#fic: those who favor fire

[im-some-lionheart]

opening up the last chapter of a finished fic even though you're still not ready to say goodbye to the story and characters :

#I'm on the last chapter of #Those who Favor Fire #and I'm not ready #fic: those who favor fire #fic: twff #destiel #otp: i did it all of it for you #destiel fic #destiel fic rec #destiel fanfic #destiel fanfiction #Ao3

[maryangelex]

Home is the Feeling of You

John Price x Reader

Summary: You’re Price’s fiancé back home and it’s been months since you’ve seen him. He’s been on deployment and days have been getting lonelier the more days pass. Until you get home one night from work to a more than pleasant surprise.

Warnings/Tags: civilian!reader, fiancé!reader, creampie, domesticity, domestic!john price, fluff to smut, praise kink, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, masturbation, (light?) breeding kink, phone sex, spit as lube

A/N: so here’s the anticipated civilian!reader fic! I’m just a simp for this man being a husband or anything domestic about him. Enjoy!!! ;)

You were exhausted from work; feet swollen from being in heels all day, muscles tense and eyes burning with the desperate need to be closed and drifted to sleep. You were on your way home but weren’t too eager to get there, if you were being honest.

Your home felt cold and empty despite your best efforts to make it a cozy abode for you and John. But it was hard to feel the slightest bit of warmth in it whenever he was deployed. He had been gone for months now, you had lost count of how many since every day that passed without him felt like an eternity.

You two tried to keep in contact as much as possible. He called you nearly every day, as best he could; sometimes the calls would last seconds other times you managed to get half an hour with him to vent and catch up.

You felt bad every time you complained about your day, though, since he was in quite literally a battlefield most of his time. But he insisted you told him everything, he loved hearing you complain about mundane things, hearing about what shitty thing your boss did, or about your coworker’s crummy love life. It made him feel closer to you and gave him a sense of home to listen to you talk about your day.

When John would say things like “I miss you, love, I’ll be home in no time” or “I can’t wait to kiss that pretty face”, you couldn’t help but feel a fire kindling in your chest. It made you feel warm inside to hear him say that because you knew it was true; John wasn’t a man who lied, he carried his heart on his sleeve for you.

And when he wasn’t being tender and sweet, telling you how much he missed you and loved you, he’d let you know how desperate and needy he was for you. He’d tell you how the sound of your voice alone made his cock twitch in his pants. How the hand that wasn’t holding the phone had slid down his trousers, slowly stroking himself through his boxers.

You’d press your thighs together, listening to his husky voice become almost a whisper on the phone. His breath audible through the phone, letting out soft needy whimpers and promises about what he’d do to you the second he got home. You’d let yourself indulge and return the favor to him by telling him how you were wearing whatever lacy panties he’d bought you and how you were writhing in your shared bed as you pleasured yourself to the sound of his voice.

Still, those steamy calls between the two of you could only do so much for you. It only momentarily veered the loneliness away. You wanted him in your bed with you, wanted to have him watch football games on the couch, wanted to have date nights with him every Friday again, wanted his presence to warm up your flat and make it a home.

Once you got home the sun had already set. You took the stairs up to your and John’s shared flat, and with a sigh of relief, you pushed the door open. You walked in and closed the door behind you, dropped your keys on the tablet at your entryway, and stepped out of your shoes. Your feet touched the cold floor under you and the sensation drew another content sigh out of you.

You noticed the light in your kitchen was turned on. Maybe you left it on this morning after making breakfast without noticing, you were in a rush after all. As you approached the kitchen you heard the sound of something sizzling in a pan. Your heart skipped a beat, a smile creeping on your face at the realization that John was home. When you saw him there, standing in front of the stove with his back to you, you were filled with glee. Your stomach fluttered like it did the first time you two met when you bumped into him at that bookstore and almost spilled coffee all over him. When you first locked eyes with his, those glimmering blue pools.

He glanced over his shoulder and flashed you a smile before turning back to whatever he was cooking so diligently.

“Welcome home, hun” he greeted “‘m makin’ us dinner since I knew you’d be beat from work”

You walked up to him and wrapped your arms around his waist. Your lips pressed against the muscles on his back, peppering kisses on the center of his spine, his shoulders, the nape of his neck. Your arms travelled up the front of his body, feeling the muscles on his chest and abdomen shift as he moved his hands whilst he cooked. You hugged him tightly, squeezing him as if to make sure he was really standing in front of you. As if the tighter you squeezed the more he materialized in your apartment.

“Not too tight, love, you’re squeezin’ the wind outta me,” he chuckled.

“I just missed you so much, John,” you confessed with another tender kiss to his back.

He hummed in acknowledgment with a smile still stuck to his face. He plated the meal for both of you; salmon and stir fried veggies. You released your arms from him painstakingly and grabbed a couple of wine glasses to pair with your meal. John took your plates to the couch while you brought the wine.

You collapsed down on the couch beside John, releasing another heavy sigh as your muscles sank on the plush material. John had set the plates on your coffee table along with the glasses, and handed you a fork whilst encouraging you with a gentle chuckle and a “Eat up, love.”

You sat up on the couch, turning to look at him. Both of your hands rose up to him and cupped his face lovingly. You looked deeply into his eyes; those eyes that always sucked you in, made you feel safe and loved. He looked at you with so much adoration, like he was silently telling you how happy he was to see you, be home with you. You leaned forward and clashed your lips with his, not pulling back for a minute and savoring the sensation of his lips against yours, how his mustache and beard scratched your soft skin. The two of you held your breath as you held each other with your lips, feeling as if pulling back was not an option. When you finally released each other, you sighed, your foreheads leaning against each other as you rubbed the tip of your nose against his.

“Missed you, hon,” he whispered, giving you another kiss, this one more chaste and playful than the prior one. His hand patted your knee, “C’mon, food’s gettin’ cold and I’m bloody starvin’. ”

You giggled as you both dug in. One of the things you missed the most about John was how well he cooked, his meals were hearty and comforting just like his presence. The two of you enjoyed your food as you caught up with him on everything you hadn’t mentioned in your calls these past few months. John spoke much less given the nature of his work, he much more enjoyed to listen to you, and he did so attentively.

At the end of your meal there was only the wine to sip on as you enjoyed each other’s company. The TV played quietly in the background. You were laying on the couch, your torso reclining on the arm rest as your feet sat on John’s lap next to you. He caressed the smooth skin of your legs with his big hands, gently squeezing the muscles on them every now and then. You nudged him with your foot, silently instructing him to keep up the massage. He took your foot in his hands, they engulfed him completely as he squeezed and rubbed them with his palms and thumbs. You winced at the feeling, making him stop and look at you.

“That alright?” He inquired, you gave him a nod in response.

“Just sore from standing all day”

“Let me take care of it” he grinned, his hands returning to work on your feet. His touch traveled up your leg, arriving at your calf, rubbing the tender muscle and eliciting a groan from you. John was enjoying the sounds he drew from you. His hands were getting more adventurous, sliding up past your knee and kneading at your thick thighs now. You gave him a grin and a cheeky look; he returned it.

“What’s crossing your dirty little mind, sweet girl?”

“Same thing as yours, hun”

His hands rubbed your thighs, putting pressure on them as he grabbed and massaged the bulks of muscle and flesh. You bit your lip as his hand wandered under your skirt. He was enjoying himself seeing your expressions shift and your cheeks flush red as he touched you. You reached one hand over to caress his forearm with your finger tips as he slid his hand further up your inner thigh, and your legs spread slightly as a quiet invitation.

“Needy girl,” he teased.

“C’mere already, John, will ya?” you quipped. John complied with your demand, as if waiting to hear you say it, like he needed your permission. He shifted on the couch, moving the leg in his hands to his other side so he could sit between your legs. He grabbed both of your thighs on each side, lightly sliding you down so you were flush with him. You could feel the bulge in his jeans pressing against your clothed heat. You teased him by rolling your hips against him a bit, to which he responded to with a groan and a squeeze to your thighs.

He bunched up your skirt to reveal your panties. His fingertips tracing the soft material over your hips and pelvis. Your hands rested on each side of your head as you watched him with lustful eyes. Now his hands were grazing over your mons, lowering to the crotch of your panties that was already saturated with your juices. His touch made you blush even more, you were embarrassed by how easily the man could make you wet, as if it was the first time he’s ever touched you.

“My girl’s so eager, look at how wet you are” he grinned, his voice low and sultry. He grabbed the hem of your panties and tugged them down, slowly sliding them past your legs and then discarding them. One of his hands palmed your exposed cunt. You wiggled your hips against it and let out a needy whimper.

“John, don’t tease me” you scolded him in a soft voice, more desperation than anything.

He hummed at your comment, sliding his fingers up and down your folds, while his other hand went back to massaging your thigh. He observed as his fingers worked between your folds, his eyes fixated on your glistening pussy. It made his mouth water at the sight of his fiancé being so needy for him, it made him think how much he really missed having you in his grasp. He placed his hand on your mons, thumb reaching down to rub tight circles around your yearning clit. It made you moan to finally feel his touch on your sensitive bud.

He cursed under his breath at the sound, his cock twitching eagerly in the confines of his jeans. You reached one of your hands to stroke him through the rough fabric, tracing the print of his dick.

“Please, John,” you begged “I want you already”

John chuckled, a hint of mischief behind it. “I know, love, I know…but let me take my time to enjoy you, yeah?”

You pouted but gave him an abiding nod. He took his hand off you, making you whimper and your clit pulsate at the loss. He shifted on the couch again, now kneeling in front of it as he pulled your legs again to face him. You were hanging off the edge of the couch in front of him with your legs draped over each of his shoulders, his face inches from your heat.

“Fuck, I missed this pretty pussy,” his breath fanned against your sensitive cunt, and you were so desperate for him to devour you already.

He stuck his tongue out and licked a stipe up your pussy, the taste of you making him moan and roll his eyes back. Your lips parted as you let out a sigh full of relief. Your hands pulled your skirt higher to watch him savor you. He lapped at your pussy, tongue flat licking from your hole to your clit. His hands gripped your thighs as they closed around his head. Your eyes would not break from the sight of him eating you out like it was his last meal on earth.

His lips closed around your swollen clit and sucked on it, making the muscles on your thighs twitch and a whimper fall from your lips. He alternated between encapsulating your clit in his mouth and licking tight circles over it with the pointed tip of his tongue. He was making you a mess of moans and whimpers as your hands clutched the material of your skirt.

He reached his arms under your thighs and over your pelvis; one splayed out and held you still while the other spread your lips apart, exposing your clit fully for him to once again abuse it with his mouth. His lips wrapped around it, sucking and tugging at the bundle of nerves, making your eyes roll back and your hands fly to his hair, releasing a moan with his name attached to it.

You received a moan into your pussy from him in return. He latched his mouth onto your clit, lips sucking and massaging it. His hands now gripped your hips, grinding them against his face as he clung his mouth onto your pussy.

You felt your orgasm pooling in the pit of your stomach. Your eyes were so far into the back of your skull you were seeing stars. Your mouth chanted John’s name loudly like a prayer for salvation, pleading him to let you cum.

He nodded his head in unison with your hips as he licked your pussy, tongue giving special attention to your clit. He whimpered into it in desperation to feel you cum all over his face.

“C’mon baby I know you’re close, be good and cum for me” he mumbled against your cunt, practically begging you.

The grip on his hair was unrelenting, your back arching off the couch and hips slamming into his mouth. Your orgasm surged within you, ready to erupt like a volcano of pleasure. You missed him so fucking much. He knew exactly how to please, always has. You rode his face as you came, your hot liquid leaking out of you and onto his face, coating his beard in it. You were twitching in his grip, your hips stilling and mouth agape as a choked out moan emerged from you.

John’s grip on your hips was literally bruising and you couldn’t be happier to have a reminder of his return home later. He slowed down, lapping at your vulva and kissing your soaked pussy, making sure to savor every bit of you.

He looked up at you, sitting straight up with your legs on his shoulders, his eyes gazing at you lovingly as you still panted and came off your high.

“You’re gonna give me one more, right love?” He said peppering sloppy kisses in your inner thigh. You nodded your head drunkenly. He reached up to your skirt, finally pulling it off you, as you worked on unbuttoning your blouse as best you could with your clumsy, shaky hands. But John was too impatient; he clutched the fabric and tore the buttons apart with ease like he was tearing a piece of paper. He chuckled at your surprised expression, he knew he’d get an earful from you later when you weren’t too hazy to scold him.

“I’ll get you a new one, sweetheart,” he said as his hands found your breasts, massaging them before unclipping your bra and tossing it away. He stood up in front of you now, your legs around his hips, and he took in the sight of his soon-to-be-wife all flustered and naked for him. That body he admired so much, that soft supple skin he loved to bite and caress, those perfect breasts and that pretty pussy that loved his cock so much.

He unbuttoned his jeans and tugged down his boxers, cock springing out free and swollen. The sight of it made your pussy flutter, ready to take him in finally. You were aching for him, already felt yourself aroused and ready for another orgasm from him.

He cupped your mouth in one of his hands, silently instructing you to spit on it for him, to which you complied. He brought the hand to his cock, pumping it a few times and lubricating it with the spit you provided for him. He aligned his fat tip with your entrance, slowly pushing it in at a burning pace. You moaned at the sensation, it had been too long since you had taken in John's impressive size and you were not as accustomed to it. You had almost forgotten how fucking good it felt to have his full length in you up to the hilt.

He cursed under his breath, "Fuckin' 'ell, love, I missed how good your pussy takes my cock", his hand briefly caressed your cheek when the base of his cock was flush against your pussy. His hands gripped under your thighs, his knees were on the edge of the couch and he folded you into a mating press position. His cock was buried impossibly deep inside of you, you could feel him in your cervix.

John began to move at a slow pace, his cock sliding in and out of you slowly, making obscene squelching noises that echoed throughout your apartment. "S'tight and wet f'me, darling", he mumbled. He gradually picked up the pace, his hands held onto the back of the couch while yours held your own legs up and open for him.

His pace became harsher and faster, pulling moans from the two of you. His balls slapped against your ass as he thrust into you, the tip of his cock nudging against your cervix making you almost scream with pleasure.

"Ah, John..." you started, barely able to gather words to say as you looked at his face with wide eyes, your pupils blown, "J-John, you fuck me so good...I missed how good you fuck me"

Your words made him feral, making him pound into you. He watched your expression hungrily; lips parted shining with drool, cheeks bright red and burning, and your pretty eyes glossy with lust as they looked up at him.

"Fuck, baby, fuck..." he groaned as he leaned back, sitting up straight and grabbing your waist, slamming you against his cock as you held your legs open for him still "wanna see you with a big round belly under your pretty white dress... wanna fill you up with my cum, sweet girl"

He pressed a hand against your abdomen, "Feel that? y'like feelin' my cock inside you?" The pressure of his hand mixed with his words and relentless pounding made you mewl, your throat hoarse from all the noises John was drawing out of you.

"Y-yeah, John, feels s'good," you whimpered watching his dick bulge within you. You felt another orgasm surging like a wave in your stomach, your walls pulsated and clenched around John's throbbing cock. He felt you close, he knew you were about to cum when your cunt gripped his length relentlessly. He brought two fingers up to his mouth and wet them, then placed them on your pussy, rubbing circles rhythmically with every thrust.

"Cum for me, darling, cum around my cock," he said breathlessly, his eyes fixated on your face as he fucked you and rubbed your swollen bud.

You were euphoric, the overstimulation pushing you over the edge. A couple of more thrusts and attention to your clit and you were gone. Your legs twitched and your body convulsed as you came, gripping John's cock with your walls tightly. You cried out, tears streaming from your eyes.

It took everything in John to not let himself cum right then and there, the feeling of your walls constricting him almost pushed him over the edge with you. But he had other plans; he withdrew his cock from you briefly as he took you in his arm effortlessly, flipping the two of you around. You were shocked and puzzled at the quickness of it, now you were sitting on John's lap all fucked out and out of breath. He had you straddle him and you hold up yourself the best you could, with whatever strength your muscles had.

"J-John, please, I-I can't" you begged, holding onto him and already feeling his tip against your tender entrance again.

"Shh, s'alright, hon, you can do it, I know you can," he cooed, his lips against your ear as he slipped his cock back into you, "just can't get enough o' you"

He held you with one arm firmly around your waist and his other hand gripping your ass, his lips kissing your neck and coaxing you with praises and encouragement as he sunk you down on his cock. You moaned at the intrusion, you were so sensitive it was maddening. Your body was limp as you rested on him, arms lax around his shoulders.

You shut your eyes and let him fuck himself into you, letting him overtake your sense once again. He pounded up into you, holding you in place as his hips thrust up into your abused cunt. You were a mess of moans and whines as he chased his own high.

He was grunting and cursing under his breath, "My pretty fuckin' wife, my girl...takin' my cock so well...bein' a good girl lettin' me fuck you senseless." He was close, his thrusts getting sloppy and desperate. He hoisted your body up, grabbing your hair to make you look at him. You were cockdrunk, out of your mind, but you felt a third orgasm about to hit you like a truck again. John admired your dazed expression, his blue eyes now black with pleasure, he panted exhaustedly and full of desperation to empty his balls in you, fill you up like he said.

