurking in my med bay?" You tease softly before taking note of the hard look in his eyes. Slowly, you put two and two together, chuckling softly. "Ah, I see. C'mere, big guy."

He isn't mad. Not at all. All he can think about is that young man, who has all he doesn't: charm, good looks, youth, and the blessing of a childhood unscarred by a demon of a father. Simon isn't so lucky.

He can't stop himself as he follows your instructions, stepping into your office and taking a seat at your desk as you close the door. You sit on top of your desk and smile down at him before you hold out your hand expectantly. He furrows his brows but gives you his hand anyway, grumbling something about how he "doesn't know where your filthy mitts have been."

As soft kisses are pressed to his knuckles, however, he goes quiet. "Silly, jealous man. Can't even see that I look at you the same way you look at me. Eyes of a hawk, my ass," You tease.

He turns every shade of red beneath his damn balaclava, and you're damn certain to tease him about it as he melts back into the seat.

Hijo de puta - Son of a bitch

Hermano - Brother

Cariño - Honey; dear

TAGLIST

@floral-force

#alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro vargas #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 2022 #cod mw2 #cod imagine #cod x reader #cod headcanons #runic writes

[riverbutghost]

He is much more older than you - part 3

part 1 || part 2 / this is weird. I don’t feel good these days. Forgive me please, i love you 💕

When Simon saw you, the first thing he thought was how beautiful you were. Just like many other soldiers and rookies.

When Soap was talking to you for the first time, Simon hesitated to introduce himself to you. He wasn’t shy or anything, God, he was far from that. He knew what to say to make a woman fall in love with him, but still he hesitated. You were younger, so much younger than him.

He tried everything to ignore you, to ignore his feelings for you. He failed. His heart failed.

The day you first sucked his cock, was on his mind every day and night.

He still remembered the way your hands felt around him, the way your lips parted to take his cock like the good little girl you were.

“Mhm, yeah. Good fuckin’ girl. Takin’ me so well, so fuckin’ well.”

He moaned and groaned, kept pushing his hips back against the wall to savor the feeling of your mouth.

He came so hard…and fast, much to his dismay. But he wasn’t the one to complain.

He came to his senses after realizing what had happened, and he wanted to knock himself out. He was your superior, he was your lieutenant. He was twice your age. It wasn’t appropriate, it wasn’t normal. It was unprofessional of him.

“Get out. Just get out, leave my office.”

He muttered to you while zipping up his pants, and the pure hurt that crossed your face was something he regretted for a brief moment.

You complied, though. You got out and never looked back. You heard his fist punching the wall, but you ignored. After getting back into your room, you let out the most painful sob ever. You cried, cried and cried until the sun came up again.

You questioned yourself. Was it normal for you to like a guy who was much more older than you? Was it normal that he let you suck his cock? Did he regret it? Yes. Did he just use you for his own pleasure, just like the other women?

It was infuriating. This wasn’t just heartbreak, this was far from that, that you couldn’t name.

Wiping away your tears, you decided to take some medicine from the kitchen. Your brain was mushy, and all you needed was an Advil.

Getting out of your room, you double checked the corridor for anyone and after finding none you walked down to the kitchen.

A gasp left your mouth as you came face to chest with the heartbreaker.

You looked down and stepped aside, leaving him behind with a confused expression.

“Sergeant,”

“I’ve already talked to Price. I’m not coming to the training.”

You cut him off mid sentence, and mumbled with a cracked voice. You heard him sigh with a heavy voice, then steps were coming towards you.

He stood next to you, not saying a word.

“I want you to understand, that this- is not appropriate.”

You snorted a laugh, but you were far from happy.

“Oh yeah it’s not, so you used my fucking mouth to cum?”

He growled out a curse word, his chest vibrating next to your head.

“Language.”

You angrily slammed the glass on the counter, and turned to look at him.

His eyes took you in fully, your red nose and puffy eyes made his heart clench.

“Language? You know what? Fuck you! I’m done with this shit, okay?”

You yelled, and he closed his eyes. It was silent for a moment before he opened his eyes again.

“ I just don’t want you to feel bad after we start..this.”

You sighed and gripped your nose, feeling like crying again. Why wouldn’t he just give in, it was exhausting.

“I-“

You took a deep breath.

“Y’know what I want? All I want is you. Yeah, you. Not your cock, not your mouth. Your heart is what I want, what I need Ghost.”

Simon’s heart started pounding against his ribcage, and he swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Pretty girl…I’ve never given my heart to anyone before is what you forget.”

He mumbled and took a step forward, hand reaching out to wipe your eyes. You shuddered and threw your arms around him, and he chuckled.

“Sweet little girl wants my heart, hm?”

He smiled, eyes softened as he looked at the window to see the reflections of you two.

“Don’t cry over me, yeah?”

You sniffled and hugged him tighter. Finally feeling peace again. Your headache was worse by now, but this was worth it.

“Don’t make me cry, then.”

He smiled again, and put his chin down on your head.

“Let me make it up to, pretty girl.”

#call of duty #cod mwf2 #simon riley #simon riley angst #simon riley x reader #call of dooty #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #ghost x you #simon riley fluff #he’s much more older than you #cod mw x reader #cod modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare #cod men #drabble #simon riley smut #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #ghost simon riley #angst fluff #ghost cod #ghost x reader

[persefolli]

Jake x tonowari x hybrid fem reader

(reader is omatikaya and metkayina mixed)

Takes place in the Metkayina Village

When men from both clans try and court the reader because of her body (because she had a big chest and butt) so she has to deal with men constantly trying to win her over even though they all know she has a mate already but they don’t care so when one of them gets frustrated and starts to say mean things about her and saying “your mates only wants u for your body and nothing else” to make her feel insecure about her body (because reader is very confident about her body and is not afraid to show it off to people letting people know how confident she is about herself) so she starts loss her confidence over what the guy said about her so unfortunately she starts to question Jake and tonowari about if they love her for the only her body. Jake and tonowari is trying to convince reader that’s not the reason why he chose her out of all people to be his mate.

𝐂𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐓𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐢 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐧𝐨𝐭-𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝

“Cmon just a little peek. I know you like the attention.” A na’vi man leaned over to you, cooing at you to flash him. He had been at it for half an hour now, begging and bribing you into showing your goods. It was a great offense of him to take, but as long as your two lovers were out of sight it was free game for these men.

“I am mated with Olo'eyktan’s. It would be shameful for me to do so. It is also against Eywas will.” You tried one last time to scare the na’vi men off. Usually the mention of the clan leaders sent them running, but this one was different. His face contorted in disgust, anger. He stood quickly from the rock and scoffed, holding his hips as he began to dish you out. “That's alright. You know I was just trying to help you out.” He started. “Everyone knows they just wanted you cause you look good on their arms. They don't care about how fucking smart you are, or how fucking talented you are if you have any. They only care about your fucking body, and I bet they wouldn't even look your way if you didn't have all that junk hanging from your body.”

The na’vi man spat at your feet as he stormed off. This wasn’t the first jab anyone has taken on you about your body, but you couldn’t stop the tears that pooled in your eyes from his comments. Being more voluptuous than the average na’vi came with some perks, you were healthy, and more protected from the elements. The future perks would come when you would bare your children, often hearing your mom and grandmother speak of how their bodies handled their children well.

The negatives came from the objectification you were subject to. Everyone wore the same amount of clothing, but you seemed to be bothered more about it. It’s been this way since you were a teen, but you decided to embrace it. Walking confidently around the reef like no one could tell you anything. But you would be lying if it didn’t hurt to be seen as a walking doll.

You stood from the rock and rubbed your eyes, planning to take the long way home so you could process what just happened. Tonowari and Jake courted you a little less than a year ago, and it was surprising to say the least. Some Metkayina questioned why you out of all possible suitors. Now, you started to question it.

‘Everyone knows they just want you cause you look good on their arms’

What if Tonowari needed someone pretty to call his wife? One that wasn’t Tsahik material but one that had the privilege of being easy on the eyes to other clans. Jake was from earth, many of their women probably have similar builds as you. Maybe he chose you because he wanted something that could pass on Pandora and Earth.

Your chest tightened at these thoughts, and you found yourself mindlessly strolling into your pod, past your two lovers and into bed. You hadn’t even realized how fast you retreated to bed, until your two lovers joined you, positioning themselves on each side of you. Jake wrapped his hands around your torso, hugging you right below the breasts. “Rough day?” He asked. You didn’t fall blind to the positioning of his arms, but you shifted, nodding at his suggestion.

“Just tired.”

The next morning you woke right before sunrise, planning to meet up with Norm who was sure to have something that could help. He was in the village because of a small sickness that was spreading amongst the na’vi, so he was bound to be up all day and night.

“Norm.” You knocked on the pod entrance. The avatar stood from his desk and hit his head on a small lamp that dangled over him and his space. “Ouch! Hey.” He greeted.

“I need your help.”

“You sick too?” He began reaching for a mask.

“No! No.” You shook your hands frantically. “I was wondering if you had some clothes I could wear.”

“Clothes?”

“Yeah…like human ones.”

“Oh?” He tilted his head in amusement. It wasn’t often that a na’vi would ask for human clothes, especially the reluctance to divert from their normal traditional clothing. “Well I have some here.” He walked over to a tote that was labeled ‘extras’. He opened the box and began pulling pieces out, displaying them to you. “Well, we only have these jumpsuits, and long sleeves. Not a really pretty pick.”

You gleamed at the clothes, and how much skin they seemed to cover. This would be perfect, perfect enough to take the attention off of you. “I’ll buy it all!” you exclaimed.

“Y/n we have no one to wear these, just take them.” He looked at you concerned. You began stuffing the clothing into your bag and bid him goodbye, scurrying back home to put on the clothing.

You wanted to get dressed before your two lovers woke up, which gave you a small window to do so. In the mirror, you stared at the na’vi woman who had now become unrecognizable. A pair of cargo pants that slightly flooded and a long sleeve gray tee that hugged your breasts tightly, but still concealed the lax nature of them rested on your flesh. You never saw yourself taking measures like this before, but you needed to know, wanted to know how much your body was worth in this land.

Smiling, you spun around in the outfit one last time before walking into the main room. “Goodmorning Jake. Tonowari.” You said confidently. You could hear a pin drop at the silence that came after your arrival. The two men looked shocked to say the least. “Morning…” Jake looked at you up and down.

“New style?”

“Yeah. Gonna be like those earth girls.” You began to pose like a woman in an earth magazine you had seen before. Jake chuckled before looking down in his bowl. Tonowari still stood looking, with an…indifferent smile on his face.

Internally your heart pounded. They hated it.

You went to work and continued your duties as normal, fishing and distributing your findings amongst the Metkatyina. The clothes seemed to the exact opposite of what you wanted. Metkayina men and women stared at you, even more so than before. You never realized how invisible you were before you started to wear human clothes. It made you shy away, not wanting to speak or talk to your friends as you were embarrassed to face the question as to why you were wearing the clothing.

“Wow.’ A familiar voice came from behind. You turned around swiftly to see the same guy that had harassed you standing there with his friends. “The lengths you’ll go for some attention.” His group of friends began laughing, which caused you to ball your fists up.

“You look more pathetic than you did before.”

At that you swung, throwing a punch at the na’vi male before storming off with tears in your eyes. You arrived at an empty pod and immediately went to your small bag of human clothes, angrily ripping and biting at the fabric. You fought with the cotton and rolled around on the pod floor as you blanked out and animalistically destroyed the clothes.

“Hey. Hey!” The lights in the pod came on and you felt yourself being snatched up. Yanking yourself from their grip you looked at the two men questionably. “What do you want from me?” You spat.

“What?”

You began to cry, grabbing at your chest as you yelled at them. “Don’t play dumb! You only want me because of this right? You don’t care about me as a person.” You began ranting.

“Y-”

“I tried putting on regular clothes, ones that draw attention away from me. Clothes that are normal to your kind.” You pointed at Jake. “But you guys looked at me like I was crazy! Everyone looked at me so stupid!’ You cupped your face and began wailing.

You felt a warmth on your shoulders, hands, massaging the area.

“Y/n. We were surprised is all. You look beautiful in anything.” Jake reassured.

“Lies!” You spat. “You only look at me when I have no clothes on.”

“Wha- Y- No- Where is this coming from?” He said in disbelief.

You searched his eyes, trying to find a glint of inconsistency in his words, but you found none. You sucked in a breath and looked down. “Men have been…saying things to me. All my life.” You confessed. “They said…the two of you were only with me to make yourself look good.”