He took your face in his hand and clashed your lips together, moaning into your mouth as his hips stilled and the sensation of his cum flooding your insides made you cum with him. Both of you moaning into each other's mouths, your cheeks once again saturated with more tears. You pulled away from each other, panting out of breath with your sweaty foreheads resting against each other. You felt John's hot cum travel out of you between your legs. The hand that gripped your hair now softened, patting the crown of your head and smoothing out your hair. He looked into your eyes, admiring your post-orgasm face, basking in your beauty and in the afterglow of his own orgasm.

You smiled at him breathlessly, exhaustion all over your expression, you kissed him once more, this time more tenderly, putting all the love for him that filled your heart into your kiss. You pulled away and cupped his face, the two of you held each other, sweaty bodies against each other.

"Welcome home, John."

A/N: y'all... i did not intend for this to be so long again!!! but if you loved it and made it this far, let me know!!! thnx for reading ;)

#call of duty mwii #cod mw2 #fanfic #john price #cod fanfic #john price smut #john price x reader #john price cod #john price call of duty #captain john price #captain price x reader #captain price #price mw2

[throwaway-yandere]

I Got Reincarnated As A Server NPC In An Otome Game But A Capture Target Won’t Leave Me Alone (Yandere!Diluc Ragnvindr/Reader)

a/n: fasghadsa this is my thank-you fic for @poptartsthings for supporting my fics for the past year!!! thank you for the tips huhuhuhu ;;;—;;; hence, I wrote this diluc fic for *clears throat* "mommy milkers". Enjoy this self-aware yandere otome game!duke diluc ragnvindr!!!

unreliable synopsis: what if you got isekai-d in your favorite otome game and one of the Love Interests found out they aren’t a real person? (or, ya know, whatever the title said lmao)

"Bottoms up, Duke Ragnvindr!"

"No matter how enthusiastic you are, I remain inclined to think that this is a horrible idea, (Y/n)..."

Reluctantly swirling a small amount of fire-water while wearing gloves, the duke saw how the alcohol hardly made a wave. Unsatisfied, he diverted his attention and observed the NPC pour their drink.

"In all honesty, your grape juice is worth more than this, (Y/n)–"

"Shush!" With a flamboyant and dismissive wave, the generic common mob silenced one of the Main Characters. "Don't ruin the mood, now. I had to pull a few strings to get this bad boy right here. It’s such a shame that Mister “Best Boy” Albedo can't come, so we have to make sure I get my money’s worth off of these bottles. It’d be such a waste of francs."

"Wasted like the thousand francs wine you clumsily spilled last year?"

"Don't bring that up again, please."

"Why not?" He chuckled. "If you hadn't, I wouldn't have met you."

"If I hadn't, I would've been drinking with Villager B..." They muttered as they grabbed another glass from the cupboard.

He pretended not to have heard it.

They are both aware that their destinies follow different paths. No matter how hard one of them tries to walk next to the other, this cruel fate will separate them with a penalty that is even more agonizing than the last. All because (Y/n) was a real person, and Diluc was not.

Duke Diluc Ragnvindr is this game’s easiest route: the typical childhood friend who falls for the heroine– Princess Lumine– first. In this genre, he falls into the category of those love interests who are incredibly austere with themselves that they were unable to enjoy the small things in life outside work. Ultimately, he follows the cliche of protecting the heroine from harm until she remembers that they used to play together as children in the palace gardens. Which, in itself, is quite a feat since the duke was not a man many could befriend. Unless you count Chief Justice Ajax as his greatest comrade, then perhaps he could finally add item number 11 to his list of trusted people.

The “Duke of the South” only favored audiences for those he was willing to invest in— after all, he’s famously known for having a “good signature.” It may seem like a compliment for uneducated nouveau rich men, but those with an eye for Gaciean politics knew how much power he has as the head of the Department of Military Affairs. Tales about his on-and-off disputes with the Chief Ajax circled as frequently as Teyvat Time’s popular Paimon-The-Friendly-Fae’s comic strips. Some loved his obsession with national security whilst some were quick to call him a pampered weapon hoarder, but if there’s one thing everyone can agree it’s that they fear the southern duke.

Now, after introducing a political figure with crimson locks of hair and domineering combat prowess, it’s certainly a tough sell to introduce the last person left inside: (Y/n) (L/n).

Unremarkably, they’re merely an NPC from Xiangling’s Seaside Restaurant. They’ve “reincarnated” into this world fumbling about like a newborn until the chef offered a job. Fortunately, they were not completely helpless in the kitchen. They had shown off their managerial skills from their old job since day one. Since then, Xiangling had hoped to train them as the new manager, but (Y/n) preferred to take on some responsibilities gradually. After a few days had passed, they abruptly realized that they were "Server C," an NPC with only a character sprite and a scarcely distinguishable name. The red ribbon-theme outfit from their restaurant was the only thing that distinguished them from the other faceless workers. According to what they can recall, one of their tasks is to give the princess's order of candies while she flees from her overprotective retainer, Dainsleif. It was a tense moment in that common route since all three of the princess’ potential suitors were customers from different ends of the restaurant, which were Dainsleif, Kamisato Ayato, and, of course, Duke Ragnvindr.

… Unable to snap out of their initial shock after recognizing that this was one of the game’s CGs and seeing three attractive men inside the restaurant they work at, (Y/n) accidentally broke the script by spilling the wine on Duke Ragnvindr’s coat.

Since then, (Y/n) had trailed and followed the characters whenever they could for their amusement– often helping their favorite love interest, Albedo, set up the scene so they can view his "CGs" in real life. Due to their apparent lack of stalking skills, they had another off-script encounter with the duke whilst doing so. Instead of heading straight to North Gaciea as he had done in the game, he was delayed seven hours after he weeded (Y/n)’s hair out of the bushes they were hiding in. Their first meeting was horrid, and their second almost went in a similar direction. Almost.

Since (Y/n)’s lies were as visible as their head peeking out of their hiding spot, Diluc had them drink a truth potion to uncover why they were stalking the chief alchemist, however…

… Does the phrase “the truth is stranger than fiction” apply in this case when both the earth and the sky are nothing but lies?

Diluc put on a convincing poker face when they babbled about the game they live in, demonstrating both their objectives and, more critically, their in-game omniscience. Albedo is the only love interest who changes into a feral (and subjectively "hot") monster toward the end of the novel, thus (Y/n) was adamant that he be Princess Lumine's ultimate endgame—but going any further in their explanations would be deemed a "spoiler." Additionally, Albedo’s route could only be unlocked once you finished another character’s route first… and that character happened to be Diluc Ragnvindr himself.

———

“In layman’s terms… We are living in a complex romance novel-esque system, correct? And I am the ‘book’ people often recommend to start the series with first before moving on to the sequel?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“… and I am just a stepping stone for a happier ending? A pawn? A mere puppet for someone chasing a momentary cure for loneliness?”

“Well, it felt real to me when I played your route—”

“Perhaps, but feelings do not change what is real and what isn’t.” Diluc sighed, unsheathing his dagger to break off the ropes that held the server down.

(Y/n) traced their wrists, appreciating now how gentle he had been when he could’ve gone rougher.

“Diluc…”

He bit his lip. It pained him to hear the server call his name as if they knew him.

They spoke as if they were friends the whole time right after they just revealed that his life is a self-fulfilled prophecy of unrequited romance.

And it was insulting.

———

The two have come a long way since then. He lost his faux feelings for Lumine. After gaining self-awareness, Diluc had begun avoiding what occurs in the game’s plot under the NPC’s guidance. To improve Lumine's chances of acquiring Albedo's route, (Y/n) was more than happy to assist him, so they started exchanging chats that ranged from oblique threats to routine discussions only friends could have.

Even so, (Y/n)’s attempts were futile when Albedo revealed to both of them that he knew he’s also just a character since the day he was “created”, and that “I would greatly appreciate it if you stopped attempting to produce an inorganic chemistry between the protagonist and me.”

…The chief alchemist was a smart one for sure and his confrontation had sobered (Y/n) fully. Although Albedo will never be the princess’ endgame nor will he turn into an apocalyptic dragon, (Y/n) had earned his friendship and started treating the rest of the cast as people and not just characters.

Diluc gazed out the window.

It was late into the night and rain was falling. There was not a single domestic sound emanating from nearby homes, which was a wise choice since annoying harpies would have gathered at the sound of human noises. Birds accosted the drying trees and roofs as fog swept through the streets. With the exception of this seaside restaurant, most stores were noticeably closed. The downpour buried the sound of crashing waves just a few meters outside, so no one would have known that this was close to the beach.

"Huh," (Y/n) stared in the same direction. "Didn’t expect it to rain tonight. Guess you can't escape this cheap alcohol-tasting session, huh?"

In the course of his outdoor nightly training, the head of the Department of Military Affairs grew incredibly resilient against mere storms. "I don’t need an umbrella."

"Fair," they laughed, distinctly human compared to the usual polite chuckles he would hear from leeching nobles. "But oh, dear Duke, if you don't need an umbrella then why are you still here? Is it because you wanted to see me– w-wait hold on—I'm kidding— sit down!"

…

They reached for his arm, but try as they might—

their hand only passed through.

The two stiffened.

Diluc’s breath hitched.

That was proof.

Because of this scripted fate, a commoner like them can't even grasp his hand, let alone touch it. Not when the system outright denies the friendship they have.

An NPC like (Y/n) can’t remain friends with a main character like Diluc once they have fulfilled their role in their story.

Diluc was untouchable.

He closed his eyes. Just acknowledging this pains him.

They both sat back down.

Much like how Diluc had pretended not to hear their comment earlier, (Y/n) also pretended that nothing unreal occurred seconds ago.

"S... So, is there anything else you want with that?" They pointed at his glass. "We have a crap ton of limes and cranberry juice! Oh, but I'm not sure if it would taste that good if we mix it, haha."

He could practically hear them force that laughter right out of their throat. Diluc hurriedly swallowed the fire-water they offered him since neither could stand the awkward tension. Diluc cringed.

"Oh, sorry, was it too strong?" Many nobles who detained the duke with platitudes were met with sarcastic comments, but he never hated (Y/n)’s idea of small talk.

"It's fine." He spoke huskily.

"Does it need lime or any add ons–"

"It's fine."

"... Okay."

The silence was painfully awkward... Perhaps Diluc shouldn't have threatened Albedo to sit this one out. He wanted an opportunity to be alone with (Y/n), and this is far from what he had hoped would turn out. Diluc's forehead creased as he held back what could've been a long somber sigh.

"How's work?" He asked.

"Oh, it's been alright."

That doesn't sound promising. This was a trick up his sleeves to snap them back to a cheery mood. Usually, they’d start rambling about their regulars and watch how endearingly entertaining they are. There should’ve been a quip about Itto’s TCG losing streak or how Kunikuzushi and Kazuha were arguing again over where they should place their tent for their next travels. This time, (Y/n) barely uttered a phrase.

They continued, "I don't suppose I could ask you the same, given that most of your work is confidential–"

"The Holy Kingdom’s crown prince visited North Gaciea today."

"Oh?"

Finally, he could see them smile for just a bit. Of course, they’d be interested to hear about Zhongli since he was the poster boy for the game’s sequel. Fortunately for Diluc, (Y/n) never got to play the game.

"That's wonderful! I was waiting for an English Localization of the sequel for soooo long! Was he hot? I bet he’s gorgeous as fu–"

"No."

"No...?"

"I mean." Diluc cleared his throat. It's barely even a shot of fire-water and he's already getting impulsive. "I meant that I cannot discuss the matter further. I am not like Kaeya. This is confidential, like what you had said."

"Ah..." Their eyebrows furrowed "I see…"

Why did they sound so disappointed?

Is (Y/n)… bored of him?

Diluc digressed, "how's Dainsleif?"

"Dain?" Their nose scrunched. "I haven't seen that poor guy for weeks now. He’s probably escorting Princess Lumine to Justice Ajax’s territory like in the game. Why?"

"Kamisato Ayato?"

"Ah, he ordered a crate of Dango milk yesterday," they laughed softly. "I'm amazed at how that man is barely affected by the script. I mean, I guess that’s to be expected when your route can only be unlocked by choosing three unsuspecting dialogue options. I don't think he talked to the protagonist at all these past two years. You’d think Lumine would’ve raised her wits stat high enough to attract his attention, but alas, Lord Ayato’s still lounging around East Gaciea doing Venti-knows-what."

He wasn’t paying attention to their ramblings. All their names sound bitter in Diluc's mouth. Unlike Albedo and Diluc, the rest of the Love Interests are free to interact with them as an extra. Server C had also performed their last scripted interaction with them, hence, (Y/n) can never touch Albedo and Diluc again.

Retainer Dainsleif of the West, Lord Kamisato Ayato of the East, Chief Justice “Childe” Ajax of the North, Chief Alchemist Albedo of Who-Knows-Where, and Duke Diluc Ragnvindr of the South… Princess Lumine certainly had fine options.

The Duke just wished the otome game scriptwriters would’ve let him have his own choice in the matter as well.

(Y/n) rested their elbows down on the table as they gazed into Diluc's distant eyes.

"Why did you ask?"

Diluc frowned, He admits it— (Y/n)’s eyes are nothing to write home about. When compared to an ephemeral beauty like Princess Lumine, their ordinary (e/c) eyes and visage hardly qualify as "distinctive traits." Their vibrant red ribbon is the only thing separating them from the street's grey residents. Yet he can still tell it's them no matter how big the crowd is. No matter how much they look like an “NPC”, to him at least it was a face worth seeing. Even if they mesh into a blob of slime, he can sense their essence through and through.

Although he can now barely make out the features on their face, nothing on this false earth can convince him that he wasn’t talking to the love of his life.

"I..." Diluc loosened his collar, suddenly growing hot at the intensity of their stare. "I simply wished to learn how the two other Love Interests are doing. I’ve had a chat with Ajax, and he still acts like a quote-on-quote “yandere” as you had explained before."

“Is that all?”

Diluc nodded.

"Ah," They shrugged. "Got my hopes up there– I thought there are other “Wasureta: No More” CGs I haven't seen yet."

Diluc smiled and took a drink.

"Ahh..." He exhaled, his eyelids fluttering shut in the process.

"You okay there pal?" They asked. "I know I said we shouldn't let any of this go to waste but you know I can just store them back home right? Oh, you can have some too but I don't think you'd like so–"

"I'll take a bottle."

(Y/n)’s eyes widened.

"Y-You..." They stuttered, "You sure?"

"Yeah," Diluc mumbled, lying to himself. "It tastes okay."

They grinned. The sight makes his decision all the more worth it.

"Haha, great!" They fist-bumped the air "See? Told ya cheap fire-water tastes good!"

Don’t get him wrong, he's not taking one home because of its taste. He's taking one home because it might be the last memento he'll have of (Y/n).

"Hold on, let me get a ribbon." They opened their palms to stop him from leaving. "Can't give the great Duke of the South something that looks barely presentable now would I?"

They left him with a skip in their steps. Diluc smiled.

Now that he's left alone, he silently wondered:

Just how long can he last before he tells the NPC that he wants to ruin their friendship?

———

———

Along with the sounds of gutted flesh reverberating through the tunnel's dark passageways, a man's hysterical laughter echoed. It was mostly silence in the caves, and there is a strong sense of loneliness upon entering the vicinity. Humans and animals alike would feel as though there is no life inside those walls, but the joyous yet hollow laughter came from the end of the tunnel.

And on the other side, you'll find a red-haired man at his wit's end.

"Tell me..." His words dragged out in a low growl as he grabbed a fistful of the bloody and tattered blonde's greasy hair. The man whimpered from his touch. "Was it fun? Laughing at my misery this entire time? Were you laughing along with them? Lumine, Dainsleif, and all the rest?! Did I put up quite the show there?!"

Crown Prince Aether trembled.

Duke Ragnvindr had everything figured out.

———

“There’s one regret I have now that I’ve isekai-d in this game.”

“What was it?”

“It’s just that,” (Y/n) sighed. “I never really got this game to a 100% completion.”

Diluc raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by their obsession with Wasureta, “and why is that important?”

“Hey! It’s pretty damn important!” (Y/n) grumbled. "Tsk, if only I finished your bad endings… The guides say once you do that, you’ll be able to unlock a secret route.”

“A secret route?”

“Yeah,” they shrugged.

“I’ve read some spoilers from Otomekitten's blog and get this— the last route reveals where Lumine’s brother had been hiding all this time.”

———

The nerves on the back of Diluc's palms were more noticeable as he pulled the poor man closer. Simply put, their faces did not resemble what mankind should look like; rather, they were an animalistic representation of a predator and prey. Hitherto it had disturbed Prince Aether in his rests, but it was too late when he finally acknowledged that something unhinged lay dormant inside the duke.

"P-please..." He coughed. Blood started drooling down the edge of his lips. He assumes that a few of his teeth are likely knocked in, and he can feel his canines prodding inside his throat. "H-have merc–"

With alarming ease, Diluc threw him in the direction of the shelves. The blonde fell and gasped violently when the splintered wood struck his shoulder. The gaping wound on his hips gushed out once more, bleeding onto his carpet and scattered notes. The duke was a monster. He intentionally missed striking his vital organs to prolong his suffering. More blood gushed from his mouth and the prince noisily wheezed out wet coughs.

His Highness has (Y/n) to blame for the hints they gave the duke.

If they hadn't had that conversation, Diluc wouldn’t have figured out that Aether created this “game” world out of grief for his dead sister.

———

“I’ve been alive here for a year or so but I can’t get used to how the harpies in this world look so tame.”

“Hmm? What else were you expecting?”

“Nothing much, it’s just that they look so different in the game’s beta.”

They shrugged. “Fun fact: did you know that “Wasureta: No More” was a fantasy-horror game before the scriptwriters decided to rewrite everything?”

———

"Tsk." Diluc spat and wiped his mouth with his last dirty palm as if there was a major difference. Both are equally soiled with oil and Aether’s blood; it wouldn’t have mattered.

The duke snarled aloud into a burst of savage laughter, "what's wrong, My Creator? Can't even muster up the courage to face your retribution?"

"F-Friend..." Aether called out, hoping to garner sympathy for the Diluc who once looked after both him and his sister at the royal gardens. Hoping to remind him that he was placed number 1 on the list of people the head of Military Affairs had trusted.

"Don't call me that," Diluc's grip on his claymore grew tighter until his knuckles paled.

"Du-Duke..." The blonde looked up. "I can't just... Rewrite this story again..."

"You can," Diluc spoke in a somewhat broken voice. His sanity may be waning, but he cannot deny that Aether was included in the list of the people the duke trusted. "We’re just characters you’ve written. You've done that before. You've done that to Lumine."

"And I r-regretted it!" He sputtered out, accidentally stronger than intended. The blonde scurried to lean against the wall as he feared Diluc would attack him for his offensive tone. "I regretted it. I thought I could revive my sister... I thought that would bring Lumine back into this new world. I thought it would bring her happiness if– if I gave her m-more options–"

"Forced options," Diluc grumbled, rightfully angry at the blonde's interferences. Based on his inference, three of the five suitors wouldn't have been whisked away by Lumine's whims if it weren't for her brother’s influence. And judging by his pained reaction, Diluc would be right.

"But she’s not my real sister.” Aether sobbed. “She never will be— she’s just an image I had of her. And I-I still ended up making this false Lumine more miserable."

"No shit." Diluc snickered with narrow eyes. "You made her miserable—"

The duke just wished he knew where Aether was from the very beginning. He would've had Prince Aether's head before this whole damn game even started.

"And you made me so fucking miserable, Crown Prince," Diluc muttered. 

“I just wanted to be with (Y/n).” He breathed in shakily, “is that so much to ask for?”

"P-Please, listen to me." Aether wept. "Ch-Changing someone's fate brings more harm than good!"

THUD.

Aether shook as a claymore thrust through the concrete just a hair beside his ear. He gulped under the towering gaze of those piercing red eyes. They glowered over him, and they were far from pleased. Aether was too terrified to look away as he saw how Diluc's eyes spiraled into the abyss. The air was thick with heat emanating from Diluc’s pyro-abilities. The sound of the metal rang in the prince’s ears like a warning, thus, the strength in his shoulders weakened and his muscles have gone mushed as he cowered down.

Changing fate brings more harm than good? What a joke. By the looks of it, letting fate run its course only puts the prince in greater turmoil.

Maybe Diluc should offer his head to Her Highness. It doesn't matter whether he lived or died, does it not? If she's so desperate to find the missing prince again, it wouldn't even matter what state his casket is in.

"Di–"

Aether couldn’t breathe.

"Don't struggle."

Diluc effortlessly slid the prince's entire body up the wall after grabbing his throat. Aether's feet curled up as he struggled to steal a breath. He tried to kick and claw Diluc's arms away, but the man stood his ground. Ruby eyes continued to pursue him with an icy rage that Aether was all too familiar with.

The fact that they both placed a lot of faith in one another was a mistake.

Aether's eyes started to tear up involuntarily. Diluc spoke those words as if they weren't threatening remarks, but a merciful command. Yet it doesn't change the fact that he intended to assassinate the prince with his bare hands. Aether began balling up his fists and striking him, but it was ineffective.

"..."

Diluc coldly watched his stomach bleed out like a student dissecting a frog.

Aether's vision clouded. As he flailed his limbs like a wild animal, dark blotches started to appear in his line of sight. His fingers are unwittingly clawing at everything as the adrenaline starts to kick in. Aether never wished to harm a soul, but at that moment he was aiming for Diluc's eyes.

His survival instincts kicked in.

He can't die.

Not like this.

"Si–..."

Lumine. Sister.

Aether needed to apologize to his sister.

He still hoped to say sorry— sorry for leaving her to run a kingdom alone— sorry for not being able to save her in the original timeline— 

sorry for resetting and rewriting the game just to see her alive and happy again.

Aether had so much unfinished business piled up. So many discoveries he has yet to pen down. He can't die here. He mustn’t.

He grabbed something. A fleeting crimson near his assailant's collarbone.

Was it Diluc's hair?

He pulled harder. All his strength was wasted on that sliver of red hope. Anything that would get his assailant to stop.

And Diluc did. His grip on Aether's throat loosened as the prince fell back on the floor. Aether wheezed, his vision slowly returning to him. His bated breathing echoed inside the room as his eyesight returned to him. When the prince's eyes finally focused sharply, he saw silk.

This wasn't Diluc's hair, it was–

"(Y/n)’s ribbon."

Diluc used the very same ribbon (Y/n) to decorate a bottle of fire-water with to tie up his hair.

Aether shivered.

"It seems like you wanted to choose your death."

Oh fuck, oh fuck.

Aether looked up. He shouldn't have looked up.

Duke Diluc Ragnvindr's face was red with a grin uncannily reaching his ears to a degree that shouldn't be possible. His expression was akin to a lovesick young adult twisted to its extremities. He appeared to look excited. To think that he burns up by just a mention of this person’s name makes Aether sick to his stomach.

"Allow me to heed your last wish, Your Highness."

The prince felt his whole body tense up as Diluc wrapped the ribbon around his neck.

Diluc did not give him any more room to breathe as if his body was moving automatically.

This wasn’t Diluc Ragnvindr anymore.

His eyes were empty. 

This was a man possessed.

"Ch...de..." Aether forced out his last words as the ribbon quickly wrung around him.

"S..ve... my... s....ter"

———

———

Diluc only pulled out of his trance after he started washing the blood off his hands. Elzer subsequently informed him that the duke had entered the manor bloodied and unkempt with no recollection of how he got there and that he had strolled carelessly to the restroom like a corpse. There was a commotion across the entire Ragnvindr manor and rumors that he had lost an unpleasant duel quickly circulated. Better that than the truth, he supposed. Even his memory of what transpired in Aether's basement is hazy. Diluc only had their red ribbon and the idea of winning in his mind. He refused to let things continue as they are.

It wasn't until he started drying himself with a towel that he realized that the crown prince perished by his hands.

To think that Diluc used to be so terrified of offending royalties– of accidentally slipping a lese-majeste out of his lips– but now he let a royal's soul slip out of his wrists.

It's invigorating.

Diluc not only tied his fate with theirs, but he successfully managed to cut their ties with those disgusting vermin they call their “regulars.” They can't have them anymore, and they won't even intend to reach out. No one remembers who Server C is. They are now alone together with him. He’s the only person they can depend on. Diluc's breathing heaved lower. Just thinking about their inevitable dependence excites him.

He quietly closed the door behind him.

"Good evening, Server C." He smiled. "Or, should I say, my beloved?"

Just the two of them.

They won't look at anyone else. They can't. The whole world will now feel what he felt when he was unable to touch (Y/n). Only HE has the privilege to hold them now.

It's just the two of them in this world left. After all, there is no statute of limitations once you learn how to play Creator.

Diluc Ragnvindr had successfully rewritten this game’s script.

He no longer carries any in-game responsibilities, much like how there is no Lord Kamisato, Justice Ajax, Retainer Dainsleif, and Chief Albedo that exists in this “script.rpy” file.

It’s just him and his beloved server, alone.

Diluc wiped his mouth. He's practically dro– no, his mouth is literally watering at the thought. Diluc's heart is pounding, almost threatening to break free from his ribs.

"I’m all you have now, (Y/n)." Diluc's gaze softens. "Isn't that wonderful?"

His hands reluctantly traveled under their blanket where their hands should be, scared that when he reaches out, he'll feel nothing there.

He felt their warmth.

Diluc grinned tearfully. He can finally touch them again. He felt their fingers crossed miraculously against his own.

"You’re so warm..."

He gently rubbed their calloused hand against his cheek.

No matter how overworked or ragged these hands were from washing the dishes, for him, they were silk to touch. So soft. So vulnerable.

Diluc swallowed his saliva with great difficulty. God. They’re so vulnerable right now. So peaceful. So fragile. His breathing increased in volume. He could just take them right here–

His bottom lip started to bleed. He was doing everything in his power not to cave in but his throat was starting to get parched. He breathed in deeply.

Not now. Please, not right now. Not when they probably don’t remember who he is.

Diluc wanted to see the look on their face as he finally kisses them. What expressions will they make? It's not fair to both of them to steal such a moment when they’re asleep. That's not what he had been waiting for. Not what he's been craving.

"My beloved, you're a beauty from afar, but you're even more flawless in my arms," Diluc muttered over their ear.

"And I'll do everything in my power to let it stay that way. Fate and the entire world be damned."

-----------

A/n: want to read more of this in a visual novel form? It's here :)

Edit: HERE'S THS IMPROVED SPRITES AND OVERALL UPDATED GAME!!!

#yandere diluc #yandere diluc x reader #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin imagines #yandere diluc ragnvindr #diluc #diluc ragnvindr #tag: otome game au #yandere male #tw yandere #male yandere #yandere #genshin impact #x reader #ansy-writes

[strawlessandbraless]

Sometimes I think about Dean meeting AU Cas, a hunter in his own world, and how that would go

But I think we know how it would go, Dean would immediately set phasers to fuck

UPDATE: For those looking for a fic with this concept, @alana-alana-alana just recommended

Those Who Favor Fire

dothraki_shieldmaiden, FriendofCarlotta

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #destiel #castiel #misha collins #deancas #jensen ackles #profound bond #alternate universe

[staenless]

Steddie lunchbox fic I joked about but then people liked it so now I'm. I'm write it now.

"Hey, Munson!"

Eddie ducked his head down before the blow could hit. Tommy Hagan was one of those men who never outgrew his highschool jock phase, and seemed intent on dragging the rest of the world into his football role playing; not so gentle head smacking included.

He blow never came, instead the heavy metal thunk of a lunchbox landed on his desk. He chanced an eye open, and took in the neat black tin box, no two boxed which stacked perfectly and were secured in place with a patterned cloth. He opened the other eye and instead looked to Tommy, waiting for some sort of explanation.

"the missus packed it up for me," the younger man explained, his eyes off to the side where some co-workers were gathering to make lunch plans, "real pain if I'm honest, how about you take it off my hands for me?" Then he grinned down at Eddie and clapped his should, too hard, like they were regular old office pals.

It wasn't like they were office enemies, per se, but Eddie had a distaste of Tommy and while the feeling certainly seemed mutual they were srupid enough to let petty distaste interfere with their pay checks. Eddie would certainly never do Tommy any sort of favour if it wasn't by obligation to his working contract, and Tommy had certainly phrased this as if it was a favor so... So Eddie instinct screamed to rebuff him.

Except it was lunch time, and Eddie was hungry, and he hadn't packed his own lunch because his fridge had probably three things in it max and he couldn't afford to go out to eat since most of his paycheck had already been dolled out to rent, his uncle, his savings, and he only had money for absolute necessities. Even as he sat in indecision he could feel his stomach writhing and slithering in on itself. Shit, had he forgotten breakfast to?

"Sure," he responded, and then quickly tacked on,"man." There was a moment of silence that made Eddie feel like he ought to crack a joke, but Tommy seemed to decide for them both that was a bit chummy, even for his sports team larping. Instead he landed a solid whack, right where the last one had landed, then spun around and jogged to catch up with the other Alphas on their way out to lunch.

The office had emptied out in the span of their conversation and now cubicles sat still with their roller chains sprawled haphazardly as if evacuated in some emergency instead of a quick shuffle in hopes of skipping the worst of the lunchtime queues. Eddie decided to forgo the company cafeteria and instead snatched a pack of cigs out his backpack and scooped up the packed lunch. He could eat on the roof, since the fire doors alarm hadn't worked since he was hired and nobody bothered going up there in the heat of the day.

It wasn't that Eddie was exceptionally antisocial at work, or loathed ALL his coworkers. He actually had a few friends, Jeff and Gareth in the IT department would tolerate him during lunch breaks, and they'd even met up a few times outside of work. They were cool, he liked spending time with them, might even call them friends in a month or two. But spending all morning on the top floors, in marketing and branding and surrounded by other Alphas, Eddie probably wasn't much fun to be around at the moment.

The corporate world and Alphas went together like honey and ants. The opportunities to compete and peacock were nigh endless, not to mention doing well wouldn't net you a hefty income for some extra peacocking on the side. Eddie wasn't like that, his Alpha didn't operate that way. So much so even he had been surprised when his second puberty hit and he dropped fang and knot. The kids at school had snickered and called him a half-bit Alpha, while others said he only presented that way because his sole guardian was a lone omega. It had hurt at the time, but looking back Eddie couldn't help but laugh. Maybe he was a half-bit, maybe he presented wrong because of some base instinct to protect his uncle. He certainly didn't prance around like the other alphas did, bickering and shoving like little kids fighting over a toy.

But maybe that was the joke Tommy was playing on him, Eddie thought as he popped the lunchbox and saw the note sat neatly to the side. Maybe Eddie was too much of a bitch-Alpha to get a mate, while Tommy with all his flouncing and team player make belive had someone waiting at home, making him lunches and writing sweet love notes signed with a kiss. Maybe the joke was to give Eddie a taste of something he could never have.

Goodluck with work today, please bring home some avacados for guac. Love you - Steve.

Eddie stared at the note in his trembling hand. He could smell the omega- Steve - from where his lips had pressed to the paper. Unmated. Surprising, but not unusual. Plenty of couples got married first, then sealed the bite later on. Some Yuppie thing that Eddie was far too romantic to entertain. If you loved someone, wouldn't you want that commitment forever? But the again, Tommy and his sneer around the word "missus" gave Eddie the impression he wasnt the "forever" sort. Further more, a male Omega? Most people were somewhat hesitant to be associated with one, if not outright hostile to their very existence. Far too rare to be ordinary, and far too Omega to be respected male Omegas were almost never on an up and coming Alphas radar of potential mates.

Eddie slipped the note into his pants pocket, and lit his cigarette before turning back to the lunch box. Black oval tins, two stacked and tied with a floral cloth. A bento, he realised, he'd seen it on the cover of house and home in the checkout line. The hot new craze in lunchboxes. Tha made him snicker a little. The floral cloth seemed odd, and stuck out against the black metal. The material was smooth and soft, like brand new. Huh. The tins themselves had some scuff marks, and one had a dent on its edge that spoke of a life of use. He set them down, side by side, on the laid out cloth. It looked fancy, but also surprisingly homey and inviting. It looked delicious.

The Omega- Steve had outdone himself. The top tin contained two halves of a prego roll stuffed to bursting with marinated shredded chicken. The meat was cradled between lettuce leaves to keep the bread from going soggy, and Eddie could catch sight of some glistening tomatoe slices in there. The second tone had an orange, peeled with each slice individual cleaned of any white hairy bits and laid on a bed of some gummy fruit candy. Apple sliced were laid in a separate tin, still shinning with lemon juice and not a spot of brown to be seen. Slid neatly into the side, half hidden, has the familiar pink white of coconut ice for desert.

Eddie could feel his mouth watering. Holy shit, did Tommy eat like this everyday? And if he did what was wrong with him that he'd give it up for some second rate slop at a restaurant? Breathing deeply he could smell the food, but beneath that something else, something tempting. Steve, his hands delicately pulling the chicken from the bone, slicing the tomatoe, cradling the bread as he buttered it, his nails catching and pulling off every white part from the orange slices. His hard work, his effort, laid before Eddie like some sort of worshipful offing. He felt high when he bit down on the orange slice, the caress of it's soft inner skin along his gums, like a kiss. The burst of flavour on his tongue, sweetness invading his sense so all he could see was orange orange orange leaving the bitter taste of citrus. He could taste, most importantly, beneath it all. God he could taste Steve. He could taste his love.

"Oh, thanks man," Tommy didn't look up from his computer as he said it, just kept tying away. "No problem man," Eddie mumbled back, eyes fixed on the lunchbox and he's straightened it on the other alphas desk. Every crumb had been kicked up, every smear of sauce sucked away. But placed gently, reverently, back in the top box was the love note. Eddie wanted to give Steve something in return, to thank him for sharing something so magical, so special with him. In the end he'd decided against it, could work up the courage to indirectly challenge Tommy like that. Instead, he'd pressed his lips tightly to where Steve's had once been, before returning it to its rightful owner.