At this moment Tonowari stepped in, pressing Jake aside to grab you at the shoulders. “Who fed these lies to you? Tell me. They will be gone by eclipse.”

“That's not what I want!” You hissed. “I just…wanna know. Why did you really court me?” You looked at both of them.

Soft smiles began to spread across the mens faces, ones that told you alone that this whole time you were being foolish. “I saw how in touch with the ocean you were.” Tonowari recalled. “I saw you swimming late one night, beyond the reef, which was against the rules, but you were so…at peace.”

“I saw you dancing at a clan dinner.” Jake chimed in.

“I remember that! When she scared everyone with that yell she did.” Tonowari’s eyes brightened at the memory.

“We can go on and on about the strange, and beautiful things we've witnessed you doing. It was never about your body sweetheart.” Tonowari lifted your chin and kissed you, nipping slightly at your bottom lip as he did so. When the two of you pulled away you looked into each other's eyes lovingly.

“Don’t let anyone else damper your light sweetheart.”

#persefolliwrites #persefolli #wattpad #avatar the way of water #angst #atwow #jake sully #avatar #avatar2 #tonowari #jake x reader x tonowari #tonowari x reader x jake #tonowari x reader #jake x reader #jake sully x reader

[phoenixkaptain]

I love Stardew Valley and I love the community and I love how we all bond over pixelated chickens like we’re seventy-year-old women bonding over grandchildren- - -

But I get so annoyed with the character hate, like!!! All the characters are great!! All the romance-able characters are great!! I keep getting recommended videos about the bad parts of characters and I just want to scream!!

Penny: lovely. Charming. Kids are a big part of dating her because she teaches kids, of course she’s going to react a bit badly if you hate children. She is trying to teach kids so that they don’t have to have the same life she and her mother do, why do you hate this woman who is just anxious?

Shane: lovely. Charming. Perfect. “He still drinks after we get married, which ruins the whole story” NO. No. Shane is an alcoholic, and a severe one. If he quit cold-turkey, he would fucking die. “Harvey pumped his stomach” HE WOULD DIE. And I don’t care that my husband is messy, he has his own room and I don’t have to go over there!!

Maru: lovely. Charming. She hates working. She loves working on machines. She thinks about machines to build for you to make life easier. She’s adorable. She has a complicated relationship with her brother and I want to help them fix it goddangit because I love fictional siblings.

Elliott: lovely. Charming. An artist. He only leaves his home for like four hours a day. I can really relate to the desire to shave off all of one’s own hair. I feel that in my bones. Also, is friends with Willy and I fucking love Willy so A++

Leah: “she’s a lesbian” She’s fucking bi stop erasing bi rep in Bi Rep the Video Game

Sam: he’s a musician and a skater. This is what the perfect man looks like.

Emily: just the most charming. She has a complicated relationship with her sister because she takes care of her. She works at a saloon, how can someone not love a literal saloon worker? She’s crazy, she’s wild, she’s a flower child, I’m in love with her

Harvey: glasses. Doctor man. Occasionally puts on headphones to not so subtly hint that he doesn’t want to talk to you. This is what the perfect man looks lik-

Abigail: I don’t see a lot of people complain about Abigal, but I’ve seen a few and it just feels like- you guys love Sebastian so much but don’t like Abigail? What type of double standard is this?

Alex: everyone always says not to date him if your playing a female farmer, but honestly, his dialogue only cuts out parts if you play male. Like, he still says he felt different about you from day one even if you’re playing as a girl. The character affected the most by your gender choice in regards to dating Alex is George, and if you’ve already befriended George, he’ll apologize for being mean about your sexuality when he never even said anything mean about your sexuality, which is kind of funny

I never see people complain about Haley or Sebastian, which is fair, because Haley has a cute character arc and Sebastian loves frogs (this is what the perfect man lo-) My only problem is that people praise these two but rag on everyone else when I feel like all the characters are balanced pretty evenly in terms of good-bad traits.

Which trait is which is dependent on the person playing the game anyway, so when someone like me plays, I can’t help but find the characters perfect because I’m very forgiving when it comes to fictional characters’ undesirable traits. I mean, my favourite trait of all is stupidity, pure and unbridled, I’m talking facepalm-inducing, groan-worthy, the type of character people complain about the most; the type of stupid that makes people stop enjoying things. How can I dislike these characters who are cute and a bit awkward and so ready to bed the first hot farmer they come across even when that farmer sifts through their trash and passes out three steps away from their own house and drinks mayonnaise and would eat hay given half the chance. Like come on. They’re all moron-sexual. I can relate to that.

In conclusion: your favourite bachelor and/or bachelorette is as wonderful as you think they are and screw the people who try to tell you otherwise. The characters are great because they appeal to different people. Enjoy the game and enjoy the dating and I swear to God if I see another person say that certain farm layouts are bad because they don’t make enough money- the game doesn’t have a time limit! You can make as much money as you want! You could sell one sap everyday and nothing else and you would still be able to make it to however much money you desire to have. There’s not really a fast way to make ten billion gold, that doesn’t mean that the farm layouts you don’t like are bad and yes I’m ranting just because I love the slopes of the mining farm its layout is chamrjng and picturesque and provides a unique challenge to decorating and placing buildings and it’s actually the BEST farm layout because I just decided so and-!

Stardew Valley is a great game, 10/10 would recommend, and the new update is already great because I found carrot seeds and I like carrots :)

#the inane ramblings of a madman #stardew valley #stardew valley bachelors #stardew valley bachelorettes #i can judge all the characters pretty equally #because my fave partner is krobus #i love my creechur #he gives me hugs!!! #he waddles around my house!!! #i love this guy i want to give him all the hugs in the world #no joke he moved in and i hugged him like twenty times just because i could #krobus for bestest guy in the game #i love shane and penny was my first wifey and sebastian puts frogs in my home #but krobus man #🤌🤌🤌 #long post #ignore me i’ve been seeing things with mine eyes and it doth cause me great bother

[tightjeansjavi]

The Rite of Movement | part five

“something I’m not, but something I can be”

A/N: big disclaimer for this chapter: I do not know if this is actually how the porn industry functions. And while Brazzers is a real porn site, I don’t have any knowledge of how they run things on their site. For the sake of fiction, and the storyline, I wrote Joel’s era in Brazzers as a very very toxic work environment. Please heed the warnings. This takes place pre-miller-co. Joel and baby love have not met yet. Joel does however have a girlfriend during his time at Brazzers. Oh, and I listened to what was I made for on repeat while I wrote this 🥺 thank you to @itsokbbygrl for betaing and being my little cheerleader through this series 💗 and thank you to all my other friends for your endless support on my silly lil stories! (Y’all know who you are and how much I love you!)

~word count: 3.1k~

Summary: it’s Joel Miller’s 30th birthday. 30 years of existing, 12 years working for Brazzers, and what does he really have to show for his life outside of being a pornstar?

Pairing | pornstar!joel x pornstar!female reader

Warnings: angst, implied smut, toxic work environment, implied workplace abuse, mentions of the porn industry, misogynistic comments/behavior towards women in the porn industry (not by Joel), feelings of body insecurity, shame, mentions of smoking, grief, resentment, language, mature themes, +18 minors dni!

series masterlist

Los Angeles, CA. September 26, 2009

An alarm clock blares on Joel’s nightstand, the shrill sound pierces his eardrums, sending his arm flying out from under the covers, smacking the top of the device, silencing it with a heavy groan rumbling up his chest.

6:00 a.m. the sun has barely just begun to peek over the mountains, the bustle of LA traffic, late-night goers returning home, early-morning risers preparing for another droning day.

The big 30: The age where you were expected to have your shit together. No more making foolish mistakes, no more job hopping, you should be married with kids and have a house with a white picket fence and drive a minivan. You should be invested in the stock market, your lawn should be properly trimmed, maybe you even make enough money to own a vacation home.

Joel hadn’t a fucking clue what he wanted out of life. He wasn’t married. He didn’t have any kids. He lived in an apartment with his brother Tommy, splitting the rent between their paychecks. LA never felt like home to him. He liked the palm trees and the beach. He hated LA traffic, smog, and that stupid Hollywood sign that alluded to a lifestyle that only the ‘chosen’ members of high society would get to indulge in.

City of Angels? Not even close.

30 years old, and feeling like he had nothing to show for his life outside of being a pornstar. A branding identity that shamed him more times than he was willing to admit. Is this all I’m good for?

Brazzers was the bane of his existence for 12 years, and yet every time he would try and put his foot down and quit, he was lured right back in. He loved sex just like anyone else. He loved the intimacy, the closeness, the connection to another human being. Above all, he loved making his partners feel good. To make them come, fall apart on his tongue, fingers, or his cock. To hear their pleasured cries, high-pitched real moans of his name.

It was euphoric for him, to make another person feel so good that they completely lose themselves in the moment, in the feeling of the rite of movement. He used to think that this was enough, that the act of sex and unbridled pleasure was all viewers would want to see. He thought he was enough.

But in the adult film industry, sex was never just enough.

He didn’t like being told how he should fuck.

Yank her hair harder.

Slap her around a little.

Squeeze her cheeks till she cries.

Choke her.

I want to see bruises on her ass, Joel.

Fuck her like you mean it, like you hate her. Like she’s your bitch. Your property.

Are we making a porno here or what? Don’t wipe her tears. That’s not what men want. They want to see a cunt being pounded. C’mon, Joel. This is supposed to be a male fantasy!

He learned how to dissociate and remove himself from the scene entirely. He worked on autopilot, tuning out the jarring voices that demanded more from him and his partner(s). And when the passion faded, he struggled to stay hard and on top of his game.

And even with the warm, wet mouth of a fluffer sucking his soft cock, he wasn’t turned on. Not in the slightest and he could feel the shame creeping up on his neck as the director barked at him to get his shit together.

“What do you mean you’re not able to get hard, Miller? You got a hot piece of ass under you, man! What the hell else do you want? Y’know, would it really hurt for you to be more like your brother?”

“She’s got a name, you know.” Joel bit back, grinding his jaw back and forth. The blatant disrespect that women faced on a day to day basis was downright disgusting.

“Oh for fuck’s sake. You make pornos, Joel! Or did you forget? Stop acting like a fucking sissy and do your goddamn job.”

“I need a minute,” he gruffed out and gently pushed the fluffer's mouth off of his cock. He strode past the director and the rest of the set crew and pulled his boxers on in a haste.

“Fine. You get 10 minutes, Miller. And when you get back, I expect you to be fucking ready, and hard.”

Joel didn’t respond as he shucked on his shorts and threw on his hoodie, grabbing his phone and pack of cigarettes to stuff in his pocket. He averted making eye contact with the director, shoulder checking him on his way out of the room.

10 minutes, Miller!

Fuck you is what Joel really wanted to say as he walked at a fast past towards the nearest exit in the long hallway.

-

The sun was blinding the moment he stepped outside into the back alley. He whipped his phone out, nervously pacing back and forth as he dialed Tommy’s number, listening to the dial tone ring and ring.

“Hey, you old fart! Feelin’ 30 yet?” Tommy said playfully.

“Yeah. I’m feelin’ 30 alright.” Joel grumbled, sinking back against the side of the building.

“What’s up? I know how much you hate your birthday, but why do you sound so—”

“I’m fuckin’ quitting, Tommy. I can’t do this shit anymore. I can’t fuckin’ do it. I’m about five seconds away from stormin’ back in there and beatin’ the living shit out of the director.” He snapped, carding his fingers through his hair, gripping the roots tightly. “I’m throwin’ the towel in, and I ain’t lookin’ back.”

“Woah, woah, woah! Hold on now, what the fuck happened? Are you sure you just want to—”

“Tommy.” Joel warned him, squeezing his eyes shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Don’t start this with me, okay? I need to know if you’re with me on this because I sure as hell ain’t leavin’ you out here on your own.”

“I ain’t a kid anymore, Joel. If you want to quit for your own reasons, that’s fine, and I support you, but that doesn’t mean that—” he sighed deeply, weighing out his words in his head before he said, “of course I’m with you on this.”

“I’m not gonna force you to quit, Tommy. I jus’ don’t think this cesspool is fuckin’ good for either of us. Talked to a few others that were thinkin’ of quitting, but no one has pulled the trigger yet. We can do some amateur work till we find our footing again, and I want to move back home, Tommy. I want to move back to Texas. I fuckin’ hate this state. Everythin’ is too damn expensive.”