The words Love You sat nestled in the tin as Eddie walked away.

Part 2 exists now

#steddie #Idk is this something? #I should speak to my therapist about this but people wanted the fic instead and I am but a slave to commands #It's omegaverse cause I like giving Steve a pussy #Not proofread #I wrote it you read or no extra steps babbiiieeee

[sincerelyyuu]

"in the end, it's still you." p2. • gojo satoru & geto suguru

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ synopsis: you never thought the day would come where you would have to choose between your two best friends. but how do you say goodbye to someone who became one of your reasons for living? ➼ pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader, geto suguru x fem!reader ➼ content/warning: angst with tons of pining and heartbreak, sfw, heavy s2 spoilers, pet names, cursing, mentions of death ➼ wc: 3.1k words ➼ a/n: here's the anticipated part two of this fic! can definitely read this part on its own as a standalone, but highly recommend reading part one for the full angst effect ♡ ➼ part one, part two, part three

You didn’t know how you got here. 

One minute you were on a mission. The next minute you were a fugitive on the run.

When Suguru and you left for the village, you didn’t expect to be standing in front of a caged cell that held two little girls. They were twins and looked to be no more than the age of five. Crouching down to match their eye level, you saw just how disheveled and scared they were between the bars. Clothes tattered, skin covered in dirt, eyes wide with fear. How cruel.

“Hello. I’m (y/n). That’s my friend Suguru,” you introduced softly, not wanting to spook them. Suguru nodded at them in greeting with a smile. “What are your names?”

“Nanako,” the light brown haired twin answered in a near whisper.

“Mimiko,” her black haired twin counterpart responded after.

“It’s nice to meet you both,” you smiled, leaning closer to them to whisper so that only they could hear. “Let’s get you out of here quickly, yeah?”

The girls looked back at you with surprise before a small smile appeared on their faces, nodding. You and Suguru were the first people to show them any form of kindness in this village. Unfortunately, their happiness was short-lived.

“These two are crazy! They used their mysterious powers to attack the villagers, right?” a male villager accused them both.

Furrowing your brows, you exchange glances with Suguru who shared the same sentiments as you. You both had already exterminated the cause of those incidents when you arrived.

“No, it’s not them,” Suguru exhaled, a hand on his head as he massaged his temple in disdain.

Ignoring his words, an older woman added more fuel to the fire, “My granddaughter was nearly killed by these two, too!” 

Nanako defended, “That’s because she-”

“Shut up, you monsters! I knew we should have killed you two as babies!”

“Watch your mouth,” you snapped, maneuvering your body to shield the twins from the vile woman. The girls immediately sought refuge behind you.

You couldn’t believe the words coming from them openly talking about killing the girls when they were sitting right there. You felt so sorry for the two. Based on what the villagers were saying, these poor children most likely hadn’t received an ounce of love in their lives. Instead they were treated like animals.

It was just like you to put yourself in harm's way to protect others with no hesitation. It was one of the reasons that made Suguru fall in love with you. It didn’t come as a surprise to him to see Nanako and Mimiko already taking a liking to you. 

Looking at the three of you, something in Suguru snapped. Lowering beside you, he offered you a gentle smile.

“Do me a favor. Once I step out, let the girls out and cover their ears. Stay here. I’ll come back for you three when I’m done,” he instructed.

“What? Why?” you asked in confusion. “Sugu… What are you about to do?”

He ruffled your hair playfully. “I’ll be right back. Now be a good girl for me.”

You looked at him wearily. There was something different about him right now that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. You also didn’t like how vague he was being. Still, you hesitantly agreed. Satisfied, Suguru stood up to face the villagers in the room.

“Everyone, shall we step outside for a moment?” he asked, a sickeningly sweet smile gracing his face. 

You were prepared for when you successfully freed the girls from their confines with Mimiko and Nanako instantly falling into your awaiting arms. Instructing them to cover their ears, you held them close and placed your hands behind their heads, letting them rest their faces against your chest.

“It’s okay, I got you. You’re safe now,” you promised them. “They can’t hurt you anymore.”

What you weren’t prepared for was the fiery blue flames that illuminated the village and the screams that ensued after.

A few days later, it was a beautiful day in Shinjuku. People were going on about their business as they maneuvered among the busy streets. The air was full of chatter with the hustle and bustle of city life. 

“I’ll go ahead and ask. Any chance the charges are false?” Shoko inquires with a smile.

Suguru shakes his head at the female sorcerer, “Nope. Unfortunately not.”

Shoko takes a drag of her cigarette, blowing white whips of smoke that dissipate into the air. “You know what, I can expect you to be able to pull off this kind of thing. But did you really have to drag (y/n) with you too? Where is she anyway?”

Suguru fights the urge to grin at the mention of your name. Crossing his arms, he peers up at the clouds drifting across the azure sky. “She’s-”

“-right here.”

The two turned their heads at the sound of your voice as you approached them, a bag full of pastries in tow. You waved shyly at Shoko who was relieved to see you unharmed. You were one of the few female friends that she had at school. It came as a big surprise to her when she heard the news of your shared sentence with Suguru. It didn’t seem like you to commit mass murder. Then again, neither did Geto.

“There’s Ms. Partner-in-crime. I was just about to ask Geto why this little situation came to be,” Shoko filled you in.

You shift awkwardly in place, unable to find the right words to respond. Sensing your discomfort, Suguru swiftly answers back, “I’m going to create a world of only jujutsu sorcerers. (y/n) here is the lucky girl who gets to help me.”

“Is that so?” the brunette laughs. “I don’t get it.”

“We’re not children. I’m not holding out hope that everyone will understand,” Suguru responds. He glances over at you as you stare into the crowd and zone out of the conversation. As long as you were beside him, he didn’t care if no one else understood. At least he had you.

Shoko whipped out her cell and promptly entered a series of numbers before placing it to her ear. “Hey, Gojo? I found Geto and (y/n). Yeah, Shinjuku.”

Hearing Satoru’s name, your body immediately went into flight mode. Breath quickening, heartbeat accelerating, and anxiety swirling in your stomach. You felt like throwing up. You knew it was inevitable to see him when Suguru suggested going to Shinjuku for the day under the guise of buying treats for Nanako and Mimiko. But you weren’t sure you were ready to see him yet. What could you possibly even say to him after what happened?

Before your thoughts could spiral even more, you felt a warm hand slip into your left and the pastry bag removed from your right. Looking up, Suguru didn’t make eye contact with you, only squeezing your hand in reassurance. He always had a sixth sense for how you were feeling.

“Excuse us but we have somewhere to be. Goodbye, Shoko,” Suguru waves at her nonchalantly as if it were any other ordinary day and like he’d see her in class tomorrow.

She waves back and turns to make eye contact with you, an unreadable expression on her face. Before you could analyze it, Suguru gently tugs on your hand and leads you away with him and into the bustling crowd of Shinjuku. The two of you walked for a few minutes in silence before a familiar voice reached your ears.

“Explain yourselves.”

Stopping in your tracks, you felt a lump form in your throat. Your nails dug into Suguru’s hand, leaving red crescents upon his pale skin. Suguru tried not to flinch at the pain. He knew that this moment would be hard for you.

After receiving Shoko’s call, Satoru wasted no time and immediately teleported to Shinjuku in search of his two best friends. All he can think of is, why?  Why would you both do this? It didn’t make any sense. He needed answers and he wasn’t stopping until he got them. 

Among the sea of people, his eyes searched and searched until it finally landed on one of his targets. He didn’t need to see your face to know that it was you. After all, he had engrained every detail of you into his mind from the way you looked to the way you moved. Your name lingered on his lips, longing to call for you.

“You already heard from Shoko, right?” Suguru answered him back without turning around. “That’s all there is to it.”

Unhappy with his response, Satoru felt his blood begin to boil in anger. “So you’re just going to kill everyone that isn’t a sorcerer? Even your parents?”

Maybe it was the way your heartbeat was beating so loudly in your ears, but you could barely hear what the two men were saying despite being right there. You knew they were exchanging words but your mind refused to process them. Instead it focused on the way Satoru’s voice was plagued in confusion and betrayal. You and Suguru, his two closest friends, had betrayed him without a word.

“You’re going to kill all non-sorcerers and create a world of only jujutsu sorcerers? You know that’s impossible!” you heard Satoru bellow from behind you. 

“You could do it, couldn’t you, Satoru?” the black haired sorcerer retorted back, now facing the enraged male. “Are you the strongest because you’re Gojo Satoru? Or does being the strongest make you Gojo Satoru?”

You felt a chill go down your spine from Suguru’s cold tone so different from the honey one he always used towards you. Was this the Suguru you’ve known until now? But then you remembered everything Suguru had gone through up until this point. Swallowing disgusting curse after curse with nothing to show for it for himself. Watching his friends and comrades die in front of him. You understood the shift in Suguru’s beliefs. 

That being said, you also understood where Satoru was coming from. You knew deep down that this wasn’t right. Innocent lives were taken to create a world that may not even be possible. However, there wasn’t anything you could do about it now. You were in too deep and if this was the hill you’ll die on, so be it. 

Frustrated with the conversation with Suguru, Satoru knew there was no changing that man’s mind. Suguru had zero regrets and had every intention of carrying out his new life goal. Shifting his focus to you, Satoru felt the anger clouding his vision slowly diminish, a sense of yearning overwhelming his senses.

His voice dropped to a low cry as he called out to you, “(y/n)...”

The moment your name left his lips, a wave of guilt settled into the pit of your stomach. You wish he hadn’t done that. In a perfect world, you would have turned around and ran into those strong arms that have held and protected you more times than you can count. You felt your resolve chipping away piece by piece.

But this world was far from perfect. You can never go back to the way things were. Still, you owed it to Satoru to properly say goodbye because you weren’t sure when you’ll ever see him again. 

You took a deep breath and stepped to turn around. Halfway through your turn, you felt Suguru’s grip on your hand tighten, looking at you in confusion and slight alarm. Were you changing your mind and leaving him? However, his tense shoulders eased when you squeezed his hand back in reassurance, communicating with your eyes that you weren’t going anywhere. Nodding his head, he let go of you.

What the fuck? Satoru thought to himself.

Watching the scene unfold between you two, he felt an insecure stinging pierce in his chest. His six eyes bored holes at your interlocked hands. An unsettling feeling gnawed at him at the fond look in Suguru’s eyes which stared directly into your own. It was the same way Satoru looked at you. 

Fuck. His best friend, Geto Suguru, was also madly in love with you.

“Satoru.”

Satoru could almost cry hearing you call his name. You took a few steps towards him, maintaining eye contact as you did so. He also took a step towards you but immediately halted when you raised your hand up to stop him from getting any closer. Standing a few feet from each other now in silence, you felt your heart break at the sight of your once confident best friend who now looked so small in your presence.

“...Why?” he asked, the tension growing thick in the air.

Fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, you replied, “You don’t understand-”

“Then, make me understand!” Satoru shouted.

Storming directly to you, he stopped so that he stood inches away from your figure. One more step and he could pull you to him and away from whatever this was. It would be so easy. He stood before you with his infinity off, silently granting you the opportunity to reach out for him. He never had it on whenever he was with you. He trusted you to let his guard down because you made him feel safe.

Satoru continued to interrogate you as he struggled to keep his emotions in check.  “(y/n), I know you. I know you didn’t lift a finger to kill any of those people. You would never take the life of another if they didn’t deserve it. So, why are you doing this?”

“I can talk to the elders. I can convince them to reverse your sentence because you didn’t do anything. They’ll listen to me,” he begged you, voice quickening with every line. 

“Is it because I’m away all the time? I’ll stop taking on more missions or have them assign you with me. Just come home.”

He was beginning to ramble now as he felt himself grow more desperate to keep you. Satoru was never the type to get down on his knees for anyone except you. 

Throughout the years, he fell for you hard. You had the power to render him weak with just your smile, the air leaving his lungs at the way you took his breath away. Your calming presence grounded him and brought him back to reality whenever things became too intense. It was the way you understood his thoughts and feelings before he even knew of them. You held his heart in the palm of your hands and right now you were completely destroying him.

Against your better judgment, you caressed the left side of Satoru’s face. The man immediately leaned into your hand as he melted at your touch, placing his hand over yours and seeking your affection. Brilliant blue eyes filled with anguish met your sorrowful ones. 

“Toru,” you smiled bittersweetly at him. “I can’t. The moment I go back, they’d kill me in a heartbeat. It’s too late for me. At least this way I’ll be protecting you.”

“It’s supposed to be the other way around. I’m the one that’s supposed to be protecting you,” he argued back. “Sweets, this is insanity. You can’t possibly be okay with this. Do you honestly agree with him and this crazy non-sorcerer world bullshit?”

You let your hand fall from his face, watching him grimace from the action. “It doesn’t matter what I think. What’s done is done. I made a promise to Suguru that I’d be there for him.”

Satoru scowled, “And what about me, (y/n)? Don’t you see that you’re hurting me?”

That wasn’t fair. How do you explain to him that you were doing what you thought was best? As the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, Satoru will always have a community rallying behind him. Suguru had no one. You didn’t want Suguru to live a lonely life alone. You cared too much about him. Hence, you promised to be that one person he needed.

Satoru felt like ripping his hair out in agony. He could feel it. He could feel him losing you. Any traces of anger slipped out of his body. He looked at you desperately, looking crestfallen and utterly wrecked as he felt hot tears burn in his eyes. 

“Baby, please,” he begged, voice almost cracking in the process. “I’m already losing one best friend. I can’t lose you too.”

Closing your eyes to stop your own tears from falling, you could only whisper an apology back, “I’m sorry.”

Satoru didn’t need your apology. He knew that you could apologize a million times and in the end, he’d still forgive you even if you were tearing him apart. He also knew that you were extremely stubborn and even more loyal. You had made up your mind and this was you saying goodbye. His fists went rigid causing his knuckles to turn white from the intensity of his grip.

“So, this is it? This is the life you’re choosing?” he let out an empty laugh, the smile leaving his face once his gaze met Suguru’s who awaited behind you. “You’re choosing him?”

Shaking your head, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled his tall figure down to you into a tight embrace. Arms wrapping around you, he held you even tighter against him as if his life depended on it. In a way, it did. Breathing in your scent, he felt goosebumps rise on his skin when your lips brushed to whisper against his ear.

“This is me choosing you.”

Ripping yourself away from the snowy haired man, he stood stunned at your declaration and could only watch as you made your way back to Suguru’s side. The said male extended his hand back at you once more, pouting as you shook your head no. Vision blurring with tears, you walked past him and continued walking down the street to get as far away as possible, willing your broken heart not to look back.

Suguru could only sigh deeply. You just needed more time. Whenever you were ready, he’d be there every step of the way with open arms, forever set to love and protect you. Looking back at Satoru, he shot the distraught male a smirk and threw up a peace sign. Tucking his hands into his pants pockets, he trailed after you before you could get too far. 

In a moment of panic, Satoru raised his hands to prepare an attack towards the raven haired male. After a mental struggle, he ultimately dropped his hands to his side, fists clenching hard. He couldn’t do it. He didn’t have it in him to harm his best friend or else he’d risk harming you as well.

Satoru watched your figures disappear deeper into the crowd for perhaps the last time he’ll ever see you.

divider credit: @/saradika-graphics

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk angst #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #geto x you #suguru geto x reader #jjk geto #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #gojo angst #geto x reader #geto angst #jjk fanfic #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fic

[eideticallys]

I Don't Mind If It's You

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: maybe styling spencer’s hair should be an everyday thing for both of you.

genre: fluff

word count: 1081

author's notes: i missed spencer's long hair so i decided to write a self-indulging fic about playing with his hair. also posted on ao3 (spencereids).

SPENCER HAS ALWAYS FOREGONE STYLING HIS HAIR IN THE MORNINGS. He always thought as long as he could just flick the strands of hair behind his ear, he was good to go. And besides, he had a hair tie with him. He could just simply tie it back—no more pesky hair in his line of sight.

He has always foregone styling his hair in the mornings until he met you. While he was big on practicality & “Hairstyling is a waste of time”!” You were the exact opposite. 

It’s quite a funny thing to think about. Spencer, a certified germaphobe, was uncaring about how his hair looked, whether it was kept well today or it looked like a bird’s nest the next. And then, there’s you. You’re not a germaphobe though you pride yourself as a chic woman. Not a law enforcement job could stop you from looking like you came straight out of a magazine.

You always found the time to make sure your hair looked pretty and presentable before heading to work. In your free time—quite rare for FBI agents—you liked to read magazines for trendy new styles to try or watch videos online for tutorials.

And today was definitely your lucky day. No case. Everyone is off for the holidays.

Unfortunately, that’s where your luck ended.

You got injured during your last case. Your arm is in a cast, unable to move it around like you wanted it to. Fortunately, your hand was still good & thankfully, uninjured, unlike the rest of your arm. So, although you were free to lounge around your home, you couldn’t try that one hairstyle you found in one of those Cosmopolitan articles.