“I’ll follow you wherever you go, Joel. You know I will. But what about…Carmen and Sarah? You jus’ gonna pack your shit up and not tell her?”

Joel felt his heart twist and clench, knocking the air from his lungs because for the first time in his 30 years of life, his heart was going to be broken, and there was nothing he could do to prevent the inevitable from happening.

“She’s never gonna accept me for who I am and my job, Tommy. She resents it, I know she does. And Sarah will eventually resent me too. She’ll grow up and feel ashamed that her stepfather is a fuckin’ pornstar. They both deserve better than what I can offer them. It’s not like I can just start over and get a respectable job! What established company is gonna hire a guy who’s CV consists of a highschool diploma, a year of working construction jobs and 12 years in the adult film industry?”

Tommy felt his heart break for his brother, splitting right down the middle. “Joel…” he trailed off.

“Her friends treat me differently, and everytime I’ve brought up the potential of meeting her family, she changes the subject on me, Tommy. And you know what? I don’t blame her. Who the fuck would want to introduce their pornstar boyfriend to anyone, let alone her family? I jus’ figured I’d cut her losses sooner rather than later. And even if things were to work out, and I get a new job, a new life, am I just supposed to accept the knowledge of knowin’ that the entire time we have been together, she’s resented my job? Some things just aren’t meant to work out, and that’s fine. I’ll let her go and she’ll meet a nice, normal, man with a good stable job who doesn’t fuck for a living.”

Joel Miller. Paging, Joel. You’re needed on set. Hurry the fuck up—

“Fuckers.” Joel muttered under his breath as he rose to his feet. “I gotta go, okay? I’ll text you in a bit.”

“Wait, Joel,” Tommy started, trying to think of what he could possibly say to his brother that would make the situation better. “Everythin’ is gonna be okay. It’ll all work out in the end.”

“Yeah, sure.” He replied flatly. “I’ll see you.” he ended the call, shoving his phone back into his hoodie pocket and pushed open the exit door just as his name was called over the intercom again.

This time he was going to put his foot down for good. He wasn’t going to be lured back in. He was done. His mind was made up and there would be no turning back.

-

“Fucking finally. I said 10 minutes, Miller. You’re lucky I even gave you that.” The director scoffed and snapped his fingers at the fluffer to do her job.

Joel stopped her with a gentle hand along her shoulder before he made direct eye contact with the director. “That won’t be necessary.”

“What the fuck do you mean that won’t be necessary? We were supposed to be wrapped up with this shit already. I have a freshie to introduce to you afterwards, so if we can just get a move on—”

“I said, that won’t be necessary.” Joel calmly reiterated as he grabbed his bag from the floor and slung it over his shoulder.

“Boy, you better fucking start talking. What do you mean that won’t be necessary?!”

“It means that I quit. And I hope that freshie and every other woman here fuckin’ quits while they still have the chance.”

The atmosphere in the brightly lit room immediately shifted and the tension was palpable. Joel’s onscreen partner was shocked, the fluffer was shocked along with the rest of the film crew.

“You have gotta fucking joking me right now.” The director laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “You got some fucking nerve, Miller.”

Joel shrugged, glancing around the room before he turned towards the door, grasping the handle in his palm and pushed it open. He paused, looking over his shoulder, giving his onscreen partner a small, reassuring nod, “oh, and just a little word of advice? If you want sex to sell, and for Brazzers to not tank like the fuckin’ stock market, start by treatin’ women in the industry with respect. Jus’ a little food for thought. Pass that onto the CEO, and then tell him to shove it right up his ass.”

He walked out after that, listening to the director holler his name and something along the lines of, you’ll be back. They always fucking come back!

And on his way out, his shoulder gently made contact with another body rushing up the stairwell. “‘S’cuse me.” He rasped.

You didn’t get a look at the stranger's face on your way up. You were too focused on the fact that you were running late, and couldn’t afford to be potentially fired.

He didn’t get a look at your face either.

-

Joel opted to be alone for the rest of the day, sitting on the hood of his car, smoking through an entire pack of cigarettes while he watched the clouds roll by, and tourists stop to take pictures of the infamous Hollywood sign. He thought about his life up until this point.

30 years on this shithole we call earth. 12 years spent in the adult film industry, and never had he felt so lost and alone. Hours away from ending his first ever long term relationship and leaving the past behind.

Fuck 30. He thought to himself.

The inevitable settled into his bones as the sun slowly began to set behind the mountains, creating stunning hues of pink, oranges and purples in the sky. His phone buzzed on the exterior of the hood of his car, tearing him away from his thoughts when Carmen’s name popped up on the screen.

Hey, birthday boy. Are we still on for Thai food tonight? x.

Hey, baby. Yeah, of course. Can’t wait to see you.

5 missed calls from Tommy

10 messages from Tommy.

What happened to fucking calling me later, Joel?!

Why is your phone going straight to voicemail!

Can you just let me know that you’re okay?!

Joel.

Dude.

Pick up your phone!

And you call me the bad texter?!

This isn’t funny.

I didn’t sign up for the silent treatment!

If you’re dead in a ditch somewhere I’m gonna fucking kill you!!

He typed out a quick message to his brother informing him that he was in fact still alive and that he would be home soon.

What he wasn’t expecting was Carmen and Tommy to host a surprise birthday dinner at his apartment. He wasn’t mad at his brother for not giving him a heads up, and it wasn’t like Tommy could tell Carmen a simple, hey, by the way, my brother is going to break up with you and he wants to move back to Texas!

But all Joel could feel now when she pressed her lips to his in a sweet kiss, and planted a silly little party hat on his head, was guilt. An overwhelming tidal wave of guilt and shame for what he was going to do. And throughout the evening his guilt began to fester like an untreated wound. Bubbling pus leaked from his heartstrings like a broken faucet when he opened his unexpected present from Carmen.

It was a pocket wrist watch with an olive green strap that fit his wrist perfectly.

“You’re always misplacing your phone, so I figured that this would help you tell the time better? I know it isn’t much—”

He interjected softly, looking over at her with a small smile tugging on his lips, “It’s perfect. Thank you.” I’m so sorry.

And when Tommy stepped outside for a smoke and to give Joel and Carmen a bit of privacy, the energy shifted and Joel could feel the thread between them being pulled tight, threatening to snap at any given moment.

“Joel, is everything okay? You’ve hardly said a word to me tonight.”

And instead of responding, he got up from the couch in a haste, trying to keep his nerves at bay, but truthfully? He was panicking and it was written all over his face. “I’m fine, Carm. I jus’—I need some air.” He walked the short distance to the little balcony, pulling the door open as he stepped outside into the cooling night air.

Lights shimmered in the distance, palm trees swayed from a breeze off the coast. 30 years old and he felt like the biggest fucking asshole on the planet. Can I fix this? Can I make it work?

He stared down at the watch on his wrist, the tiny spokes ticking away as he rested his forearms along the paint chipped railing, listening to the soft squeak of the sliding door being pulled open as the blood rushed in his ears.

He tapped his foot nervously, jaw ticking under the fading light at the realization that there was no turning back.

“Do you love me?” He suddenly spoke, teeth grinding down on the inside of his cheek, the taste of copper bursting on his tongue. A reminder come morning when he would awake to the same soreness in his mouth that he feels in his heart.

“Joel…” she trailed off, standing alongside him, rubbing her arm as a self-soothing gesture.

“Do you love me…unconditionally?” His question hung heavy in the air, and when she didn’t immediately answer, tears began to prick the corner of his eyes, stinging and blurring his vision.

“Baby, please…why are—”

“Please don’t call me that right now, Carmen. Please.” he sniffled, staring back out over the railing at the shimmering mirage of Los Angeles. “If you did love me unconditionally, you would have answered me right away. It’s okay, I’m not mad at you. I could never be mad at you. I jus’—I know you resent me for being a pornstar. I’ve known about it for a while,” he said softly, feeling a tear rolling down along the side of his nose and drip down over his lips. His dewy eyed gaze met hers briefly, before he looked away. “And I also know that you would never ask me to quit, but you and I both know that’s what you want from me.”

There was no point in trying to deny it any longer. There was no bad blood, no bitterness. Just two adults facing the reality that is life. And sometimes…relationships don’t work out. The passion fades and resentment rears its ugly head.

“And no matter how many times I have tried to earnestly explain to you why I chose this career path, you will never understand. And I would never try to force you to. But it’s not fair to you, myself, or Sarah to continue this relationship when you will never accept me for who I am, Carmen.”

“You’re right, Joel.” She said quietly, her own tears beginning to brew along her waterline. “I’m so sorry.”

He swallowed the lump growing in his throat and the sob threatening to leave his lips, “I am too.”

There isn’t much left to say as they hug for the last time. She wishes him well in life and he does the same. There’s a new ache in his chest at the thought of him no longer being involved in Sarah’s life anymore. But he believes she’ll be better off without him, too.

And when she leaves his apartment for the last time, taking almost 3 years of memories along with her as the front door clicks shut, and her echoing footsteps down the hall become softer and softer, he lets out the sob he had been suppressing, sinking down to his knees in defeat.

Tears stream down his cheeks as a car horn blares below on the street.

Fuck you, asshole! Get out of the road! The owner of a sleek BMW yells with the window rolled down to a teenager crossing the street on his bike.

30 years old and heartbroken. So much for having his shit together.

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#fic: the rite of movement #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fic #joel miller angst #joel x female reader #joel x f!reader #joel x reader #joel x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal angst #joel fic #pedro pascal fic #pornstar!joel #joel miller story #joel miller series #joel miller imagine

[thewulf]

Gorgeous || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Request - So I was wondering if you could do a Jake Seresin x reader based on the song gorgeous by Taylor Swift. I just love flirty Jake and reader with lots of slow burn

A/N: Natasha’s sister moves to town and catches the eye of your favorite blonde pilot. 3 x 1 with each verse of Gorgeous by Taylor Swift angsty and flirty. The three times you flirt desperately with Jake and the one time he does something about it.

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Y/N Trace

Word Count: 4.7k +

One – The Party

“Everyone, this is my sister, Y/N. She’s a biologist. Decided to move downstate to be closer to me.” Nat grinned squeezing your side knowing it’d irritate you. She knew exactly how to do that, had it down to a literal science.

You rolled your eyes, “Or a job transfer happened to land me here.” You corrected her not having much time to spare her much of glance as a new voice interrupted the two of you.

“Thank the Good Lord for job transfers.” A blonde pilot shot you a rather confident wink cheersing the guys and few women around him making his presence known.

Nat swatted his beer down from the table the group was using, “Don’t even think about it Seresin. She has a boyfriend anyway.” Your sister shook her head eyeing him carefully.

You looked over at Nat with an annoyed expression crossing your face. She didn’t know you and your boyfriend, Matt, were on thin ice about the job transfer. He was pretty damn adamant that he wasn’t leaving Los Angeles to move down to San Diego with you. You didn’t know how committed you were to making that drive every other weekend either. To say the relationship was rocky was a bit of an understatement. It was teetering towards the edge and didn’t have much hope for survival.

Jake shrugged, “For now.”

Your eyes looked back to him in curiosity. You weren’t sure if he was just playing around and fucking with your sister or if he was being serious and found you just as interesting as you did him but you sure as hell were going to figure it out, that was for damn sure.

He gave you the up and down after seeing your curious gaze. With a sly smile he took a step towards you. You would’ve let him, but your sister had other plans, “May I remind you. She has a boyfriend Jake.” You smiled up at him, he looked like a Jake.

He shrugged loving how worked up his coworker was getting over this, “Doesn’t mean I can’t make a friend Natasha.”

You bit back an even bigger smile not wanting to hear it from her later, not in the slightest, “Yeah Natasha, a friend.” You nodded playing along with him. You liked to work her up just as much, if not more than he did.

Her nose scrunched as she took your hand, “I don’t want to hear it from you, piccolo merda.”

You rolled your eyes at her Italian nickname for you, little shit, how original. The two of you were fluent in Italian, thanks to your father. He always said if he couldn’t raise you in Italy you were damn sure going to be speaking Italian inside the home. And so, you did.

It wasn’t two hours later you found yourself searching for the blonde pilot. You’d successfully ditched your sister after getting her a little too drunk. To be fair, you might’ve been a little too drunk for your own good. When you spotted him getting a drink from the keg you didn’t hesitate to walk right on up to him with a no-good smile right on your own face. Thank God for liquid courage.

When he spotted you walking too him he didn’t hesitate for a moment either, “Little Trace. Where’s your big sister?” He smirked while teasing you turning his body towards you leaning his side against the island counter.

You shrugged looking around, “She’s somewhere. Didn’t think I had to keep track of her.” Mimicking him you leaned against it too.

He shook his head, “I think it’s the other way around sweetheart.” His southern accent came out the more he drank. And he’d drank quite a bit leading to a thick Texas accent coming out of the woodwork.

You couldn’t help but to giggle, the draw that came off his mouth was so foreign to the prim and proper people of Northern California you’d called home your entire life.

His eyes shot to your lips hearing you laugh so sweetly. He couldn’t help that he was truly enamored with the sound that captured him so effortlessly, “What are you laughing at?” He quipped, far too curious for his own good.

You shook your head quickly, “Nothing.”

He took a step closer eyeing you up and down forgetting you were his co-workers sister for a second, “I don’t believe you for a second darlin’.”

You were ever so thankful for the beer in your hand giving you something to put your eyes on, “I wasn’t expecting that accent, is all.” You giggled once more feeling the effects of drinking one too many beers.

You’d officially piqued his interest. His eyebrows raised in amusement, taking a step closer. He was far closer to you than Nat would appreciate, and he knew it. But it really was your fault. He couldn’t resist that cute little laugh and pretty little eyes batting right at him.

“You’re drunk.” He grinned noticing your swaying and gentle grip on the kitchen countertop

You shrugged, “So? Isn’t that the point of a party?” It was then that you noticed just how close the two of you really were. One more step and you’d be on top of him. You couldn’t have stopped the blush that spread across your cheeks even if you tried.

His smile only made your stupid, traitorous heart hammer in your chest once more, “Your absolutely right sweetheart.” His answer caught your eyes. When he winked you were sure your knees would buckle had your sister not swooped in eyeing Jake with venom you hadn’t seen from her in a long time.

“There you are Y/N.” She grabbed your arm gently, “I’ve been looking for you. I want to introduce you to a few people.”

You nodded grabbing the beer Jake had poured for you, “See you around Jake.” You waved as your sister dragged you off.

He nodded, “You sure will darlin’.”

Two – The Hard Deck

The mission tonight was simple. Avoid Jake Seresin at all costs. It wasn’t worth the damn headache that came from Natasha. She reamed you out the night after the house party saying you had a commitment. That’s when it all spilled out, just how unhappy you were in your current relationship.

To your surprise it was Natasha that convinced you to break up with him, so you did. You felt that sense of clarity once he simply just accepted the fate destined rather than fighting for you. Instead of wallowing you felt at peace. Like you were free from a trap you wanted so desperately to get out from. You were able to do whatever you wanted. The only problem you had now was going to be Jake. You were drawn to him, so utterly drawn to him. Nat tried to warn you, but every story only made you more interested. She stopped when she realized what she was doing.

You knew it was only a matter of time before you were going to be so casually controlled by the man. So, you’d avoid him. It was easy at first. But got a lot harder as the night wore on and his eyes were on you for a majority of it. That and your eyes kept finding his more and more the night progressed and the more intoxicated you became.

You were all but successful in your avoidance until you felt a hand brush against your own as you walked across the bar. You stopped locking eyes with the man you were attempting to avoid.

“Hey sweetheart.” He smirked knowing he had your attention now.

“Jake.” You pulled your jaw up from your shocked expression attempting to smile sweetly at the man you’d been able to avoid for the majority of the night, until now.

“Little Trace, you’ve been avoiding me.” He grabbed for your hand. You should’ve pulled away. Kept the conversation short and simple between the two of you. But you couldn’t. Not with him. He had you fair and square now. The mission was failed, successfully.

You tried to play coy. Key word, tried. The creeping blush might’ve given you away though, “I’ve been busy.”

“Avoiding me.” A lopsided grin spread across his face as he played with your hand absentmindedly stepping towards you. He too was utterly drawn towards you just as you were to him. It was only a matter of time between the two of you.

“It’s not all about you Jake. I have obligations from Natasha.” You grinned feeling a shiver rip up your arm from the tracing he was doing along your thumb. He noticed, because of course he did.

He shook his head looking right at you. Hazel green eyes, staring in yours. Your heart felt like it just might explode from that look alone, “See that’s where your wrong sweetheart. It’s all about me.”

You laughed throwing your head backwards. It’d been a while since you felt such joy in the utter shameless flirting that was going on between the two of you, “Maybe in your world Jake Seresin.” You gave his hand a squeeze in your own.

“That’s where your wrong again. In my world it’s all about you.” Jake looked all too proud of himself with that line.

You let him have the win. You let out a another loud laugh letting him know you were all too interested in him even though everybody around you seemed to be rooting against whatever the hell it was between the two of you. It was just a simple flirtationship that you so desperately wanted to progress.

“That was too smooth Jake.”

He let out a soft breath debating what to say next. Like he knew he would screw up if he went down his usual route. He didn’t want to just sleep with you. You were different. He knew if he started something with you he had to commit. You were too special not to. That and Nat would kick his ass to high heaven if he fucked around with your feelings.

“You make it easy, Y/N. It’s so easy with you. I hardly know you, but I feel like I can tell you anything. Does that make any sense?” He let out. Almost afraid it was too much for literal strangers.

You nodded quickly, “I know what you mean. Like I trust you. Could tell you anything and you’d keep it a secret. I get it.” You affirmed him bobbing your head up and down in the overcrowded bar packed to the brim on a busy Saturday night.

He let out the breath he was holding in giving your hand a gentle squeeze in return, “I knew you’d get it Little Trace.”

“Can you I ask you something?” You asked, needing to change the subject feeling all too vulnerable all too quickly.

“Shoot sweetheart.” He nodded letting you know anything was fair game.

You looked him right in the eyes, “Why does my sister want me to avoid you so desperately? Why does everybody?” You asked not sure if you really wanted to real answer.

He let out a soft sigh, “That’s a really long story I’ll tell you another day.” He nodded along, “Long story short, they don’t want you around Hangman.”

You nodded along. That must’ve been his callsign, “Is Hangman a dickhead?” You asked unashamed. Half the alcohol, half you speaking.

This time he threw his head back in laughter. You caught him in surprise, and he wasn’t afraid to show it, “Hangman is a really big dickhead.”

You smiled loving this side of him you were sure didn’t come out all too often, “Well I’m glad I’m getting to know Jake, not Hangman.”

He nodded finally dropping you hand, “Jake only. Now, your sister is shooting me evil glances. Go make sure she doesn’t murder me later, yeah?”

You turned your head waving your sister off, “I promise she won’t murder you.”

“I’m going to hold you to it. Or I’m haunting your ass.”

You grinned deciding to grab his hand this time, “It’s a deal, Jake Seresin.”

He gave your hand a squeeze, “It’s a deal then, Y/N Trace.”

Three – The Football Game

“Jesus Christ.” You groaned sitting down at the picnic table witnessing the men in all their shirtless sweaty glory.

Penny nodded, “I know.”

“That’s just not fair. I don’t know how Nat does it.” You sighed tuning away from the shirtless group playing dogfight football on the beach, whatever that was. You couldn’t focus on trying to figure it out either. Jake looked too fucking good glistening, sweaty in the sun. What a cruel joke Nat was playing on you right now.

Penny smiled seeing you trying to avoid a certain blonde pilot playing football opposite your sister, “They’re more like brothers to her now.”

You nodded feeling your cheeks redden under her gaze, “What?” You asked trying to dodge her eyes.

“You like Jake?” She asked knowing all about his reputation. She knew it wasn’t her place to say a word. She was sure you’d heard everything about the pilot.

You just looked at her trying to come up with something, “I uhm, I think he’s quite cute.” You admitted feeling your already red cheeks deepen even further.

“Your sister said he talks about you a lot.” She told you.

You looked at her skeptically, “Really?” Being a bartender had its perks and one of those was learning about everybody’s business.

“Yeah. She told me the other night. She’s worried he’ll hurt you.” Penny admitted wanting to give you one warning. That was her motherly instinct kicking in for you.

You smiled, “She forgets we grew up in the same household. She forgets I’d kick his ass before he gets the chance at mine.”

“You should tell her that.” Penny laughed loving your confidence. You reminded her of Nat with that mini outburst right there. Penny loved getting to know the pilots that frequented her bar. Especially those who came back multiple times, your sister and Jake being just a few of them.

“Trust me, I try. She doesn’t listen to me. I’m just her dumb, stupid younger sister.” You sighed letting your frustration with your sister out. You loved her more than anything, but she treated you like a damn porcelain doll all the time. Like you’d shatter at any moment. It would’ve been sweet had she not tried to stop you from failing, something you needed.

“Incoming.” Penny smiled knocking you out of your thoughts. She stood from her seat across from you. She walked off towards Pete just in time for Jake to sit down next to you.

“Hey pretty girl.” He smiled so effortlessly while you felt like you were fighting for your damn life. Like the oxygen was suddenly getting sucked out of all the air.

You felt your eyes want to look down, but you knew you couldn’t. He was shirtless and you knew your eyes would betray you if they got a look any further below than his neck, “Hey Jake.” You felt your voice quiver as you looked away from him. It was like he had sucked all the confidence you once had and took it all himself.

“You look really pretty this afternoon.” He complimented you loving the way you looked in that dress far too much. Far too much for somebody who was just friends. He wanted you more than that and he was starting to get tired of waiting. He knew he was going to go for it the second he got back from the mission. It didn’t mean he couldn’t shamelessly flirt with you now though. Just to let you know how he really felt.

“You look… good yourself.” You kept your eyes forward trying not to give away just how damn attracted to him you really were.

He cracked a grin seeing you struggle under the conditions. He knew he had to make it just a bit harder for you, “Oh yeah? You think so sweetheart?”

“Mhmm.” You nodded.

He nodded slowly trying his best to get you to look down at his bare chest, “Well thank you darlin’.” He edged closer. And that was all it took to get you to break. You cursed yourself as you looked down at instinct to the subtle movement. He looked good. Better than good. Damn amazing. Gorgeous. He too looked oh so fucking gorgeous.

He smirked seeing that was what it took to get you to break, “As much as I’d like to tease you sweetheart your sister is walking over, and I don’t care for an earful. I’ll talk to you later?” He asked leaning closer to you.

“Yeah, later.” You smiled.

What took you by surprise was the quick peck on the cheek he gave you before running off. Not even having time to react to him before he was gone Nat stood where he was just moments ago, “What was that about?” She asked eyeing you skeptically.

You shook your head, “Nothing. Just Jake being Jake.” You smiled knowing it was over for you. You liked him far more than you really should’ve. Far more than he liked you. What you didn’t know was just how much he really did like you too. How slowly over the last few weeks you’d captured his every thought that wasn’t consumed by the mission. You had him smitten beyond his wild dreams.

Four – Return From the Mission

When you spotted her the tears sprung from your eyes immediately. You knew she was okay, she called to tell you. But seeing her was another story, “Oh, thank God.” You mumbled before walking as close as you could before you had to wait before they were dismissed.

Your eyes were glued on your sisters, but another pair was glued right on you. You didn’t see Jake watching you and only you. He didn’t have any family there to greet him. He hadn’t invited anybody. Not many people had. He couldn’t help but to feel a little twinge of jealousy seeing your eyes glued on somebody else. Knowing it was irrational he tried to keep his head on straight. How could he be jealous of your sister? A sister he’d grown to love dearly, in a different sense. Now that the mission was over he could focus on you, solely you now. If he had to stand behind your sister so be it, he’d do it.

The second you heard the dismissal call you were running towards your sister. You heard her grunt once you through your arms around her torso bringing her in for a bone crushing hug, “Natty, you’re okay.”

She laughed patting your shoulder. As much as you loved her she wasn’t one for much physical affection. Hugs made your sister rather uncomfortable, and you knew it. But you didn’t really care. You needed to hug her. To remind yourself that she was okay. She was living and breathing in front of you.

“Like I told you on the phone.” She smiled giving you one single squeeze back.

Rolling your eyes, you reluctantly pulled apart from her, “You said you were fine. Who knows what that actually means. You could’ve been wheeled off the ship for all I know.” Crossing your arms over your chest you feigned a pout.