Until a genius idea came to you like a light bulb turning on.

“Hey, Spence?”

You asked your boyfriend, who was busy skimming through what seemed like his third or fourth book of the day.

He’s so cute when he’s all focused like this, you thought. 

He hummed in response, still couldn’t tear his eyes away from the pages.

“I have a favor to ask you.”

This made Spencer look up from what he was reading, staring at you questioningly. You were the type of person who never asked for help or favors—unless needed. You often disagreed with him because he would prefer it if you told him whatever problem you had. Although he was a genius and could help with you, he knew lending an ear to someone was already a big help. 

"You know I can't move my arm around, right?" You asked him, to which he nodded in agreement. 

"Yeah, is it itchy?” He asked, about to go off on one of his notable tangents. “It takes around six to eight weeks for broken bones in casts to heal. Also, around that time, the injured area starts to itch.”

You nodded fondly at the man, not minding a little bit that he went off-topic. You love listening to his mini-lectures—not only do you learn something new, but you’d also hear the soft tone of his voice. One thing about Spencer is he had a pretty voice. You could listen to him talk for hours.

“There are five main reasons why your casts itch—nerves, trapped moisture, immune response, dead skin cells, and body hair.” Spencer continued tattling. “Nerves cause itchiness because the nerve endings in the skin may fire as the cast begins to harden and dry, sending itch-inducing signals to the brain. As for the itchiness being an immune response, it ensues when the body perceives the plaster of Paris or fiberglass as an outside invader. Histamines may be released. Itching, redness, and swelling can be brought on by released histamine.” 

With his excitement to share facts about how broken bones heal, you couldn’t help but laugh at how dorky but adorable your boyfriend was, which made him scrunch his nose.

“I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“You are, but I don’t mind. I like it.”

At this, Spencer’s ears started turning pink, making you chuckle some more. He scratched the back of his neck in shyness as you took it as a clue to tell him what you needed from him.

“My arm isn’t itchy, babe,” you began, “What I need from you is your hair.”

“My what?” 

“Your hair.” 

It was your turn to get shy. You knew Spencer wasn’t a big fan of having his hair messed with. It’s not that he hates it. He just doesn’t like messing with it that much—minus the occasional flicking behind his ear and simply tying it back when it gets irritating.

“I—um,” you explained further, trying to fight against the embarrassment you were feeling. This was your boyfriend you’re talking to!  “I saw this cute new hairstyle online and I wanted to try it but you know, with the broken arm and all…” You trailed off.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” You chuckled humorlessly, beyond embarrassed at this point.

This was such a bad idea. Why did you even bring it up? You were about to start berating yourself, ready to hop onto the next train and create a new identity for yourself, when you noticed Spencer shuffling towards you, sitting on the floor between your legs.

“You want me to style your hair?” You asked incredulously, still can’t believe Spencer would let you play with his hair.

“Of course.” He replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world 

Like it was an everyday thing for anyone—you—to do his hair.

“I don’t mind my hair being played with if it’s you.”

At that, you blushed as you started combing through his soft curls with your fingers. Spencer merely smiled softly at the gesture and closed his eyes.

“Y/N?” Spencer asked quietly.

“Yeah?” You asked back as you started braiding his hair. “What is it, Spence?”

“I love you.” He muttered. “I may not like it when people touch my hair out of nowhere. But if it’s you, I don’t mind having you do it for the rest of my life.”

You gasped at his sudden confession and were about to say those three words back when you felt it.

Spencer planted a kiss on your injured arm and pulled your other one down, so he could be face-to-face with you. And before you knew it, his lips brushed against yours, eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks.

Maybe styling Spencer’s hair should be an everyday thing for both of you.

#criminal minds #criminal minds series #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid blurb #tooth rotting fluff #domestic fluff #criminal minds fluff #established relationship #long-haired spencer reid #mild hurt/comfort

[bluelikebruises]

whispers of summer fervor || aegon ii targaryen

Aegon II Targaryen/TargaryenF!Reader summary: Fire and Blood—you were etched out of those great words. Born covered in a veil of maroon with the stench of death. A hollow child with sunken eyes kissed by the very fire that gave your family their power. When the dragon egg in your crib never hatched you were thrown into the dragon’s den. Ignited by a dragon who was not yours to claim, your skin holding the memories of your failure. The Cursed Targaryen Princess—without a mother, without a dragon, and maimed. Your misfortunes were a stain upon the tapestry of the Targaryen legacy.  or Being the disgraced child of King Viserys and abandoned by your eldest sister pushes you into the arms of her opposition, leading to your support of Aegon’s claim.  wc: 5.1k tw: slight ooc aegon, angst, rhaenyra is usurped, rhaenyra slander, daddy issues, mommy issues, viserys is a shity dad, burn scars, reader is born from aemma but skintone & physical features are never discussed, canon divergence, incest cause yknow targaryens, bastard slander, hints of misogyny

a/n: i usually write (or try to) a reader who is neutral to the whole blacks vs green, but not today! rhaenyra is the rightful heir—always—but for the sake of this fic she is not. also i’ve been neglecting completing my uni assignments to finish this lol, enjoy!!! p.s. not proofread

☆━━━━☆━━━━☆

Fire and Blood—the words of your House. 

Fire and Blood—a warning to those who would ever think of opposing the Targaryen dynasty. 

Fire and Blood—a declaration of war met with threats disguised as promises. 

You were etched out of those great words. Born covered in a veil of maroon with the stench of death. A hollow child with sunken eyes kissed by the very fire that gave your family their power. When the dragon egg in your crib never hatched you were thrown into the dragon’s den. Ignited by a dragon who was not yours to claim, your skin holding the memories of your failure. The Cursed Targaryen Princess—without a mother, without a dragon, and maimed.  Your misfortunes were a stain upon the tapestry of the Targaryen legacy. 

A fate you were lucky enough to not shoulder alone, Aegon like you was born of your mothers blood. Born out of a desperate need to uphold old customs and beliefs. While his birth was celebrated it also split the Realm, whispers of his right as future king followed him throughout his life. The notions of king left heavy expectations for him to shoulder, expectations he never met, always falling short in one way or another. Resulting in his feverish drinking and promiscuity.

You are both young when you realize the shortcomings of your livelihoods. The drop in your father’s voice whenever he spoke of you. The frigid overcast that glazed over his eyes when his eyes set on you. The blatant favoritism he showed towards your much older sister—the tenderness in his eyes was a warmth you had never felt. His disdain leaked into your interactions; an uncomfortable shadow fell upon his brow whenever you were in his presence. As if your very being pained him, and how could it not? You were the walking reminder of his wife’s death, of his failure as not just a husband but a King. 

Aegon knows the resentment his mother harbors towards him despite her denial. Her first born conceived of a loveless marriage. She had been a girl and made a monarch overnight and some months later a mother. She was robbed of her girlhood and tied to the crown forever and Aegon had been the first nail in her coffin. Aegon represented every sacrifice she had made and his constant rebellion felt like an insult to everything Alicent lost. 

You understood one another, in ways many could not. Cut from the same cloth amalgamations of Targaryen indulgence, stubbornness, and passion. The least favored children of the King and Queen, bonded over neglect and resentment.

Years forged your attachment into blind fidelity, a sickly devotion that was rooted in your hearts like oaths. The world hardly existed outside the two of you and it didn’t stop for anyone without the Targaryen name. While many believed there were no exceptions to your coterie, they would find themselves proven wrong. For nearest and dearest to you was Helaena and Aemond, both as intertwined with one another as you and Aegon. 

Though the four of you were close none of you shared an inkling of a relationship with your eldest sister. Rhaenyra had left for Dragonstone and never turned back, no word or ravens ever arrived in her stead. 

When she had resided in the Keep she made no effort to hide her aversion towards you. She was a specter in your memory and marked as a heathen by the Queen. The Queen marked Rhaenyra a great many things and left a bitter child you swallowed her words like water.

It came to no surprise to anyone when the Queen announced that Vaemond Velaryon was bringing into question the validity of your nephew’s claim to Driftmark. After all Rhaenyra had done a very poor job of hiding her indiscretions. 

━━☆━━

On the day of the trial you sit in front of the hearth dreading the affair that was to come. As the hours passed you prepared to become a part of the circus, another spectacle for the Lord and Ladies of the Kingdom to gawk at. Prying eyes were always trying to glimpse at your injury, trying to validate the whispers of gossip they had heard. They were children and you, a parable came to life—a reminder of how cruel the Gods could be. The Cursed Targaryen Princess who could not hatch or claim a dragon. A clear demonstration that even the Targaryens were exempt from their own fire. 

Eyes followed you even when not a single body was around. They haunted you mercilessly. The constant feeling never allows you to inhabit your body comfortably. It was the reason many of your dresses had been tailored towards your lesions. Tailored towards the concealment of the damaged  skin of your shoulder and upper arm. 

Your dresses always had long sleeves even during the hot summers. The scars that could not be hidden with fabric were hidden by your hair. Never was your hair tied up or styled in extravagant fashion. It was only ever neatly placed out of your face in a simple manner. 

With the sound of your chambers doors opening you surface from thought. Aegon steps into view, freshly bathed with his hair combed and wearing an exasperated look. 

“The Keep is a mess” he says slumping down next to you. He throws his head back leaning uncomfortably on the divan 

“Your sisters arrival warrants pageantry” 

“Your sister” he clarifies 

You scoff, Rhaenyra had not been your sister in years. She had always tried to marry you off to a Lannister or whatever Lord presented himself as willing. She thought you incompetent and arrogant, endowments she believed were smears of her mothers memory. 

She was one to cast judgment, you’re sure Aemma would not have been keen on having illegitimate grandsons. What was the saying of House Arryn… As High as Honor. Bastards were anything but. 

“Has she not summoned you?” he looks at you curiously

“She has,” you respond boredly. A servant had entered your chambers the day prior, her head tilted towards the floor as she spoke. Her timidness struck you as odd and instantly you knew she was one of Rhaenyra’s. With a smile you sent her back to her mistress, refusing to tangle yourself in her web.

Aegon smirks, “She is to be Queen and you deny her” 

“She pedals falsehoods and you forget she is not Queen yet”

He laughs shifting in his seat, his eyes never leaving you. While you hated being watched, Aegon's gaze was different. He was never trying to pry you open or overzealous with morbid curiosity. He always regarded you with esteemed affection and tenderness. 

After a long pause you say, “Is there something on my face?”

His stare doesn’t waiver and he doesn’t respond. It is rare when he forgets how bewitching you could be but when it strikes him, he is at a loss for words—overwhelmed by the realization. His eyes shine with novelty as if it is the first time he has ever laid eyes on you. As if you were the grand encompass of the ocean and he was ready to dive in.

You utter his name and he’s awoken from the spell he had been under. 

He stands offering his hand, “We should take our leave now”

“You’ve never been one for punctuality” you tease and he smiles

“No, but I have been informed to behave. To present an image of regalness and grace” a laugh escapes his lips, “As if I am Aemond”

Now you laugh taking his hand, “He is much more regal than you” 

Aegon clutches his chest just over his heart, feigning hurt, “You injure me”

With your arms laced together you set off to find Aemond and Helaena. It would have been improper for Aegon to enter without his wife and for you to show up in the arms of a married man—regardless if he was your brother. It was a rule the four of you rarely followed but today was not the day to deter away from customs. 

Helaena is the first to spot you in the halls, Aemond is with her. A bright smile displayed on her face as she said your name. You can’t help but admire her, always effortlessly beautiful and far more intelligent than anyone gave her credit for. The picture of what women of your house were to be, beautiful, intelligent, and dragon riders. Everything you were not and though she did not hatch an egg she had claimed Dreamfyre. You should have been mad with envy but no such ill feeling ever came.

You loved her, perhaps no envy was born due to your ever present feeling of having to protect her. Of shielding her from the claws that embedded themselves into Keep. Destroying any sight of light or innocence. Fearing she would be treated like you had been. 

You depart from Aegon to greet Helaena with a kiss on the cheek. Moving towards Aemond to do the same, he greets you with a compliment before extending his arm for you to take. 

“Always so chivalrous” you say loud enough for Aegon to hear

━━☆━━

The hearing had gone to shit. Your father made a surprising appearance, Vaemond had died, Lucerys was still heir to Driftmark, and everything was as it had been the day before. 

You stand beside Aegon and Aemond in the dining hall, the room is lit by candle light as chatter fills the air. 

“What a waste of time” Aegon huffs

“Dinner or the hearing?” 

“Both. Lucerys is still heir and Daemon suffers no consequences.”

Aemond chimes in, “Their breaths are an insult to everything we stand for”

You nod about to speak when the sound of the wooden door opening announces the arrival of the King. Quickly everyone settles to stand before their seats, seating only after the King is seated. 

Your father greets everyone with a hoarse voice. He wears a golden mask on the rotten side of his face and he breathes as though it pains him. 

“Prayer before we begin?” The Queen asks and he nods 

Instantly your head is bowed, your hands are in your lap, and your eyes are closed. Prayer had become a daily ritual before dinner and it was always led by the Queen. 

Before the prayer is over you feel the sensation of eyes on your skin. You think it to be one of your nephews but when the prayer is over you see it is Rhaenyra. 

Her eyes are casted with an emotion you cannot read and they soon drop to your shoulder. Eyeing the scars that edged just above your shoulder and the base of your neck. 

Feeling the scrutiny of her gaze, your hands find your hair moving it to disrupt her viewing. You had been judged by the vultures of the Seven Kingdoms, you would not allow Rhaenyra to do the same. 

The expression on your face is clear, Rhaenyra has gotten to you. 

Aegon notices your discomfort, notices how your hair now falls over your chest, and how your eyes are focused on the empty plate before you. Instantly he knows someone is to blame. He first assumes it to be Daemon, his uncle was crude and unceremonious. Having little regard for the people around him, not bothering with niceties. 

But when he sees Rhaenyra attentively watching you—casting judgment—he knows it was her. Aegon almost laughs at her hypocrisy, as if she out of anyone had any right to look down upon others. 

If his sister wanted something to look at, then he as a gracious brother would oblige in the only way he knew how, by causing a scene. The one thing Aegon was adept at was getting under people's skin, poking and prodding until they burst. 

He leans towards Jacaerys spewing his obnoxious rambling. When his nephew bites back Aegon leans back in his chair reveling in the beginning of his antics. 

The sound of wood scraping against stone makes you cringe, your father is standing removing his mask displaying the rot that has taken over the left side of his face. Eye’s are averted at the bare sight of the King’s face, but you are accustomed to seeing rotten skin. His teeth can be seen through his cheek, the muscle stretching and contracting as he speaks—it's a morbid sight. 

He speaks of reconciliation and forgiveness but you pay him no mind. Besides you, Aemond keeps his eyes forward, Helaena has her eyes on the wooden table, and Aegon’s jaw is tight as he stares at his wine cup. 

You spent the next couple of moments with your head in the clouds. Surfacing from thought when Rhaenyra toasts to the Queen, thanking her for looking after the King. You’re surprised when the Queen follows after, her kind words confound you. But you have no time to think them over as Aegon stands from his seat. Stepping between Jacaerys and Baela pouring wine into his cup.

Aemond looks suspiciously towards you but you had no answers to give him. When his eye leaves you the table shakes and Jacaerys stands as Aegon sits. With furrowed brows you look at Aegon who sips on his wine with ease. 

The room falls silent and Aegon is reviling in the tension, trying not to smile triumphantly as he uses his cup as a shield. 

The tension in the room grows thicker when Aemond stands. He’s looking at Jacaerys with the marksmanship of a hunter who had spotted their prey. 

Eyes shift and concern is painted on the faces of almost everyone. 

Jacaerys playfully hits his uncle on the shoulder, raising his cup as he smiles at Aemond, “To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth” Jacaerys pauses looking between his uncles, “And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles”

Across the table you see the snarky smiles of Jacaerys’ betrothed and Lucerys. Their smugness lights a flame in the furnace of your heart. You have half a mind to stand with Aemond, to show that their disrespect would not be tolerated. 

“To you as well,” Aegon says 

When Aemond sits you lean towards him, “Fucking miscreants”

“Vermin” he responds as Helaena stands. 

She smiles excitedly holding her cup of wine, “I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena. They’ll be married soon” she turns to them, “It isn’t so bad. Mostly he just ignores you, except sometimes when he’s drunk” she smiles

You let out a small laugh at her words. Aegon was rather whinny when drunk, he became a rambling needy mess who desperately wanted attention. And you were always there to give it to him in any shape or form that he needed it in. 

Smiling, you raise your cup towards Helaena, “Hear, Hear”. The scarlet wine falls down your throat with ease and your moment of enjoyment is shortly ruined by an approaching Jacaerys. 

His eyes are set on Helaena as he extends his hand asking her to dance. To your dismay she takes his hand without hesitation. You’re staring daggers at the Prince, indignation replaces the taste of wine in your mouth. Helaena was far too kind for the world. 

Aegon’s eyes catch yours before he looks at Jacaerys dancing with his wife, disbelief and annoyance clear in his face. 