“You’re so dramatic.” She laughed

Shaking your head at her you smiled, “I’m dramatic? Last time you walked off the ship with a concussion and a broken arm. You said you were good. You’re not dramatic enough!” You countered earning a full-on laugh from your sister.

“As fun as this is. Jake is shooting me daggers for talking to you for so long. Why don’t you go talk to him and I’ll go find something else to do.” She said so nonchalantly you weren’t sure if you’d heard her right or not. Jake Seresin? The one you were supposed to avoid

You turned around connecting eyes with the blonde pilot that had captured your heart so effortlessly. Biting your lip slightly you gave him a quick wave before turning back to your sister, “What? You’re okay with this now?”

She shrugged, “He’s not that bad.”

You cocked your head to the side curiously. What the hell happened on the mission? She was usually an open book, “You’re not telling me something Nat.”

She shook her head pushing you away, “Go ask Jake then.”

Odd. Your eyes stitched together in utter curiosity. Where was this push coming from? She waved you off when you gave her a look of confusion. Turning back around you walked over to him, far less enthusiastic and far more confused than when you started your day.

When you made it to him he waited on you to speak first. A soft smile was tracing his lips as he studied your face once more. Thankful he was given the chance to look you over again. That was the first real life at stakes mission he’d been on, and it had him a little more thankful for the return to American soil he normally took for granted.

“Welcome home Lieutenant.”

His smile alone was enough to ignore any of the confusion your sister left you with moments prior, “It’s good to be home.” He paused unsure of himself. It wasn’t like him to be so cautious with somebody, but you were different. He realized that the second he laid his eyes on you a month ago. If you were anybody else he would’ve already wooed you and gotten you to sleep with him. But you weren’t just anybody else. You were you, Y/N. He was determined to do this right. For the first time in his life, he wanted something more, something serious. A woman he could show off to his friend and family. Somebody he could love and cherish. A partner to build a life with. And you, you would slide into that role so perfectly. He knew it.

He caught your eyes quickly giving him the up and down in the Navy Whites, your favorite return home uniform. They just made everybody look so polished. They made Jake look even better than he normally did. If that was even possible.

A cocky grin spread across his face knowing you felt the same way about him. Natasha all but confirmed it on the ship after everybody returned safely. You all but confirmed it with the way your eyes dragged all over his body and with the way you could hardly hold his gaze. He decided there was no time like the present to finally win you over.

“You look beautiful by the way. A true sight for sore eyes.” He brushed a lose strand of hair out of your face knowing exactly what he was doing to you.

A small laugh escaped your lips, “You’re just saying that because you’ve been stuck on a boat for three weeks with the same people.” Accepting compliments never came easy. Accepting them from the most gorgeous man standing in front of you? Impossible.

He shook his head quickly, “Trust me Y/N.” He inched closer so he was almost on top of you. If you couldn’t use your words before they weren’t going to come any quicker now. The scent of his musky cologne wafted into your nose and before you knew it your brain seemed to be short circuiting. How this man went from complete stranger to now blew your mind.

He leaned down seeing your starry gaze. Turns out he had nothing to be jealous over. You were just as smitten as he was. The evidence was written right across your love-struck expression. With a sly smile he leaned down whispering into your ear, “I thought you were drop dead gorgeous the moment I laid eyes on you back at that house party. But now that I’ve gotten to know you? You’re the most beautiful woman in the world Y/N Trace.”

Your jaw literally dropped when your brain decided to process his words, “Jake…” Your eyes shot straight to his lips before looking back into his eyes. He caught that. He caught every subtle move you decided to make. He was absolutely enamored with everything you did.

“Yes?” He asked once he reluctantly pulled away from your ear. He also noticed you shaking off the shiver that his actions delivered. He was enjoying this far too much. He could do practically anything and get a reaction out of you.

You sucked in a breath finding the courage to look him in the eyes once more, “Do you mean that?”

Without skipping a beat, he answered you, “Absolutely sweetheart.”

The smile that spread across your face could’ve cured a thousand diseases. Jake had decided. His own face spread into a big goofy grin feeling so damn good getting that one off his chest, “Nat isn’t going to be very happy.”

“Oh yeah? Tell me pretty girl, why’s that?” He inched just a step closer daring to rest a gentle hand on your hip. You let him, leaning into his touch softly.

You nodded quickly, “Because I think you’re fucking gorgeous Jake Seresin.”

The language paired with the delicate dress and sweet face would’ve sent him over the edge had they not been in such a public place with more than a few pairs of curious eyes on them, “Got a mouth on ya sweetheart, don’t you?” He shot you a wink.

“You know my sister right? She’s been like that her whole life. I think we came out of the womb cussing.” You grinned leaning into it. Maybe it wasn’t something to be so proud of, but you didn’t really give a damn. It meant survival in your crazy, chaotic Italian family.

He gave you one long look before whispering once more, “You don’t know just how bad I want kiss you right now. But your sister is staring right at the two of us, so I’ll spare you the lecture.”

You giggled feeling a rush of euphoria course through every vein in your body. Damn how did do that?

Pulling back once more he brushed his hand along the back of your arm making sure to keep you close, “Instead I’ll settle on this instead. Y/N, would you go on a date with me?”

“Absolutely.” You would’ve been embarrassed with how quickly you answered him but the smile that spread across his face spared you from that.

“Busy tonight?” He asked gauging your reaction.

“Tonight?” You didn’t want to admit just how quickly you liked

He nodded, “If you’re free.”

“I’d love to.” You agreed knowing that you’d be able to kiss him tonight. That certainly wasn’t in your plans today, but you were more than happy to change course for him.

He gave your hip a gentle squeeze, “I’ll pick you up at 7.”

“What should I wear?”

“That. Don’t change. You look beautiful as ever sweetheart.” He reached for a hand wanting to hold it for a quick second while Nat turned away conversing with Bradshaw. By the rate she was speaking she didn’t look too thrilled with what was going down between the two of you. She couldn’t be that upset though, she did just throw the two of you together.

“You flatter me Jake.” You laughed softly trying to play it cool.

He gave your hand a soft squeeze before dropping it, “That’s my job.”

You shook your head with ease, “I’ll see you at 7?” You asked before turning away from him, ending the emotion fueled conversation.

“That you will.”

“Oh, and Jake? One more thing.” You smiled up at him.

“Yeah?”

You gave him one long look over, “You really are gorgeous. I wasn’t kidding when I said that earlier.”

Was that a blush that you managed to give him? It looked like it and man did it make him look even more handsome than ever. That was your new mission. Get Jake to blush whenever possible. You just knew you might be getting yourself into the most fun thing that crossed your life’s path to date.

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#top gun maverick #top gun #top gun imagine #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin x you #jake seresin fanfic #hangman x reader #hangman x y/n #jake seresin x oc #jake series #jake seresin fic #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman seresin #top gun hangman #hangman seresin #jake seresin angst #jake seresin au #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin fluff #hangman x you #hangman x oc #hangman adam page #hangman au #hangman angst #hangman fic #hangman fanfiction #hangman fluff #jake hangman fic

[genericpuff]

All That Glitters is Not Feminism - An Analysis of LO's Brand of "Feminism" and What Remains of its Fanbase (A Prologue)

So I referenced a certain article in a recent reblog/ask response and I just need to talk about it because what the actual fuck-

This has to have been written by either a bot or a hater who's reached peak god tier level at playing the long con sarcasm game because NOTHING about this feels sincere or even factual. Much of it almost has to be read in a mocking tone for it to make any real sense.

It says "Lore Olympus" (literally in quotations) in just about every single paragraph over and over again and every single talking point revolves EXCLUSIVELY around Persephone, which I suppose comes as no surprise considering that seems to be all the comic - and its fanbase - cares about at this point.

I really love (/s) how Persephone's "evolution" is being naive and then 'blossoming' into an independent woman who relies entirely on the rich man who groomed her to solve all her problems.

Also all she's done since becoming Queen of the Underworld is abuse lower class people. That's the stuff feminist dreams are made of <3

While we're talking about the main leads, "poster child" is definitely a word for Hades, I think a more appropriate term would be "literal child". And boy howdy, 'god of consent' sure is a title to give the guy who ripped out a lower class satyr's eyeball and beat him half to death.

This man owns slaves, btw. And both he and his "powerful wife" are equally horrible to lower class people, especially women.

This is hands-down the funniest section of the article and we're only three bullet points in.

Thetis and Persephone have never even so much as spoken one word to each other outside of the courtroom that Thetis technically put her in after plotting against her for an entire season.

Eros is a man. Nothing wrong with that but it comes with the unintentional icky hilarity of implying that because Eros is the gay best friend, that means he's a woman.

They literally don't read this fucking comic-

Everyone always relies on this weird talking point of Demeter not being able to "let Persephone go"... y'all, she just didn't want Persephone to outright move to Olympus, she wanted her to commute. That was it! That was literally the only problem! She wasn't preventing Persephone from pursuing a higher education or telling her she wasn't allowed to work, she literally fucking encouraged it! And with the added later context of Persephone killing a bunch of mortals - and, ironically, the fact that Persephone was assaulted/put in harm's way by TWO SEPARATE MEN in the first two days of her time in Olympus - yeah, I don't blame Demeter for not wanting her daughter to move cold turkey actually LOL

Also hilarious that they claim Rachel has turned "tradition" into "innovation" when the only thing she's managed to do is set back modern feminism in her young adult readers by 80 years and re-establish misogynist brainwashing in her adult ones. Rachel, your fanbase was literally shipping a victim of abuse with her abuser just a few days ago.

oh boy this is uh

this is some cult shit ngl

and the "rewriting the script of Greek mythology" part is VERY concerning knowing what we know about Lore Olympus and who it was written by. This is literally cultural appropriation, full stop, and it exists because Lore Olympus - and works like it, made by people like Rachel - exists.

I can't even commit to the original theory that this was written by a bot because it all feels very pointed and intenetional. This is being written by someone who, at the very least, REALLY sucks at media analysis and writing, because the entire article is just "Lore Olympus, buzzword, Lore Olympus, buzzword, buzzword, Lore Olympus", it's like a white knight incantation for guilty virtue signallers who have zero clue what they're talking about. And at worst, yes, it's appropriation from someone who doesn't mind taking a culture's stories and myths and promoting their erasure by people outside of the culture like Rachel.

And that's it, that's literally the article lmao

*EDIT: There was a section here before addressing the writer of the article from a very opinionated POV that, while isn't unusual for what I do here, did feel necessary to remove after I was contacted by the article writer who addressed the flaws in their original article and is now seeking to correct them with revisions/an article rewrite. So I felt it only fair as a compromise to at least remove that section as it really doesn't have a whole lot to do with this post as a whole and can be removed without entirely ruining the flow of this analysis. If/when that article is rewritten, I'll be revisiting this post and my overall analysis !

And honestly, it's all really telling, because this does accurately reflect the state of the LO fanbase.

Not only do many of the people who defend this comic like it's their job not pick up on the blatant misogynist tones that are going on in its narrative (I can't even call them "undertones" anymore, they're no longer that subtle) but whether or not they even read the comic at all is up for debate with how much stuff they tend to get wrong in their own arguments and justifications. And this is something that's VERY regularly seen in the fanbase discussions, readers will constantly be unaware of things that happened because they skimmed through it at lightning speed just to see if Hades and Persephone kiss and so they can get the top comment on Webtoons so they can be "ahead of the fanbase". It's no wonder that Rachel has gotten used to getting away with retconning things because her fanbase didn't even read what she established the first time.

Rachel's fanbase was literally defending the romance ship of an abuser and his victim on the newest FP episode preview. When that FP episode came out two nights ago and Hera said, point blank, that he didn't love her but abused her, I could only think of that portion of the fanbase who was very audibly simping over Kronos in the IG comment section. Are they actually having their moment of shameful clarity now? Or are they just gonna move the goalposts and pretend that didn't happen?

I don't want to say anything bad about Shelby here because she really seems like she's fighting for her life on this site that she's trying to get off the ground, but a lot of her other articles also come across as very one-note while being peppered with buzzwords that make it seem like what she's talking about is "progressive" when it really isn't. Case in point, Lessons in Chemistry has been commonly criticized for not actually appealing to the demographic that its Mary Sue-ish main character is supposed to represent - women in STEM career fields.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Lore Olympus is not 'feminism', it's white feminism that is designed to appeal to predominantly heterocis white women who think the solution to misogyny is to willingly submit to it and accept the status quo - that it's "empowering" if the woman is smiling and having all her needs paid for by a man. Sure, I can accept that different women will be looking for different relationship dynamics, some women genuinely are happy being in a relationship where they support their husbands first and foremost. But can that truly be called feminism? Or is the real feminism the choices we make along the way that we should be given the freedom to make?

It says a lot about the folks who tend to regularly prop up LO on a pedestal like this as some "revolution in feminism" despite the contrary after spending more than just 30 seconds skimming the attention-grabbing art, and Shelby is just one of many. She's not the worst of the bunch, though.

That goes to someone else who I want to give proper light to in their own essay. Someone who definitely earned a good stern talking-to this past week and has, thankfully, had consequences dished out to her for her horrible actions towards queer POC writers.

If you know, you know. If you don't, buckle up.

#lore olympus critical #lo critical #anti lore olympus

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

ñuhus prūmӯs (my heart) │Chapter 11: Visitors

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 │Chapter 11 │Chapter 12 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Childbirth is the duty and dismay of all highborn women. Together, you and Daemon experience the trials, tribulations and triumphs of expectant parenthood. Your babes meet their family.

(Set post-episode 7, though Daemon never married Laena or Rhaenyra.)

Thank you to my slap daddy @ewanmitchellcrumbs​ for editing this monster! Thank you also to @evisnotok​ and @ajthefujoshi​ for holding my hand throughout the drafting, teehee!

Triggers: incest, age gap, purity culture.

You are startled awake by the sound of crying.

Jolting up before your mind truly registers the sound, it takes you a moment to remember why it is that you have roused. You rub your eyes and yawn, peering to the side as the wailing multiplies, two thready, discordant pitches begging for someone, anyone to notice.

Daemon groans beside you. “Fucking hells.” His voice is muffled by the pillow, timbre lacking the heat his words imply. “We were just up, weren’t we?”

You reach out to whack him for the profanity, arm striking across the span of his back. He grunts with the impact.

“I will take your daughter,” you mutter, already untangling yourself from the sheets, “but your son also begs for attention.”

Rolling from the bed behind you, he says, “Fussy thing.”

You smile. It is true that Aelys is the more demanding of the pair, and you are certain it is her sharp squalling that dragged you from unconsciousness in the first place. You ache with every step and your thickly lined smallclothes squelch uncomfortably from the remnants of afterbirth, denser and of greater volume than your moon’s blood ever had been. Your body still experiences the shock of it all, but it is difficult to feel aggrieved when your eyes alight on the pair of pale-haired miracles fussing in the cradle.

Your thought had been correct, indeed. While Rhaenar’s cries quieten at the brush of your fingers across his cheek, your daughter only sobs harder at the contact. In the weak light of early dawn, her flushed face and stubborn frown are easy to see, wrinkled features contorting in as furious an expression as an infant less than a sennight old can possibly muster. Her knees jerk against her wrappings, the only part of her that can gain any traction within the firm swaddle you have placed her in.

Lifting her up and carefully manoeuvring her into your arms, you coo sympathetically. “Rhovus riñus.” Loud girl, you call her, gently settling her fragile head in the crook of your elbow. Mind her neck, mind her neck, you think, a whisper repeating itself over and over again. It is overly cautious of you, perhaps, but you do not wish to inadvertently harm your babe. “Skorio syt ñāqiot hīghā?” Why are you screaming at sunrise?

Lashes fluttering and lip quivering, she cranes toward the sound of your speech. Though you know she cannot see properly yet, you swear her gaze is trained on you, muzzy and unfocused. She kicks again at the feel of your thumb brushing over her pout, angry soft breaths puffing from tiny lungs. That raw, wrenching feeling of violent love wells up as it does each time you behold these lives you have made, bringing with it the urge to bar the entrances and dash the eyes from the skulls of all those who dare to look upon your little ones.

“Kesrio syt zijo kepo syt ēdrunon iotāptios daor.” Because she has no respect for her kepa’s rest. Daemon grumbles, the warmth of his body spreading into yours as his hands fall to the cradle on either side of you, bracketing you in. He proffers a drowsed, aimless press of lips to your temple, sliding down to your cheekbone as he sets his chin to your shoulder and peers down at the troublemaker in your arms. “Vȳs kiragon lo ziry gaomas jaelza, hm?” She wants the world to wake when she does, hm?

You are sure this is a quality inherited from your uncle. From all accounts, you had been naught but a quiet, pleasant infant, scarcely to be heard unless in great need of the necessities for survival. It entertains you greatly to muse upon Daemon’s penchant for commotion being passed to his daughter, your daughter. Already she shows the signs of such a fate.

“She hungry?” His palm spans the circumference of her scalp and then some, a gentle ruffling of snow-fuzzed skin—your colouring, his colouring—that coaxes a vexed scrunch and whine from your girl.

“No,” you say, passing your thumb back over her mouth. She does not attempt to suckle at it. Good. Freda, the wetnurse, is absent from her pallet. You are not yet able to fill both their bellies alone, your milk thin as it is. “Just wanting her mama and papa, I think.”

There must be something soporific about the hum of mother and father conversing, for by now Aelys’s haranguing has petered off to a manageable grizzle. She is clearly unhappy with her present state, though you are glad she has chosen not to be quite so combative about it.

Rhaenar’s whimpers begin anew below you.

“Oh, kepus…”

Daemon readily slides around you and plucks the babe from the cradle with a deftness borne of familiarity. You do not know if it unnerves or reassures you that you yourself had helped shape this skill, once a newborn niece to the budding Rogue Prince.

He sighs, cupping the back of your son’s head to his shoulder with a hand propping him up under the rear. “Kesīr māzīs, ñuhus trēsys.” Come here, my son.

He sways slowly, and you can only watch spellbound as the motion silences the little boy entirely. Your husband’s lips curve in that gentle, aching countenance reserved for only the quietest, most unguarded moments, his nose brushing along the slope of Rhaenar’s skull.

“Jeva idaña pelrar issa,” he continues, glancing at you impishly. “Īlōn valī hēnkirī humbisi.” Your sister is a menace. Us men have to stick together.

“Lies. Lies and slander, my darling,” you say to your daughter, spinning on your heel to convey her imperiously to the bed.

Your jesting march reaches a quick and abrupt halt as the cramping of your belly reminds you why it is that you are confined to your chambers for the time being. You stop, waiting for the discomfort to pass, clutching the heft of your babe to you tightly enough that she squawks with the indignity of it.

“Give her to me,” Daemon says firmly, hand rubbing soothingly at your waist. “Get back under the covers.”

“But you have—”

“I can bloody well hold two babes, you know.” He levies an expression of utmost stubbornness your way. “You, however, shouldn’t even be up. You’ve scarcely begun to heal after shoving them both from your cu—”

“Language,” you hiss, passing Aelys into the care of your uncle so that you may hobble back to your safe haven. It is still warm beneath the blankets, and you gratefully press your chilled feet into the temperate spaces so as to regain some measure of sensation in your toes. “I wish you would not use foul words in front of them,” you say, rearranging the pillows on either side of you unhurriedly. If you move too fast, a fresh bout of soreness will plague you. “If the first thing they say is something horrid they have learned from you…”

“… then they’ll prove themselves adept pupils, won’t they?” Daemon smirks, sitting himself upon the edge of the mattress.

You stretch forth to take your daughter back, propping her on your lap and unbinding the cloth that keeps her so unhappily restrained. Her little arms lift as though in jubilation the very instant she is free, the knot of frustration between her translucent brows smoothing and her legs curling up in a manner much like the pose she had decided was most comfortable while still in your womb.

“Besides, we’ve a while until that becomes a problem,” your husband says. You are only partly listening, utterly engrossed in the clench and unclench of her small fists as you shift her, swaddling cloths and all, to one arm. “Not as though they’re performing dramatic orations any time soon.”

You do not get the chance to scold him yet again for the profanity, for your other arm is promptly occupied by your son. The movement startles him but briefly. Squeaking with the jolt of sudden movement, he promptly curls into the heat of your skin emanating through your shift, smacking sleepy lips and wiggling his feet against your belly before dropping into slumber.

Rhaenar is a different sort of creature to his sister. Whether it be that he allows her to make complaints vociferously enough for them both or that he simply does not have any, he is a solemn thing, content enough to while away the hours slumbering or blinking new eyes up at the world, aimless, as though deep in thought.

He looks a little like an old man, you think to yourself, charmed by the frowning pucker that forms on his dreaming face. The peace in his darling visage is such that you feel your own lids droop, the comforting weight of happy babes lulling you quicker than any draught or brew could.

Aelys is fire and blood and retribution, the very image of her father. But Rhaenar… he is you. Calm and introspective, the cool that acts as balm to the stinging burn of tempestuousness.

Nothing pleases you more than to have given new life in equal measure, to have given Daemon both a child he may love for those traits he admires in you and another in whom he may see his own reflection. In whom he may learn to love the parts of himself that he has so long despised.

Of course—being her father’s daughter—Aelys is not one to stay still and silent for too long. Rhaenar begins to stir when she whines, twisting uncoordinated limbs and kicking her heels into his.

“Go back to sleep with our boy, hm?” Daemon leans down first to brush a kiss on Rhaenar’s velvety crown, then up to your lips, his smokeleatherspice scent filling your nostrils and his calloused palm etching tender along your jaw. “I’ll take this one for a time,” he says against your mouth, drawing back to lift Aelys from you with feigned resignation. He tuts down at her with a gnawing sort of softness as she complains further, striking out at his proffered finger. “Perhaps her fit will abate with some fresh air.”

“Do not go far,” you say, eyes already closing as you turn to your side to face your son, your firstborn. The babe does not even notice you making yourself comfortable, drawing him ever closer so that you can feel the line of him against you, small head to tiny toes.

Daemon grunts an affirmative. He would not risk Rhaenar toppling from the bed or being smothered. The last thing you register before sleep claims you entirely is the sound of his low hum, fading with each step he takes toward the balcony.

“Brand new to the world, young madam, and already tormenting your brother? A little dragon, that’s what you are…”

Three days. Three days in total are all that is granted to you before the visitors become truly persistent.

To be fair, you had assumed they would barge in on the very first morn, heedless of the alarm and the strife your wearied form had been put through over what had ultimately been a relatively swift labour. And yet, you had been blessed with four entire days in which none but those necessary—Ūlla and Gerardys and Rhaenyra and your ladies, among others—entered your chamber, giving you hours to learn these strange beings who had housed themselves in your womb for the better part of a year.

Alas, you muse, joggling the arm full of a squirming Aelys to soothe her. I cannot keep them to myself forever.

Your hair is combed and braided, your skin scrubbed to tingling and your simple gown pristine as you sit with your babes in your grasp, awaiting the arrival of your guests. They have been fed, in part by you and the rest from Freda. The wetnurse sits on the chaise with Jeyne and Bethany, darning shirts for the soldiers of the Keep with good cheer. You can tell she unnerves them both. She is remarkably like Ūlla in vulgarity, no doubt astonishing their virtuous sensibilities.

“That Aron.” She snickers, winking cheekily at Jeyne. “I’d let ‘im do whatever he wanted to me. Fine, fine arms. Nice ears. Big feet. You know that they say, don’t ya? Bigger the feet, bigger the co—”

“That is—very lovely!” Bethany says, dropping her own embroidery. Jeyne is so violently flushed that you are concerned she may faint away. You snicker quietly to yourself on the bed.

Though you feel well enough by now to walk about with manageable discomfort, you remain all but chained to the mattress, reclined in stately pomp below the covers as though you are an invalid. To Daemon, you may as well be.

“Need anything?” he asks, smoothing a stray lock from your cheek. Clearly, he is ignoring all conversation taking place by the balcony.

“No.” You beam. You have everything you could want.

He stands as the door opens, revealing Laenor and Harwin with the children in tow. Your sister takes the rear with Ūlla, herding them through the entryway and into the room while hushing their excited chatter to a low buzz. Jeyne, Bethany and Freda abruptly rise, ushering themselves through the door of your adjoining solar after dropping a brief curtsey.

“Is that them?” Daeron steps forth from Ūlla’s side, shy at first, then emboldened when Daemon waves him over, hand ruffling his hair as he passes. “Is that…”

“Come here,” you say, watching with fondness as your young brother clambers up with utmost care. His eyes remain fixed on the babes with curiosity and a distinct nervousness. “Come see your niece and nephew.”

He settles himself by your knee, peering down at each infant in turn, studying the faces of these new interlopers. You know not what he thinks.