In one swift motion you move to stand beside Aegon, “The apple does not fall from the tree” you glare at the hazel haired prince, expecting a response from Aegon but you get none. Confused, you turn towards Aegon only to find him gazing across the table. He’s quiet as he sips from the cup in his hand watching Rhaenyra laugh and talk with their father. Viserys is smiling and coughing through his laughter and it is the most alive he has been in years. 

“She arrives and suddenly he can will himself to walk and attend supper” he says only for you to hear 

You look up towards the sight of his words—your father and Rhaenyra and you understand. His jab was not said out of anger but out of a feeling of lacking. All the traits and characteristics Rhaenyra had that he did not, the love of their father she had that he did not. 

“You’re jealous” 

He turns towards you, “Are you not?”

“No”, you lie

“She’s father’s favorite”, he’s looking up at you through his lashes, “I’m the son he killed for and it is not enough”

You avert your gaze, his words struck like an arrow. A part of you had always felt responsible for the birth of Aegon. At fault for the death of your mother, the death of your brother, and the birth of Aegon. If you had not been a butcher, if you had been a boy his burden would be yours.

“You didn’t kill anyone Aegon” you sip wine solemnly, your posture falters, and your head is half hung. 

Aegon notices your somber spirit and his eyes soften realizing the error in his words, “I’m sorry, I meant no offense”

“I know”, is all you say returning to your seat

As the night passes you eat and make conversation with Aemond. For most of the night his eye is set on the dancing prince and princess. Occasionally when he looks at you his lips pull upwards in a smile.

After your father retires for the night, servants enter with more food. A cooked pig is laid out before you and before you can think Aemond’s fist hits the table as he stands. 

“Final tribute” 

All eyes fall on Aemond and the room goes quiet.

“To the health of my nephews. Jace…Luke and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…” he pauses and it is as if all the air in the room has been cast out, “strong”

Your eyes widen in shock as the Queen pleads with Aemond. 

“Come let us drain our cups to these three…strong boys”

“I dare you to say that again” 

Aemond turns towards Jacaerys, “Why? ‘Twas only a compliment”, they both walk towards one another, “Do you not think yourself strong?”

Lucerys rises from his seat as Jacaerys strikes Aemond, Aegon is not far behind grabbing his nephew and slamming him against the table. 

Bolting upwards you grab Helaena pulling her away from the chaos. She grips your hand tightly frightened by the scene. 

“Are you alright?” you ask

She nods, “Yes but Aemond” her hand points at the exiting prince. Understanding, you pull Helaena, following Aemond. 

Once you’re in the halls you follow the sounds of Aemond’s steps, Helaena runs towards him. She latches onto the side of his arm soothing the riled prince. You’re about to do the same when laughter echoes from beyond the hallway—Aegon. 

Grabbing the side of your dresses you hold it up allowing yourself quicker movements. With your approach the shadow of Aegon grows smaller and his laughter grows louder. 

You say his name as you grab his arm. When he lays his eyes on you they widen excitedly, your name falls from his lips, “You are a vision. Have I told you that? Come, come, let us retreat into our burrow”. He gives you no time to respond as he throws an arm around you and leads you away. 

The burrow was a small unfinished room at the far end of the Keep that had been hidden by a suit of armor; it had been discovered by Aegon when he was ten and two. Immediately he ran to inform you about it, dragging you into the room. It is not large like either of your chambers but it’s spacious enough that both of you can move without bumping into one another. Rugs and sheets hung throughout the floor and walls hiding the decaying walls. Bottles of wine littered the room, both empty and full. 

Aegon is drunkenly rambling, as you make sure there is no one around to see you gently push past the suit, “”Twas only a compliment” he mimics Aemond’s voice. 

Sitting near the corner of the room you grab a bottle and Aegon moves towards you. He rests his head against your lap spilling wine into your dress, not that you cared. He’s laughing recalling the events of the night.

With a laugh you respond, “Jacaerys’ stance was laughable, he looked like a child throwing a tantrum” 

“He is to be King”, his laugh dies as the sentence leaves his lips, “He is to be King” 

You both grow quiet, the words weigh heavy over the both of you. The realities of a future that is so close to becoming reality. If you were believed to be a stain on the Targaryen legacy, Rhaenyra's children were desecrations to the Targaryen dynasty.

“Perhaps your mother is right,” you sip from the bottle of wine not fully thinking about the words as you speak, “Perhaps you should be King”

Aegon half laughs, pushing himself into a sitting position, “You speak of treachery” 

“Your mother says—”

“My mother is crazed on a notion that we will be slain” 

You wish you could believe him, but the image of your sister's husband swinging his sword without mercy does not leave your mind. How easy it would be for Rhaenyra to rid herself of you once she is Queen; there were fates far worse than death. 

“Enough talk of foreboding futures. Let us drink ourselves blind” 

“Hear! Hear!” you eagerly agree

True to Aegon’s words you both drink until your visions are blurred and the room spins. You both dance and drink carelessly, laughing as though the events of the night had no effect on you. It comes as no surprise when Aegon leans towards you and presses his lip on yours. The kiss is sloppy and full of hunger, your teeth clash and tongues swipe over one another. There’s a desperation in his hands—in the way he holds your face obstructing any movement. In the heat of passion you bite his bottom lip earning a yelp from Aegon. 

He pulls away with a smile, “Ow”

Your hand rest on his chest playfully, “Don’t be a child, I didn’t draw blood” 

The rest of the night blurs into a giant mirage of jubilation. 

━━☆━━

As the sun rose you wake with a yawn, your body aching from the uncomfortable position it had been in all night. Your head had been on Aegon’s lap and his arm had been thrown over your body. Maneuvering from his embrace you press your back firmly on the brick wall, your head throbbing feeling as though it had been repeatedly bashed.

The sun’s rays kiss your cheeks, it's warm and gentle and for a brief moment the world around you falls into obscurity. Nothing else matters beside the sun’s golden touch and the beating of your own heart. 

The body besides you grumbles and your moment of serenity shatters as Aegon slowly stirs into consciousness. You’re brought back into the arms of reality.

“Wine,” he says, “More wine”

You don’t waste your breath, instead you make your way to your chambers. Stumbling the first few steps out of the room. Peeking your head out of the door way you make sure there is no one around before exiting. 

Walking down the corridors there is an air of urgency within the Keep. There were twice as many Knights as you were accustomed to seeing and servants hurried into the direction of the Great Hall. Regardless you carry on, not bothering to greet any of the people who greeted or called after you. 

Approaching the hallway to your chambers you’re unexpectedly faced with the sight of your wooden doors wide open. Stepping closer you see three figures standing at the center of your room; Aemond, Ser Criston, and the Queen.

Puzzlement rests on your brow, what had transpired in the hours you and Aegon had disappeared. As you continue your approach you can see the faces of your visitors all displaying an array of emotions.

“Your Grace,” Ser Criston states as you walk through the threshold, “The Princess”

The Queen turns towards you instantly, wasting no time in embracing you, “Oh sweet girl” 

Her embrace wasn’t foreign but the sudden action confuses you further. 

“Where have you been? Where is Aegon?” she pulls away but keeps her hands on your arms

You looked towards Aemond trying to find any answers on his face but there were none. 

“I’ve just left Aegon. Has something happened?” 

“Where is he?” The Queen’s grip on your arm tightens. Desperation is in her eyes and it frightens you, enough that you decided to keep Aegon's whereabouts to yourself for the time being.

“We snuck out of the Keep last night. Upon returning to the castle Aegon left my side” 

She turns towards her sworn Knight an unsaid order ushering him quickly from your chambers, Aemond follows suit. 

When they’re gone you repeat your question, “Has something happened?”

“Your father is dead, he died in his sleep”

Her voice was grave and her words echo in your mind but you can’t decipher them. It’s as if you have lost the ability to comprehend the common tongue. 

A moment passes and you realize what your step mother had said. Silently you wait for grief but it never arrives, there is no sadness in your heart, no invading sorrow. Your father is dead and you shed no tears for his memory. 

“I–I need a moment,” you pull away but before you can leave the Queen pulls you towards her. Her hand is under your chin lifting your head just enough to meet her gaze.

Her eyes are round and full of distress, “You know where Aegon is, I beg of you, bring him to me. It was the King’s dying wish. Do not let my father get his hands on him first”

You nod and hurriedly walk out of your chambers, returning to your burrow. The throbbing in your head returns but you try to disregard the discomfort, there were far more pressing matters. 

The closer you got towards Aegon the faster your move, breaths of air forcibly escape as enter through the hidden door. You thank the Gods when you see Aegon in the same position he had been when you left. You rush to his side, dropping to your knees shaking him.

“Aegon, Aegon. Wake up, Wake up”

He groans and his speech is slurs. Letting his arms go, he slouches into a half sitting position half laying. His eyes flutter open for a moment and your name falls from his lips. 

“‘Tis me,” you cup the cheeks of his face almost painfully. He tries to move away from you but you do not yield, “Aegon, father is dead”

You watch your words register in his mind. He blinks his eyes open and takes a breath, pushing you aside. 

“Your jest are not appreciated, my head is murderous” 

“It is no jest, the King died in his sleep” 

Like you had with the Queen, Aegon takes a moment, his eyes are wide looking through you making sense of your words. 

“Father is dead” he repeats. His hand passes through his hair, a look of distress clear on his sunken face

“Yes and your mother and grand feather are searching for you”

“For me? What could they want—”

Realization hits you both like a strong gust of wind, knocking all the air out of the room. The line of succession crosses your mind for the first time. You had thought nothing of the Queen’s words about your fathers dying wish but you understood them now. Of course, the Keep was in disarray because the Hand was trying to sit Aegon on the throne before news of the King’s death spread.

“They mean to crown you” 

Crowning Aegon would be treason and all those who participated would be punished with death. The idea does not frighten you as much as the idea of Rhaenyra on the throne. You’d surely be sent away, sold off to be the pretty little Targaryen wife of Lord who’d defile you. And the realm would fall to pieces with a spiteful malicious woman at its helm. 

Aegon looks at you horrified, “No. They can’t. I am not heir”

“That does not matter, it was the King’s dying wish to have you succeed him”

“On whose word?”

“Your mother’s”

Aegon scoffs, “She is crazed, fuelled by her hatred for Rhaenyra”

“You may think her crazed, but your mother is a woman of the Gods, she would not lie about a matter of this caliber”

He opens his mouth to speak but closes it quickly. His back is against the wall, he looks disheveled, dirty, and disarranged. Tears swell in his eyes and he swipes them away with his sleeve. 

“A dying wish he had years to fulfill” 

“I know not the whims of old Kings, but I know regret. It is clear in the words he spoke to your mother that he wanted you on the throne, his first born son” 

“What kind of brother would I be to take the throne from Rhaenyra?” 

“By the law of Gods and Men the throne is yours. You cannot steal what is rightfully yours” 

“I do not want the throne” he argues 

“Aegon” you plead 

“No! I will not take it,” swiftly his hand grab yours, “Let us climb on board a ship escape to Essos or on dragonback—”

You interrupt his crazed thoughts squeezing his hands, “Listen, Rhaenyra only cares for her own, she has never cared for us. If you let her ascend the throne what will come of your mother? Of Aemond? Of Helaena and your children? ” you pause, “Of me? She sees my existence as blasphemous and yours as opposition. If we leave we are leaving those we love to die. Ascend the throne Aegon, protect us” 

Silence encompassed the room, Aegon ran his eyes over your face searching for answers, trying to understand what was being asked of him and if he could undertake such a task. You return his gaze with soft eyes and gentle hands. 

He had never thought himself a leader let alone a King. He did not want the pressures and responsibilities of leading an entire land. Aegon would no longer be able to hide under his title of prince, as King. He would have to be the picture of Targaryen greatness and regalness—heavy is the head that wears the crown. He wants to laugh at the notion but his chest is heavy with your words. 

“Do you understand?” there’s a desperate edge in your voice and he doesn’t respond, “Aegon, do you understand?”

“Yes,” he nods

#targaryen reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader fic #aegon ii targaryen/reader #hotd x reader #hotd fic #aegon ii targaryen fic #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen fic

[rinniiart]

Commission for @queenmillicentbystander on X for their fic Those Who Favor Fire. Their outfits are so cuteee 🫰

Check it out!

Those Who Favor Fire by queenmillicentofbystander https://archiveofourown.org/works/40623999

#shera #she ra #spop #catradora #Adora #Catra #she ra and the princesses of power #fanart #Rinniiart #artist on tumblr #Sapphic #art #illustration #sketch #Those Who Favor Fire

[bradshawsbaby]

Hands Off

Pairing: Rooster x Wife!Reader

Author’s Note: I’ve received several general requests for protective/jealous Rooster fics. While I don’t think Rooster is someone who gets jealous, in the sense that he trusts his wife completely, he definitely is super protective. I hope this piece works for all those of you who requested something along these lines!

Warnings: Some language, a creepy pervert acting like a creepy pervert, a small physical altercation.

“Another round over here, hot stuff!”

You did your best to refrain from rolling your eyes, making your way over to the table in the back, where one of the most obnoxious men you’d ever encountered in your life was snickering with his friends. Setting your tray down on the table, you began clearing away their empty glasses, your chin held high as you did everything in your power to ignore their leering glances. You had purposely worn a pair of high-waisted jeans and a T-shirt with The Hard Deck’s logo on it, one that completely shielded your chest from prying eyes. But creeps would be creeps.

“I’ll be right back with a fresh round for you guys,” you told them in as neutral a voice as possible, managing to sidestep the hand that was coming perilously close to your behind.

“Thanks, cutie,” the jerk in the pink polo shirt said with a wink and a lascivious grin.

Skin crawling, you lifted up your tray and quickly moved away from them. If Penny wasn’t such a good friend, you would’ve walked out of The Hard Deck right that minute.

Though you technically hadn’t been on payroll at Penny’s bar since before you and Rooster were even engaged, you still volunteered to help out from time to time on the nights when The Hard Deck got really busy. You always refused to take any money from Penny, but she insisted that you keep your tips. It was a little agreement that the two of you had come to.

“Are those guys giving you a problem?” Penny asked as she refilled their drinks. She shot a look over at their table, where they were guffawing obnoxiously, probably at some stupid joke.

You glanced over your shoulder and followed her gaze. This time, you did roll your eyes. “No more so than your standard, run-of-the-mill loser,” you told her, carefully arranging the mugs of beer on your tray.

“Y/N,” Penny sighed, shaking her head. “I can ask them to leave. Or tell them they’re going to have to buy a round if they don’t cut it out. You’re doing me a favor. I don’t want you—”

“It’s fine, Penny,” you cut her off, smiling. “Really. Not worth making a scene over. You don’t need any more stress.”

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Penny replied, still looking skeptical. She shot another glance at the table in the back, then smiled conspiratorially. “Rooster and the others will be here soon anyway, huh? I’m sure they won’t want to mess with them.”

“Definitely not,” you laughed in agreement, hefting the full tray of beers over to their table. “Here you go, gentlemen,” you said politely, setting their drinks down in front of them. They were the farthest thing from gentlemen in your mind, but you’d learned to be polite to even the rudest of customers from your full-time waitressing days.

“Why don’t you join us, hot stuff?” Pink Polo smirked, brushing his hand against the back of yours, which made you stiffen immediately. Evidently the wedding band sitting very snugly on your finger wasn’t sending a clear enough message.

“Can’t,” you told him curtly, snatching your empty tray back up. “There’s a lot of other customers who need me. Plus, my husband will be here any minute,” you added pointedly.

“Husband, huh? You got a husband stupid enough to let his pretty little wife prance around this bar all night?” he shot back, leaning back in his seat smugly.

You bit your tongue to keep from firing back at him, not wanting to cause any trouble for Penny. But his words, paired with that smug look on his face, had infuriated you. Swallowing back your anger, you pasted a false smile on your face. “No, but I do have a husband who respects and trusts me enough to let me help out a friend,” you told him, spinning away without a second glance. The sound of their laughter echoing behind you made your blood boil.

Dropping your tray on the bar, you closed your eyes and took a couple deep breaths. There was no point in letting a pack of losers like that ruin your night. Just as you were getting ready to turn and go check on some of the other customers, you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist from behind and a familiar cheek press against yours.

“There’s my best girl,” Rooster whispered in your ear, grinning as he captured your lips in a quick kiss of greeting.

You laughed, instantly feeling better once you were in his arms. “Well hello,” you grinned, turning so that you could wrap your arms around him. He had swapped his flight suit for a pair of jeans and one of the Hawaiian shirts that you knew had belonged to his dad. Handsome, as always, was your husband.

“How’s the night going? No one giving you any problems, I trust?” Rooster asked, raising an eyebrow. You could tell he was only half-joking.

“None,” you fibbed, pressing a reassuring kiss to his lips. There was no point in telling him about the creeps from the back. It would just upset him, and for what? He deserved some time to unwind after work. Those jerks weren’t worth a fight. 

Over Rooster’s shoulder, you spotted your other friends already congregating near the pool table. You waved to Phoenix, Bob, Payback, Fanboy, Coyote, and Hangman, who all waved back and shouted their greetings to you. Mav, too, had arrived with the rest of the team and was already helping Penny behind the bar.