“Which one is the boy? And the girl?” His small pudgy finger tracing the shell of Rhaenar’s ear. He has chosen well. Your son whinges slightly at the contact but does not make a commotion of it as his sister likely would. Daeron grins, riveted. “They look like you and Nuncle, and me and ‘Nyra.”

“They do.” Daemon laughs, wedging himself beside you. Holding out his own finger to Rhaenar, you feel your husband’s soft exhale as the babe grips automatically at his father’s flesh, little digits just barely wrapping around his own, much larger one. “This fine lad is Rhaenar,” he tells your brother, “while this bold thing”—he taps your daughter on the nose, chuckling when she grouches and flushes red at the imposition—“is Aelys.”

“They’re pretty.” Daeron reaches for his little niece’s hand. She blinks up at him, her wafer-thin nails scraping across his palm, though she seems to find his touch unobjectionable for the time being.

“The prettiest,” you murmur, eyes blurring at the sight. My family.

Bearing and birthing these babes has transformed you into an ocean, perpetually leaking water at the slightest of provocations. You cannot help it. Your brother and your uncle—your husband, your lover—and your son and your daughter are all nestled together with you here, safe, unshakeable in spite of your great trials.

“I wanna see.”

“Luke—”

“No!” You shake your head, glancing up at Laenor. “No. Let him meet his cousins. In fact, there is plenty of room on this bed for you all.”

You lift your elbows just slightly as the mattress jostles about, Rhaena tucking herself against you while the boys and Baela scramble to seek a good vantage point.

Luke leans over Jace’s back to examine them. “Aw,” he says, “they’re not even awake. I want to play with them!”

“They just came out,” Baela hisses, nudging him with her shoulder. “They can’t play yet, stupid.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Get off me,” Jace grumbles.

“Boys,” Rhaenyra says, tugging Harwin along to the side of the bed. “If you’re going to fight, then I’ll have Ser Lorent collect you for your training this very moment.”

“Sorry,” they each say in turn, untangling from each other to sit next to each other, squeezed tight between Daeron and Baela.

“I’m glad you aren’t hurt,” Rhaena says quietly, her chin digging into your arm as she cranes her neck. “Like Mama was.”

Your gut twists low at the reminder of Laena.

Lying abed in a pool of blood—

“I thought I was going to die—”

Face ashen and bloodless, frozen forevermore—

You swallow back the hurt, trammelling it within the iron-wrought cage deep, deep in your soul. All you can do is turn your cheek to press your lips to Rhaena’s crown, silently sharing in her melancholy.

Harwin clears his throat. “… Congratulations, Princess.” He tries to smile, but it falls flat. You wonder when life will afford him respite from the cycle of anguish and betrayal. Baela extricates herself from the gathering before you, shuffling across the mattress toward her father. “And you, Prince Daemon. They are… they are bonny babes, the both of them.”

“Yes,” Ūlla says sagely, patting the man on the elbow. Harwin squints at her, the subtle shift in the arch of his brow a tell-tale sign of his befuddlement. “Very nice, both of them. Look like you, Princess.”

Your uncle offers some response of haughty appreciation, the buzz of it traversing from his chest and through your skin. You do not hear the precise words for your gaze is fixed upon Baela, who has decided to change course and wander past Harwin entirely. Evidently, she has elected herself to the role of cradle inspector.

She stares down at the bedding with a frown. “Where are the eggs?” she asks loudly, looking back at you. The others jump; only you had been watching your little cousin’s adventure. “The dragon eggs aren’t in here.”

“They’re by the hearth,” Daemon says, an indulgent quirk to his mouth. “We must be sure the babes are hale and hearty enough for fresh dragonlings to crawl about in their bed with them, don’t we? Their bones have to harden after spending so long sleeping in their mother’s belly.”

“They have soft bones?” Daeron whispers to himself, alarmed, snatching his hand away as though further pressure might shatter little Rhaenar’s skull entirely. Your son snuffles against your chest, inciting a slow-rising warmth in your breasts.

Oh, dear. Not now.

“Speaking of dragons”—Laenor’s voice is raised, eyes rolling at his former comrade-at-arms—“when are you going to visit that godsawful brute of yours, cousin?”

Never have you been gladder for your goodbrother’s timing. “Hm?”

“Your bloody—” He winces sheepishly at the warning scowl Rhaenyra offers him. “Your… labours sent your dragon into quite the state.”

Your sister motions to the children, encouraging them to join Baela. Jace and Luke engage in a silent shoving tournament as they amble forth, necessitating Ūlla’s intervention. She grabs each boy by the shoulder and cleanly splits them apart, guiding them onward with nary an admonishment to be heard. Meanwhile, Rhaena and Daeron drift toward the open chest by the cradle, inspecting the collected sundries for the babes laid therein.

“I thought the whole Keep would go up in flames,” Laenor says. “Next time, warn us when you go to the birthing bed. I’d like to be far, far away from the threat of immolation.”

Rhaenyra thumps him in the chest hard enough that he chokes on his attempt to draw breath. Daemon snorts.

You remember little of the birth, to be truthful. The hours seemed to pass oddly, in dribbles of awareness amidst a wash of agony, distorted, meaningless. You recall the bare facts, of course. Waking to the cramping in your back and in your belly; wondering if Rhaenar would split you apart from womb to chest; the awful foreboding sense that Aelys may well kill you if you could not amass some strength left to finish the task; your first glance at the bloodied, screaming forms of your babes. But the rest…

“I thought I imagined it,” you say, ruminating over those moments in which your cries had wavered in your own ears, had coalesced and reformed into draconic shrieks, thready, duplicated. In those moments, you were a dragon, your blood was fire in your veins and between your legs and bursting in your lungs and heart, and you felt and heard yourself as girl and beast at once, together, whole, power and magic fuelling you to the racking end. “Athfiezar… he was calling for me?”

Laenor nods with a nervous chuckle. “You could say that. It was terrifying. Almost like he… felt it himself.”

Rhaenyra’s voice is soft, reflective. “Some say Targaryens are closer to gods than men. We owe that to the dragons, yes. But perhaps there is truth enough in it. A bond exists between our spirits and theirs unlike any other.”

He was with me. Of course he was with me.

How many weeks had passed since you were last able to see Athfiezar? To feel the ground shake beneath your feet with his every movement? To scramble atop his mighty frame and take off, to feel the wind whip through your hair and your organs shift inside your body as his wings beat a drum-like tempo across the sky? To stare into viridescent eyes and sense the pulse of life thrumming to the same rhythm as yours? Your heart squeezes with longing, fierce and tormenting.

“We’ll visit them both soon,” Daemon finally says, hand warm on your knee.

Unlike you, he had not been restricted from the arduous walk to Caraxes’s latest island haunt—but in those final days when the thought of him leaving your rooms seemed utterly intolerable, he had foregone his visits, remaining sequestered with you with remarkable forbearance. Sometimes you hear Caraxes’s piping song in the distance, plaintive and searching.

Your lips twist gratefully as you look at your uncle. He understands.

“My mother took me flying on Meleys less than two sennights after I was born,” he says, glancing down at the babes. Rhaenar is awake, staring intently at his father. It is as though he is absorbed by every word that falls from his mouth. “My children ought to have the same.”

You cannot help but to balk. “They are too young and too little to fly on dragonback—”

He laughs, patting your covered thigh. “They’re Targaryens, sweetling. Dragon-riding is in their blood.”

“I know, I know.” Still, you loathe the idea of taking them high above the earth where they may catch cold or freefall from loose hands. Another part of you thrills at the idea of introducing your son and daughter to their birthright.

What is a Targaryen without their dragon? Your father comes to mind. It is not a pleasant association, though admittedly he serves to support Daemon’s argument rather aptly. If our spirits are driven by fire, you think, then his has long since been snuffed.

Predictably, Aelys begins to cry, effectively ending the visit. You pass the babe to your husband so that he may mollify her displeasure by rocking her around the room, humming deep below his breath. Rhaenyra and Laenor and Harwin offer parting well-wishes to you and Rhaenar. You giggle when each of the children offer sweet kisses to the cheeks of each infant. Luke plugs his ears with his fingers before he leans in to press his lips to Aelys’s red face.

That evening, you decide to place the dragon eggs in the cradle. You watch, interested to see if even the slightest contact might bring forth the destined mounts of your twins. It is probably naïve of you to feel so disappointed when there is no change. The babes sleep on, undisturbed by the settling weight of the new additions.

“They’ll hatch when they’re ready,” Daemon whispers into your hair, arms solid as they slide round your form.

Your uncle is firm, hot, the hard line of his shaft finding purchase in the divot of your lower back through layers of fabric, but he makes no attempt to seek relief from you. You are glad. There is no room in you for desire. He seems content to touch and touch alone.

“I know. I just… how long does it take?” you murmur.

“As long as needs be. Give it time.”

You huff, taking one final look—at the babes, at the eggs, still and silent and peaceful—before turning in his arms, resting your own upon his so that you may slide your hands up past his shoulders and neck, trailing fingers across the stubble on his jaw. His palms are brands on your waist, your spine, your rear.

“Thank you,” you say. Such simple words—but the import of them is immeasurable.

‘Thank you for reassuring me. For being here. For loving me, and loving them, too.’ The words are stuck in your throat. You cannot say them aloud, but your body can impress their meaning upon him.

His eyes are crinkled in that way you adore when you crane yourself upward, searching out his lips with your own. There is something pure about the meeting of mouths that follows, the dip and glide of tongue that ought to feel lewd, charged, and indeed it carries a spark that could very easily be stoked but not now, not in this moment. He tastes of wine and home, his breath humid, the rumble in his ribcage buzzing into your bones. You sigh as he lays claim to what is his, tilting your head to accept him.

When it is over, it does not feel like an ending. He strokes along the curves and hollows of your figure, caressing child-widened hips and swelled belly and milk-heavy breasts at a languid pace. It is observation rather than invitation that plays upon his face as he studies the changes he has wrought, hooded eyes scanning you, a twist of pride or smugness or arrogance as if to say ‘yes, I did this, I remade you into the mother of my children inside out, you are mine mine mine’. But there is also great affection there, the earnest softness of desperate, abiding devotion.

You do not need words. Nor does he. Yawning, you follow Daemon to the bed, slipping below the sheets at his gentle coaxing prods. He smooths the covers over you, stroking the stray curls back behind your ears before blowing the candle out.

Each passing moment feels too short, too quickly over and done with. You find yourself hyper-aware of your son and daughter’s development, noting their budding responsiveness as they test their limbs and strengthen the projection of their cries. Mere instances are as full of occasion as entire days. You can almost swear that you are watching them grow before your very eyes.

Aelys’s silver-white hair sprouts thicker, a moonbeam lustre that triggers half-formed memories of a smiling woman that looks as you do now, but older, a deep-seated weariness forming lines upon a face not yet aged enough to have weathered. When your daughter smiles—‘tis instinct, no more, though you like to believe she is happy in your arms—you see something impish, mischievous. You see Daemon.

Rhaenar’s stare is sharper, more alert, seeming intent and focused as you nurse him or lay kisses on his round tummy or sing songs from your childhood. His fingers tangle in your tresses, tugging hard enough to hurt, little lips peeling back to show off pink gums as he grouses while awaiting his turn for your attention. He is patient, your precious boy, but he craves the softness far more than his sister does. It is unbearably sweet.

Though they have thus far been but a fleeting part of your life, you cannot remember a time before your babes were born. Surely it had been a hollow, meaningless existence. Now, you would be utterly content to pass the hours doing nothing but cosying your children amongst the blankets and pillows fluffed and gathered on your mattress, shrouding them in warmth and safety. You would listen to their every breath, track each flailing movement, cherish the scent of newness that clings to them like syrup. Your uncle would join you all after his daily responsibilities were done, sweeping in like a mighty conqueror returned from the horrors of battle and curling around his family. He would kiss you and croon soft words in your mother tongue to Rhaenar and settle Aelys to sleep, and everything would be completely, utterly perfect.

A wonderful dream. Alas, the peace of it is not to be.

“What?”

The contentment of the previous days has been replaced by shock and a steadily banking anger. Daemon levies Ser Lorent with a look of such sternness that you wonder how the man does not quail in his boots.

“The King, your Highness,” the knight repeats, eyes flicking to you. You grip the chair before you tightly. “He is here. The Silver Firedrake has just docked.”

Papa’s flagship. “He has brought the court to Dragonstone?” you ask, stomach sinking. You are not ready to see him. You do not wish to see Alicent. You cannot abide the thought of those vipers in such close quarters with your children.