“Why don’t you go have some fun with everyone and I’ll bring you guys some drinks, okay?” you suggested, resting a hand on his chest as he stole another kiss from your lips.

“Come sit with us, baby,” Rooster begged, resting his hands on your hips and giving you his best puppy-dog look.

You smiled at that, swatting at him playfully. “I will when I can. But I’m here to work tonight,” you said, shooing him away.

“Don’t keep me waiting too long, Mrs. Bradshaw,” Rooster winked, making his way over to play a few rounds of pool.

For the next hour or so, things went just fine. The Hard Deck started to get more crowded, just as you all had expected it to, and you were running orders back and forth all over the bar. Pink Polo and his friends continued to get more and more intoxicated, their comments becoming increasingly lewd and perverted.

“Maybe I could show your husband how a real man handles his woman,” Pink Polo whispered with a smile that sent a shiver down your spine.

Hurrying away from him, trying to push his comments out of your mind, you found yourself running straight into your husband’s arms.

“What’s wrong?” Rooster asked, taking one look at your face and knowing something was up. He touched a gentle hand to your cheek, his eyes meeting yours.

“Nothing, just getting a little flustered with all these orders. I’m out of practice,” you told him with a smile, deflecting as best you could.

Rooster didn’t seem to buy what you were saying completely, but he didn’t push the point. “Let me help you then.”

“You don’t have to, babe. You’ve already been working all day. Go have fun,” you told him, giving him an appreciative kiss before sending him back on his way to the pool table.

“Oh, hot stuff!” came Pink Polo’s irritating voice.

Sighing and wondering when the hell he was going to leave, you turned to find your least favorite customer waving his empty glass in the air and smirking at you.

“Another round, babycakes,” he told you, teasingly holding the glass out of your reach when you went to take it from him. “Oops, sorry,” he chuckled, finally handing it to you. 

As you turned to leave, however, he suddenly reached out and smacked your ass. Hard. Despite the music blaring, the sound of it seemed to reverberate throughout the whole bar.

“And make it fast, sweets,” he winked.

Before you could even blink, before your brain could even fully register what had just happened, your husband was already tearing across the bar, the rest of your friends shouting loudly as they followed behind him.

“What the fuck did you just say to her?!” Rooster demanded, roughly grabbing Pink Polo by the front of his shirt and hauling him out of his seat.

Your husband was the kindest, gentlest, most loving person you knew. But he was also fiercely protective of those he loved and completely unafraid to get physical when he needed to. You could tell from the rage blaring in his eyes at that moment that he felt he needed to. No one was going to disrespect you like that and get away with it, not if Rooster had anything to say about it.

Pink Polo’s friends stood up and moved as if to lunge at Rooster, but quickly backed down the second they saw Coyote, Hangman, Payback, and Fanboy taking up the rear, ready to back Rooster’s play. Bob, knowing he was the least intimidating looking of all of them, hung behind the rest, still wanting to offer his support if needed.

Penny and Phoenix grabbed your arm to pull you back, Mav making his way over to keep an eye on things as well.

“Huh? What the fuck did you say?” Rooster repeated, shaking the creep by the front of his shirt. “You think you’re gonna put your fucking hands on a woman like that and get away with it? Let’s see how you like it when I put my fucking hands on you,” Rooster shouted, raising a fist as Pink Polo attempted to scramble out of his hold, his useless friends just staring, slack-jawed.

“Baby, no!” you cried out suddenly, covering your face with your hands in panic. “It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it,” you told him, knowing your husband would go to any length to defend you.

Rooster looked back at you, recognizing the concern on your face. Normally, he wouldn’t have backed down in a situation like this, but when he saw how much stress it was causing you, he slowly lowered his fist.

“You’re lucky my wife’s a better person than I am,” Rooster told Pink Polo through gritted teeth, letting go of his shirt and shoving him away. “Get the fuck out of here.”

“I’m going to settle my tab,” Pink Polo sneered, reaching for his wallet.

“You know,” Penny said, stepping forward in that instant and raising a hand. “One of the rules of my bar is that if you disrespect a lady, you buy a round. But I’ll do you a favor. You can just get the fuck out of here and never come back,” she told him coldly, prompting a chorus of cheers from the crowd.

“Fine,” Pink Polo frowned, glaring at Rooster and then at you. “God, such a big fucking deal over one stupid slut.”

Not even you were able to stop Rooster this time as he slammed his fist directly into Pink Polo’s nose, knocking him to the ground.

“I think you broke my fucking nose!” he cried out, blood spurting out and staining his lovely pink polo shirt.

“Aw, what a shame,” Hangman sighed, bending down to pick him up with Coyote’s and Payback’s assistance. “Penny, my dear?” he asked, looking over at her with a knowing grin.

Smirking, Penny gave a nod to signal exactly what they should do with him. As the rest of the crowd booed and tossed their drinks at him, Pink Polo and his friends were tossed soundly out onto the sand.

“Wish we could say it’s been a pleasure,” Payback smirked, slamming the door shut behind them once he, Hangman, and Coyote were back inside.

Once Pink Polo and his posse were taken care of, everyone surrounded you, checking if you were alright and asking if there was anything they could do. But you only had eyes for the man standing before you, his bruised knuckles and slightly skewed Hawaiian shirt the only indications that he’d been in any sort of scuffle at all.

Stepping over to him, you wasted no time in wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his neck. “You didn’t have to do that,” you whispered, holding him close.

“Yes, I did,” Rooster whispered back, stroking your back gently as he pressed you close to his chest. “Nobody’s ever going to disrespect you like that, baby. Nobody.” He pressed a kiss to the side of your head, then pulled back to look at you. “Are you alright?”

“I should be asking you that,” you replied, lifting his bruised hand to your lips and pressing a tender kiss to his knuckles.

“Ah, I’ve had worse,” Rooster grinned, reaching up to cup your cheek with his battered hand. “Totally worth it to defend you, Mrs. Bradshaw.”

“God, I love you,” you told him, wrapping your arms around him and kissing him soundly, right there in the middle of The Hard Deck.

“Ugh, you guys are gross,” Hangman joked, rolling his eyes as everyone else laughed and turned away to give you both some privacy.

“Thanks for protecting me, baby,” you whispered, snuggling against his chest.

“Always, honey,” Rooster murmured, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist for the rest of the night.

#bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #x reader #x female reader #miles teller #top gun #top gun: maverick

[spaceprincessem]

but when it's over i'm still awake | 51k buddie fic | ao3

[or the buddie catching fire au]

The cameras cut to President Gerrard as he takes the stage, the anthem playing in the background. Eddie wants to crawl out of his own skin just looking at the man. His snake eyes and snake smile and the phantom smell of blood and roses nearly makes Eddie choke.

He opens a golden envelope and pulls out a card, making a show of it as a restless hush falls over the crowd.

“On the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Hunger Games, our Third Quarter Quell, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest amongst them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors.”

There’s a beat of drop dead silence.

“The victor’s names will be divided into two bowls for the reaping and tributes may only volunteer for those who are in the same bowl.” President Gerrad smiles softly, clasping his hands together like an elderly grandfather about to give his grandchild some age old advice. “May the odds be ever in your favor.”

The television switches to the seal of Panem as the anthem closes out.

Eddie knows his entire family is looking at him. Horrified expressions, glossed over eyes, tears already slipping down cheeks.

Existing pool of victors.

There are only three victors alive in District Twelve.

Bobby. Buck. Eddie.

Existing pool of victors where you can only volunteer for the person you’re being reaped with.

Three names. Two bowls.

Eddie doesn’t have to guess which name will stand alone on Reaping Day.

He’s going back into the arena.

Eddie doesn’t hesitate as he takes off out of the house at full speed. If his family is calling after him then he can’t hear a single word. Not with the blood roaring in his ears and the desperate urge to run run run pumping thunderously in his veins. He needs to get out of here. Out of District Twelve. Out of Panem. Out of his skin and this body doomed to go back to the one place he was supposed to be safe from.

He doesn’t want to go back into the arena.

He survived. He got out. He’s a fucking victor.

But, of course, who is ever really safe in a place like this?

read the rest on ao3

tagging those who showed interest @eddiebabygirldiaz @hippolotamus @shortsighted-owl @monsterrae1 @devirnis @wildlife4life @buddierights @hoodie-buck @spotsandsocks @renecdote @disasterbuckdiaz @colonoscopys @thewolvesof1998 @epicbuddieficrecs @idealuk @bigfootsmom @blackberry-l @darkrose6578 @kananjarus

#buddie #buddie fic #catching fire au #911 #the hunger games #catching fire #it's HERE #god fuck finally #sorry if i forgot to tag you

[deepdisireslonging]

Wanna *Beep* You Tonight

Dean and the Reader are caught in traffic after a case. The Reader convinces Dean to agree to the best way to pass the time.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings/Promises: SMUT, voyeurism, this poor car, cream-pie, situational humor

Word Count: 1630

Note: Yes, I used two Little Mix songs back-to-back. They’ve got really inspirational stuff. Only one more song-fic for the Summer Playlist after this one. Let me know how you like the fic, the series, anything at all in the comments and with your reblogs. Happy reading!

“Beep Beep” by Little Mix

“Oh, come on!” Dean reached for the horn, but snatched his fist away. It wouldn’t have done any good. 

Leave it to Sam to find a hunt in Vegas. Then ditch you and Dean so that the impala could get stuck in traffic after the big fight let out. 

“Why are there so many people?” You asked for the fifth time. Taking your elbow off your eyes, you sat straight in your seat. “Who drives out of state after the fight? Vegas is an oasis of hotels for a reason.” With a huff, you motioned at another traffic bailer. “See! Go back into town. And stop gumming up the works for the rest of us.” You were quietly jealous of the dust cloud they left in the wake.

Music was no good. Dean’s cassettes were long out of your favor. And he didn’t appreciate your adaptor for you could play your music. In the quiet that took all the air in the car, you could hear the music and arguments from the cars around you. Dean was mostly content to lay back, cross his arms, get comfortable, and take a nap while traffic was frozen. You were too fidgety. You flicked the air up and down. Checked the radio stations for levels of static. Poked Dean’s keychain to make it jangle. 

“Would you mind not fondling all my buttons?” Dean cracked an eye to glare at you. 

“I thought you liked it when I fondled your buttons,” you mumbled. As he grinned, your face lit up with a smile. He didn’t move when you slid to sit immediately by his side. “Hey, Dean-“

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Lack of privacy.”

“It’s dark.” You rolled your eyes towards the windshield. “The stars are exhausted of this night. It’s dark as heck out there.” With a whine, you looped your arm under his. “No one would see us,” you whispered in his ear. Turning on the charm, you nuzzled your nose against the shell of his ear. “We may be gridlocked, but the thought of you is driving me wild.”

Dean barked a laugh. “It is too late at night for those kind of pick-up lines-“

“The thought of you sliding your hands all over me. Over my chest. Around my waist. C’mon. We’re stuck on the 202, I love making love to you. I’m going stir crazy in here. And if you won’t help me out, I’m going to take care of myself.”

His eyes snapped up just as you snapped open your jeans. Fascinated, he watched as you pulled them down just low enough to reach in between the denim and the cotton of your underwear. After another thought, you removed your jeans entirely. Your other hand reached for your chest. To your delight, Dean’s hand slid up the steering wheel and squeezed. You closed your eyes and rolled your hips. Starting cold like this wasn’t a good way to come to a finish, but the lust in Dean’s gaze was plenty of heat to start your fire. 

“Tell me what to do, Dean,” you hummed. “If you won’t touch me yourself, tell me where to move.”

“Move-“ Dean licked his lips and cleared his throat of the squeak, “move your hand into your hair.”

“Like this?” Purposefully, you took your hand out of your pants and threaded your fingers into your hair. You imagined how Dean liked to tug when he had you in his lap or on your knees. Biting your lip, your hips rolled. 

Dean shook his head, his breath coming out short. “No. The- the other one. Put the first one back.”

“Okay.” You switched which hand was in your hair, and which was playing with your breasts. 

“No- for fuck’s sake.”

When you opened your eyes, Dean was leaning over you with a glare. 

“Brat.”

“Always.”

He crowded into your space further, pushing you down to lay across the front seat. At your neck, your collarbone, the valley of your breasts, Dean sucked and kissed from one target to the next. You writhed beneath him. Your hands gripped his arms and tugged at the hem of his shirt. He pushed them away. Eventually, he trapped them above your head so he could ravage you without you getting in the way.

“Hey-“ you moaned when your mouth was free. “I thought- I thought you didn’t want to do this? To many people and all that.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

“Alright then.” He grinned against your skin. Then he sat up, taking you with him to land on his lap. He guided you to grind against his growing bulge. When his head fell back, you took the opportunity to latch your lips around his pulse point. His hips jolted into you. Of the hands guiding the rolling pace of your hips, one slid up to continue the kneading of your breasts that you had started. Already you were panting. And Dean’s breath came out in puffs on your cheek.

He grunted as your hands fumbled with his belt. The zipper. A long groan rumbled against your skin as you brought his length into the open. With Dean literally in your hands, you weren’t taking any chances that he would draw this out. You immediately pulled your panties to one side and sank down his length. Dean gripped your shoulders. Though whether it was to slow you down or to force your body down further onto his cock, you couldn’t really tell. He bit at his knuckles to keep from crying out as you seated him inside you fully.

“Don’t do that.” You kissed his fist and pulled it away from his face. “Wanna hear you. Wanna make every car hear you for a mile around.”

He chuckled, closing his eyes to the pleasure of your slow opening movements. “Noise ordinance. Cops-”

“Fuck the cops. I’m fucking you and there’s nothing they could do about it.”

That may have been true, but there was something Dean could do about it. He gripped the back of your head, bringing you close for a kiss that stole your breath. And your focus. Before you knew what, he was thrusting faster than you could control. You broke from the kiss with a strangled grasp. With his large arms wrapping around your waist, there was nothing you could do except hang on for the ride. You reached back, one hand finding the steering wheel.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the couple in the car next to you had stopped arguing. You couldn’t see their faces through the tint of their windows, but you knew they were watching. It made your walls clamp around the cock within you.

“Dean-“

“I know. I see ‘em. ‘S what you wanted, isn’t it? Having the whole highway know how impatient you are?” He forced your shirt over your chest so he could kiss between your breasts. “Come on, Sweetheart. Show ‘em what we’ve got.”

His movement sped up, making you cry out. Your earlier threat to make Dean loud enough for the highway to hear began to ring true as his thrusts began to falter. He hugged you close, muffling his moans with your chest. It made your hand slip, catching on the gear shift. A twist of his hips, and you saw stars as he speared the point that made your mind mush.

“I think I broke the stick.”

“You better not have,” he growled, thrusting harder.”

Between moans that increased in pitch, you managed, “been dreaming all day.” You bounced up and down, finally gripping the steering wheel again, but your hand slipped and accidentally hit the horn, “dreaming about jumping on this-“ The car horn went off, startling the people in the cars around you.

Dean laughed. “Been wanting to ‘beep’ you all night to, Sweetheart.”

Ahead of you, other car horns started going off. It didn’t register for you what it meant. You were too busy chasing release. But Dean managed to crack open his eyes.

“They’re starting to move.”

“Good for them,” you breathed.

Dean reached for your clit. “We better get moving.”

You nodded, squeezing and clamping your walls in any way that zinged you with pleasure. Maybe time slowed down. Or sped up. You couldn’t tell, and you didn’t care. Your vision whited out behind your closed eyelids. Dean hoarsely called you your name. He held you down as he came deep inside. You let your body go limp. Even with overstimulation threatening, you didn’t want to move. You kept bouncing, lazily moving to prolong the sparks of your release.

“Baby, you gotta stop-“ Dean tried to move you, but you wrapped your arms around him. “Traffic’s movin’. I gotta start the-“

“I’m not finished.”

He managed to at least roll you off into the seat so he could turn the key. The Impala roared to life and set off just as the cars in front of you cleared out. His cock still laid against his leg, dripping with him and you.

You scooted close to him and reached out. Nuzzling your nose against his ear, you worked his length until it swelled in your hand.

The people in the car next to you waved at Dean. From the driver’s side, the guy gave Dean a thumbs up, which was returned.

“I think they liked our show.”

You hummed. “Good. If they can keep up with you, they might get another.” You circled your thumb around his slit. The Impala roared again as Dean pushed the gas pedal almost through the floor. He kept up that speed, looking for any hotel so he could finish round two. You both settled for the first dark turnoff that wasn’t crowded with traffic.

***

***

Masterlist

Other Dean WInchester Fics:

Love Like Lightning: Part 1 (Smut) : Part 2

Last of the Season (Food Mention, Fluff, Smut)

In Heaven’s Eye (Smut, Challenge Fic, Demon/Angel AU)

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #winchester x reader #reader insert #supernatural #spn fanfiction #summer playlist 2023 #summer songfic series 2023

[thegoldencontracts]

Let's Play!