“No.” Ser Lorent shakes his head. “He… he has arrived alone.”

You look to Daemon, confused. It is not likely that your father had received the news of Rhaenar and Aelys’s births so quickly, and undoubtedly impossible for him to have already made the journey. And to have travelled without the Hand or the Queen or his bevy of attendants…

You release the chair. “Thank you for informing us, Ser,” you say to the Kingsguard, folding your hands together before you. It is difficult to abstain from digging your nails into the skin of your palm. “You may return to your post.”

Ser Lorent bobs his head, eyes lowering in deference. “Princess.”

“Something’s going on.” Daemon stares pensively at the door following the knight’s exit. You make your way toward him. “For him to have come without his lackeys or the Hightower whore—”

“If he has not requested to see us”—you lay a hand on his arm—“then we should not entertain his presence here.”

A noncommittal sound rumbles through him, his countenance as harsh as the craggy silhouette of the Dragonmont. Athfiezar could carve a cavern to himself in those lines upon his face, you muse. He appears older than his thirty-six years, tired, a tension to his frame that you know you cannot ease, and not just from the incessant disruption to the evening hours your children have brought in so short a span and the burden of caring for more than just oneself.

It is the way he always becomes when the King is mentioned: silent, brooding, sullen. You despise the effect your father has on a man so fierce and formidable as your husband. It is most unfair.

“Kepus,” you say, an idea forming. “We should go visit Athfiezar and Caraxes. Introduce the babes.”

His brow raises. “Now?”

You would rather not. They are still far too small. But the notion seems far more attractive than waiting about, wondering if the King might summon him or you or both, driving yourselves mad with possibilities. In addition, it is sure to be a worthy distraction.

“Now.” With a teasing little smile, you lean into him, winding your arms around him and propping your chin on his chest. “They are both awake, and in pleasant moods. I even believe the sun is out.”

“Hm.” His mouth twists reluctantly, finally shifting his gaze down to you. “It is tempting to know I’d sleep tonight without being roused by your shrieking beast.”

You roll your eyes, pushing away from him to prepare.

Brief as you imagine the outing will be, it is nonetheless strange to be attired in daily wear designed for company. You had nearly forgotten how itchy the sleeves of some of your outfits are, how restrictive they are upon the bust. Between the padding against your womanhood and the padding over your nipples, any gown you wear is sure to make for an unpleasant experience. Thankfully, your ladies choose one that laces at the front. Though it is a little tight around the middle—your belly is still quite large, after all—you do cut a fair figure dressed in the traditional Targaryen red and black.

Daemon appears to think so, too.

It is an older gown, and so you find that your breasts spill over the top of the neckline in a fashion that is clearly noticeable, though you had been assured by Jeyne and Bethany that the result is not indecent. Your uncle’s eyes fall immediately to this change, alighting with crude intent and grinning as you venture near.

He frowns when you hand Aelys to him instead, casting a longing look at your revealed flesh. “Kōres maegītsos.” Wicked little temptress, he mutters, hoisting your daughter up so her head is braced against his shoulder. She most prefers this vantage, though you are unsure if her eyes yet possess the capability to see beyond what is directly before her.

Beaming, you flutter coy lashes as you lean on tiptoes to brush your lips across his cheek, dodging his free arm so that you might retrieve Rhaenar from the wetnurse.

A soft breeze blows from the shore as your small party—yourself and Daemon, Ser Lorent, Ser Alton (who had graciously accepted a post as your children’s guard) and a distinctly white-faced Freda—walks the path past Aegon’s Garden to the craggy cliffside. It is a long drop from the grassy plateau, a straight line down to the beaches below. On some days, the winds are so strong that anyone who dares to stand upon the precipice risks falling to their death. You move slowly, in part for your own sake and especially for Ser Alton. He may have skill with the blade, but his leg pains him still.

Caraxes tends to prefer sunning himself on the grassy knolls that spread across the bluff and had only recently begun to be joined by your own dragon, albeit reluctantly. They make for a strange pair, though you are glad to see your boy welcomed by one of his own kind.

Athfiezar must detect your arrival on the air. His massive form rumbles low from beside your uncle’s beast, tail whipping with agitation and sending stray rocks careening over the side of the bluff. Caraxes uncoils himself at the disturbance, his serpentine neck gliding like so many snakes as he stretches out to take in his visitors.

“We ought to greet them ourselves first, acquaint them with the babes’ scent,” Daemon says, coming to a stop beside you. He passes Aelys off to Freda, who keeps herself firmly behind the gold-plated Kingsguard. “Here’s hoping Athfiezar doesn’t decide to expand his diet to include Targaryens.”

“He knew of their existence before I did.” Rhaenar whinges when he is placed in the crook of the wetnurse’s arm. The warmth of her body must be too difficult to refuse, though, for he settles easily enough. You turn to levy Daemon with an unimpressed glare. “And what of Caraxes? Perhaps he will be the one to behave abominably.”

He scoffs. “Hardly.”

Though the Blood Wyrm is famed for his temper, you know Daemon speaks true. Of the pair, Athfiezar is the likelier to require caution in approaching. You are the only person that might consider themselves safe in his presence.

Your dragon hisses warningly as Daemon makes his way toward his own mount, unfurling his wings to display the full breadth of coal-dark, leathery membranes pockmarked by scarring. The threat position is surprising. You had assumed that Athfiezar tolerated him well enough. Perhaps not, you think, eyeing the beast as your uncle ignores him entirely to converse in low tones to Caraxes, too far away now for you to hear.

The rattling pitch abates when you venture forth, reaching up with tentative fingers to trace the outline of an old injury on his maw. He pauses; growls. His wings flatten down, folding in upon themselves. And, finally, he cranes his neck down, angling his head so that he may look at you with a single fixed, unblinking eye. I remember you, it seems to say.

“Yne issa, ñuhus taobus.” It is me, my boy. You keep your voice soft, calming, guilt roiling in your gut like hot lava. It has been far, far too long since last he saw you.

In an echo of another day—another time—he shifts about, the inner folds of his nostril expanding as he takes a deep sniff, relearning the aroma unique to you, The resulting gust of air when he exhales bursts against you in a concentrated stream. At once, his tail ceases to lash about; his spine no longer hunches; all traces of defensiveness vanish like dust on the wind. His giant muzzle presses into your touch like an eager pup, driving you back several paces. You giggle even as you stagger, thrilled.

For a moment, you had worried that your moons-long absence would undo his memory of you. You ought not to have fretted so, for a dragon’s recollection far outlasts any man.

“Avy ozmijetan.” I have missed you, you whisper, warming your palms on his scaled flesh, searing in its heat as it always is. He huffs. You imagine he is reproaching you for staying away. “Drējī usōven.” I am very sorry.

This time, he snorts, a current of smoke stinging your eyes to streaming. You and he do not share the same language, but you nonetheless know in your heart of hearts that all is forgiven. It is a sense just out of the realm of understanding—something you cannot fully describe, but a glow that spreads soothing through the very marrow of your bones. A true bond between rider and dragon, as your blood and his have called you for.

Athfiezar snarls, his lips sliding back to reveal jagged teeth that glint like ivory in the light, the crested spines extending along his skull and down his neck flexing with tension. He is no longer paying mind to you.

You turn to see Daemon sauntering over from Caraxes, hair ruffled by the breeze and shining brilliant white. It is a stark contrast with the cut of his charcoal coat, the hem fluttering aimlessly, and so the matching snow-capped heads of your babes in each of his arms is exceedingly difficult to miss.

“Oh, do be quiet, you great brute,” he says when he is within earshot, brow raised as though said brute was a particularly vexing gnat rather than a colossal, hulking firebreather. “Don’t frighten the hatchlings.”

“Don’t call them hatchlings.” Glaring at him, you slip your finger into Rhaenar’s loosely curled fist. It squeezes reflexively, trapping you to him. “He will think they are his next meal!”

Athfiezar rumbles his agreement. Daemon chuckles. “I doubt it. He’s obsessed with you, and these two”—he bounces Rhaenar and Aelys gently, casting a tender glance upon each—“are of your body. Your blood. He’ll recognise them.”

Already has your dragon extended the scant distance between himself and Daemon to inspect these strange companions of yours, advancing to invade your shared space in a surprisingly gregarious move. It seems the promise of novelty renders your husband a neutral participant for the time being, animosity forgotten for the sake of his interest in your quarry. Huddled close to Daemon, you watch with bated breath, waiting for your mount to make his judgement.

He remains immobile, though you can see the spasm in his eyes that indicates a subtle shift in focus, darting from you to the babes and back again. His head cocks like a bewildered hound’s.

So unwittingly hilarious is the comparison that you let out a laugh at the sight. “Ñuha rūhossa issi,” you say to him. “Zaldrītsossa, hen ñuhā iemnȳ sittis.” These are my babes. Little dragons, hatched from my belly.

There is recognition in his gaze. You know not how you know this, but it must be truth. What else can explain the echo throbbing in the recesses of your mind, the ancient sentience of thoughts that do not belong to you? It is a connection that has existed for what feels like an age, sputtered back to life after moons of dormancy.

His breath rustles as he scents you all, you and Daemon and the babes, inhaling the blend of spice and rose oil and the things that make you each unique, stripped down to their very foundations. You wonder if Rhaenar and Aelys can be traced back to you through aroma alone—if there is some sort of calling card embedded within their skin and blood that signals their belonging.

Aelys’s small, pudgy hand swings out, smacking Athfiezar against his nose. A puff of heat tousles her wispy strands, though he is not annoyed. Nor is she, astonishingly. She coos up at him, kicking her legs in what seems to you like excitement. Rhaenar gurgles at the sensation—for your dragon is much too large to have possibly avoided one babe with his deed—opting to draw the focus from his sister. He too is unafraid of the titanic beast before him. Athfiezar’s eyes snap to him, a sibilant rattle of curiosity slinking forth.

Daemon laughs. “See? They’re naturals. Born dragonriders. I told you, sweetling!”

The satisfaction in his tone is utterly endearing. He is the very image of a proud father, though your children have admittedly done little to warrant such sentiment. Still, the healthy flush of exhilaration and the happy grin that adorns his face make your heart flutter.

“Well, they will not be riding today,” you say, stifling your smile. Daemon pouts as you knew he would, and so you reassure him. “Give Athfiezar and Caraxes both time to accustom themselves to the idea of little Targaryens before we subject them to flight.”

“Hm. As long as we beat Viserys’s nine days.”

You capitulate to this, shaking your head wryly. If I refuse, you suppose, he will only seek to achieve his goal without my knowledge.

Suddenly, a reedy whistle sounds, swiftly followed by the mass of a dragon’s head knocking into you from the side. It is not violent, but the motion startles you, the periphery of your vision occupied by so much red in radiant lustre. Caraxes nudges you again, clearly displeased by having been left out of the proceedings.

“Oh! Rytsas!” You laugh, pushing him back playfully. “Īlōn imazumbagon jaelā?” Hello! Do you want to join us?

He coils his neck around you to re-examine the babes, gently touching his snout along Daemon’s arm to feel their warmth on his scales. Rhaenar wiggles against him.

“Your Highness! Your Highness!”

You turn. Ser Cargyll—you know not if it is Erryk or Arryk—comes to an abrupt halt by the waiting forms of Ser Lorent, Ser Alton and Freda. He is panting from his exertions, the brilliant gleam of his golden breastplate refracting light into your eyes with every rise and fall of his chest.

Daemon scowls. “What?”

“The King,” Ser Cargyll’s voice cracks as Athfiezar zeroes in on him, teeth bared. “His Grace has ordered your presence in the Chamber of the Painted Table.”

Your uncle sneers. “Can it not wait? We’re busy.”

Like a shadow follows his master, Caraxes rises behind his rider, extending his form high to display the full breadth of his power. The babes begin to fuss at the raised volume. There is naught you can do but soothe them with soft humming, reaching across to pet their cheeks. Daemon ignores this.

“I’m afraid not,” the knight says, glancing at your milling companions.

You cannot see his expression from here, but it appears as though he is deciding what ought to be disclosed before those gathered. He straightens; Athfiezar growls. And then, the damning revelation spills forth.

The Kingsguard’s voice is grave as he speaks. “Prince Daemon—King Viserys wishes to question you on your involvement in the death of Lord Larys of House Strong.”

Read it on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44058132/chapters/118008595

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