After seeing Azul fall asleep at his desk, you decide it's time for an impromptu game night to relax. Of course, things end up being the opposite of relaxing.

Notes: Just pure fluff, GN reader, some flustered Azul at the end bc he was smug the whole fic and we can't have that hehe

"That's lovely to hear."

"Azul?"

"I barely said anything!"

"Mhm. Exquisite!"

"Wha- are you even listening to me?"

"You're not listening, are you?"

"Truly, fascinating."

"..."

"Azul? Did you just fall asleep?"

"..."

And that was how you ended up calling for an impromptu game night, just the two of you. It'd be fun! And maybe Azul could go to bed at a normal time afterwards.

"You just fell asleep, didn't you?"

"This is entirely unnecessary, you know."

"I do know," you said. "But it'll be fun. Do you even know what that word means, takoyaki?"

"Don't call me that."

"No can do, takoyaki. Now, what game do you want to play first?"

Azul just glared at you petulantly. You glared back. After a while, he gave up.

"Fine, fine," he said. "Scrabble. And don't expect me to go easy on you."

"Like I'll need it," you said.

You quickly regretted those words. He beat you at every single round. How? It wasn't even close! Why was he just so good at this?

"How do you-"

"Heh," Azul said, a smug grin on his face. "It seems as if you're having some regrets."

"Why, you-!" You were getting fired up. "You know what? I'm picking the next game! We're playing Uno! Good luck winning every round of that!"

He did, in fact, win every round of that. Somehow. How? It was a luck-based game, for God's sake!

"I- how did you-"

"Trade secret, my dearest," he said. "I do believe it's my turn to pick our next game, then. How about Monopoly?"

Monopoly. Yeah, that would work. Monopoly was literally about rolling dice! There was no way he could rig that!

He did. Somehow. All the rolls were in his favor. How? You checked to see if the dice was loaded. It wasn't.

"That was just you cheating!" You said.

"Have you forgotten you're playing against a member of the Board Games Club?" He said, then at your deadpan stare, added "I learned to trick throw dice.

"But that's cheating!"

"No, it isn't. There are no rules against it."

You got the feeling he wasn't going to back down on this one. Luck-based games were out of the question, then. And so were skill-based games because he was good at everything. That was all games!

Wait. You had an idea. But you would wait before trying to implement it. You wanted to end things with a win for you. That way, you could pretend Azul was at a loss.

And so, you let yourself get clobbered, over and over and over again. Now, it was the last game of the night, and it was your turn.

"Any last wins to hand over to me?" He said, smug as ever. You were going to make him eat those words.

"Why yes," you said, relishing how what you said next wiped the smirk off of Azul's stupidly kissable face.

"Twister."

Azul glared at you.

"Ah, but dear," he said bitterly, "I'm afraid we only have two players."

"That's okay, takoyaki," you replied in kind. "I have a hands free spinner online.

Azul gulped.

"Are you certain this is your choice?"

"Absolutely," you said.

You could see the bead of sweat that dripped down Azul's face. Twister was a game about flexibility, something that Azul lacked. It also put people into compromising positions, kryptonite to someone who cared as much about their image as Azul.

"I-I see," Azul said. "Let us start, then."

Twister was far more satisfying than the other games. Azul struggled way more than you did, limbs trembling with exertion, and he still refused to give up. He was so adorably stubborn.

By the end of it, you were in an easy-to-hold downward dog position. Azul, on the other hand, was stuck in an arch. Heh.

"You sure you don't wanna give up, Azul?" You asked.

"Hmph. As if I'd- Ack-!"

Azul fell, and before he could hit his head, you caught him, before pulling him into a kiss as a reward for your bravery.

As you broke away, gently lowering Azul onto the ground, he looked away from you, face red.

Cute.

"Hmph," he groaned, mumbling his words, "what was that for?"

"A prize," you said. "For me. I won this round, after all."

"And I won all the others," he said. "And yet I haven't received any prizes."

"Do you want a prize, then?"

You said it as a joke, but he bashfully nodded.

"Well then," you said. "All you had to do was ask!"

As you pulled him into a kiss, you couldn't help but think that your boyfriend was absolutely irresistible.

#azul ashengrotto #fluff #azul ashengrotto x you #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul x reader #twst azul #twst x reader

[precious-little-scoundrel]

My Mother’s Child

Fandom: House of the Dragon, GRRM’s Fire and Blood

Pairing: Alicent Hightower x Aemond Targaryen

Summary: im a sucker for any GRRM universe and setting but after the recent release of the trailer for House of the Dragon’s second season I can’t quite contain the muses. So here is my self indulgent spillage of thoughts i entertained while watching the first. Perhaps growing up obsessed with Greek Myths, Shakespeare Anti-heroes and Renaissance families took its toll on my moral fascinations but the minute I see a codependent dynamic in a brutally restricted society I go a little nutty on the psycho-analysis and then it turns to feelings and then it turns to fiction.

Timeline: I’ve entirely had my wicked way with events and outcomes, nothing is critically pertinent but Aemond’s time in the Riverlands is changed, the time of Maelor’s birth is fudged, Aemond doesn’t die but is recalled to be regent again after Aegon’s demise, I’ve really no clue which of the Blacks are alive but the gist of it is the war has gone in favor of the Greens for the most part and now Aemond can come into his Crafty Uncle Richard III Regent era while obsessing over his pretty mom. Cheers.

Authors Note: im in no way romanticizing or advocating for the universe typical incest, warped relationships, casual murder, deranged intentions or the dire outcome portrayed of a stunted mother’s dependence on her worrisomely dependable son. Not proof read, have mercy on my tired eyes. Specific warnings below the cut:

Warnings: 18+, dead dove do not eat -thematically disturbing. An exploration of Alicent’s dependence on Aemond during his regency and beyond, undertones of attraction on Aemond’s part and submission to him on Alicent’s, combined with their delusional domesticity by coparenting little Maelor may disturb some. There is some physical touch that Aemond makes weird, his impure thoughts that are blamed on Targaryen tendencies, his recollections of sleeping in her bed as a child, him fucking Alys Rivers and imagining his mom sorta? along with sending Alicent his cum stained letters, calling Maelor “their boy” as if they are his parents, open ending suggesting a potential escalation in the dynamic. I tried to keep this as in character as possible so these warnings sound far more stark and crass than I hope the actual fic reads

It was Aemond sent to fetch his wayward brother, it was Aemond relied upon to soothe his sister, it was Aemond who absorbed Ser Criston Cole’s teaching, it was Aemond who stood any chance of gaining Otto Hightower’s commendation and through it some crumb of praise for the produce of poor, weary, teary eyed Alicent Hightower.

It was little more responsibility for Aemond Targaryen to quickly become the closest thing his mother had to a bosom friend by the time of his maturity, easily adding so weighty a role to those he already held as Lord Regent, terror of the realm, kinslayer and learned heir. It came as naturally to him as had filling each of its predecessors.

Whatever hopeless compulsion, dragon bound and magic made, to be loyal to his family that already ran in his poisoned blood, it was only ever magnified by the sight of his mother’s dutiful martyrdom, year after year bleeding herself out -and all the while not a soul to staunch the wound but him. Surely her husband the King only made it larger with each neglect or attention he paid her, and Aegon had long since been the sour fruit of a painful initiation. Helaena for reasons as gentle as they were cruel could not bear her own mother’s company -nor was the realm that sweet daughter lived in that of the Seven Kingdoms, where Alicent spent her every waking moment dwelling on and maneuvering for her boy King. Helaena lived in dreams and lived to avoid dreams and all Alicent had were harsh realities and dreams so trodden under the march of time that they resembled very little to their former selves by the retelling.

Aemond lived in the bridge between the two women of his house. There were dear to him the cherished traditions of Old Valyria and also, there were crucial to him the pressing matters of harvest and uprising and famine and the throne of Westeros.

He too lived in the Seven Kingdoms, he was practically their king, and like the manner in which he had long led this family by innate authority, such a role came naturally to him, as did sitting by the hearth in his mother's antechamber each evening, a recreation of the way he had stayed with her night after night in the wake of Driftmark, and discussing with her the petitions of the day, outcomes whose decisions needed making before dawn and hopes for the future.

Aemond felt close to her then, and dismal though the Kingdom’s prospects often felt, between the two of them there was calm in these moments. For once in his life Aemond did not find himself chafing under its soothing influence, but instead he would match her in her reclining, legs spread wide in his chair and silver head tilted to rest on the gilt chair, their hands near to brushing and let the connection grow until he wondered if he too were a dreamer and could know her inner thoughts, know her bewilderment and also her relief when he took from her the weight of the day with his sober companionship.

It felt odd parting in the evenings after these talks, what had once been a ritual of her comforting his painful wound in his youth and holding him close through the nighttime terror now felt necessary to be repeated as cure from her own dejection. Only her last remaining grandson Maelor provided some support to Alicent, she herself a child grown old using her own children to soothe herself.

Aemond saw to it that Maelor was brought often to their evening chats, a docile boy with an intense interest in blocks, he was no distraction from their more weighty discussions but when the evening grew late and the moon high and Aemond’s better judgment waned at the soft sight of his mother’s tender form and unguarded appreciation for his presence by her side, there was Maelor to place in her arms in instead of himself, and there was Maelor to pat her arms and lay upon her breast and enjoy the uncomplicated devotion of a mother that Aemond had never known.

Perhaps if his father the King had even once played the role of father, Aemond would not have spent his childhood clasped to that soft bosom while pretending he were the one being comforted by it and not her. He was older now and he had read of such dynamics, he had read of myths and scandals, Maester’s studies of the codependent phenomenon that blurs the line between each familial role. Childlike herself, his mother deserved not another man to have designs on her but a child, a true child she could dote upon and cuddle at night and a good son to tell her,

“You are weary, come, I’ll walk you to bed. Nevermind his blanket, I have it.”

and so it was Maelor who lay with her, Maelor who delighted her, Maelor who took up the space that had last been Aemond’s under her left arm. Only Aemond now allowed himself the task of tucking the furs about them both and stroking the tear tracks off her cheek, leaning down to kiss her forehead as she had dreamed of her own father doing. And then, Aemond betook himself to his own chambers laden with her burdens and his own and fell into the bedding with pleasure in his heart at having been entrusted with the wearisome load.

It continued thus in a pleasurable routine until the Riverlands called for his attention. Aegon was propped up, scarred and dim, on his neglected throne and Alicent was made Protector of the Realm and immediately thereafter Aemond found himself in the courtyard, Vhaegar waiting for him to mount and lead the reinforcements.

As Aemond pressed his thin lips to mother’s forehead in farewell for the duration of a long campaign, little Maelor who was in her arms laid hold of Aemond’s silver locks and seized them tightly during the moment between mother and son, holding the prince hostage a bit longer, for a moment nearer,

“dada.” -the infant nephew babbled to his uncle Aemond for a kiss of his own and to judge by Alicent’s alarmed expression, Aemond’s enforced separation from this little family they had made of a year’s evenings could not have come a moment too soon.

It haunted him, that flash of horror on his mother’s face at an infant’s small confusion. It brought back a seething reproach against her for all the times she’d never understood him, all the times she had raged against his very nature as a Dragon, holding him up with disgust and pride all at once until his head spun with it and he had learned to dance to her every whim, now the devout follower of Old Town and now the noble Dragon whose rights were being denied.

But woe to him should he be one or the other when it did not suit her. She thought his innate longing for a dragon to be imbecilic when he was young and yet she glowed with pride when he called out those Strong bastards for being anything but pure blooded dragons themselves.

As always with her duty, she hated herself for its outcome yet chose to cloak herself in pride for her sacrifices. His very existence, those of his siblings too, was sacrifice, his very bloodline and nature was an abomination against her faith, his impulses were beastly however much he took her principles to heart, and his tastes remained strange no matter how stifled her own had long remained.

But she had made him. How dare she be repulsed by her own creation.

Prince Aemond’s ire burned through him and suited the needs of war far better than kinder feelings of pining for hearth and home, so he stayed angry with his mother at each hack and hewing of his blade, each swath of farmland he burnt and every ill organized column of traitor levys he annihilated.

Capable, he is the capable son and his mother writes to him thanking him for it and he crushes the missive in his hand before regret surges after and he strokes the parchment flat again on his desk with all the revernace of a lover for his beloved’s skin.

He is kinder the parchment than he is to Alys Rivers.

Alys who is older and smart and wicked, who never once flinches at his nature, who accepts the ruthless pace of his hips and the mauling of his mouth with her own vigor, Alys who he swears to himself is a wartime necessity, the humors most flow somewhere and if he is to bleed he must also spill and she is there and trustworthy and her aura reminds in the moments after pain, warm arms holding him tight on his right side lest he roll on his wounded eye in sleep. The eye does not throb in that raw way any longer, it is a dull and perpetual ache he can expect to remain with him for all time, but the longing for such comfort remains and he lays atop Alys’ matronly breast often for longer than his daylight-sobered self can countenance.

He writes of her to his mother, to grieve her with his sin as much as not to withhold anything from her, he has not before and why should he now? Her reply is stifled and terse in regards to his admission, barely even a line and he must squint to decipher wether it pertains to the subject he is most anxious to hear from her about. But as he thumbs the well familiar scrawl of her pen he can imagine the set of her mouth and the pleading of her eyes, so different from true distress, no, instead it is the girlish patheticness she plays at, despite its lack of success all these years and how the same years have robbed her of the youthful vulnerability that once made men take notice of it.

Only Aemond remains affected by it, and he finds it so deliciously false that he teases it out of her as a treat for himself on occasion. Aegon may have it whenever he sees fit, though being a fool he thinks every crease to her forehead is that of genuine concern. Aemond’s knows her better than that, and sees her pouting eyes come through the written admonition to “keep himself in good company”.

He smirks at Alys when she enters his tent and finds him rolling up the motherly advice. He ploughs her atop the volumes of communication his dear mother has sent him during this campaign and the parchment he sends back to her with his report next morning is stained.

Aemond doesn’t need to hope that she smells his letters for sweat and smoke the same way he smells hers for rosewater and thyme. He knows she does, he has caught them under her pillow and in her pockets when returning to the Keep, time and again, without warning. He knows she prays for him to outlive them all and he knows she will kiss the stains she mistakes for tears. A holy horror fills him at the satisfaction that thought brings, and after it has taken root he cannot find it in himself to enjoy Alys’ cheerful vigor any longer or the dark appetites they once shared. She is too eager, she is too unabashed, there is too little shame for his taste.

Alys is a whore and Aemond longs for the droopy eyed piety of his mother’s face when he tucks her abed, the melancholy contentment of his dutiful care for her and the mislaid trust that she has domesticated her little dragonling to the faith of the seven, her plaint limbed trust that the Warrior and Mother would never meet in the throes of burning want that consume him.

When his task is done, or near to done in these rebellious lands, and a call comes of his brother’s failing health, Aegon mounts Vheagar a disillusioned man, flying high and away above the wreckage he has committed and leaving behind the last Strong bastard dead as promised.

Alicent’s son is a man fully grown when he alights in the courtyard, long limbed and toned from his wartime deprivations, the set of his jaw remains firm but his gait is looser, there is a confidence in bloom now that was only budding before he left. Alicent cannot hide her joy at seeing him again, her pace is faster than is strictly proper as she breaks ranks of the welcoming party to greet him -it is her right as reigning regent.

As his mother.

She clasps his hands and feels his strong fingers engulf her forearms, tugging her nearer in an almost playful fashion -the action suits his new demeanor of confidence but it hardly suits the action of a son greeting his mother.

“Muña,” his rich voice murmurs to her as he stares down at her with not a bit of the usual softening in his sharp features, his lips quirk and his eyes sharply plumb through the depths of her own, “I am come home, as you asked.”

Unnerved by his intensity, Alicent gives him a trembling smile, watery eyes darting from one dear feature in that ethereal face to the next -it is the war terrors, perhaps, that have him so ardent in his tone and grip, men often come back from battle strung taut.

“Then we are safe.” she sighs, meaning it for their family even as her own heart quickens in vague misgiving.

“Maelor?” he questions, not even bothering to ask after the current king, his blood brother, it is the infant he has already fashioned into a surrogate son that interests him now.

“Is well.” his mother glows at the mention of the babe, “Growing and talking more each week.”

“And his mother?” Aemond asks with a soft light in his face as he ducks to meet her eye to eye, and Alicent knows he does not mean the poor Helaena gone mad in the tower, he means Alicent.

“Well enough.” She insists with all the age-old weariness that suggests, and is meant to inform him, otherwise.

Aemond’s jaw ticks in recognition of the old habit, his mother lies often for so pious a woman and she manipulates even more frequently for so devout a defender of the truth. It is a child’s tactic and he knows it, and that fury over it that had filled him in his days in the Riverlands surges back in another form, he feels a superiority in that moment even as he is being played by her weary pout and soft hands.

It is a woman’s way of asking a man to carry her load, to disarm her of her duties, to take from her the pretense of capability and taste for ruling.

Aemond’s conflict for such a role died somewhere with Alys in the Riverlands, by his own hand, in his own bed, his mother’s last letter dancing before his sightless eye. It is with confidence and entitlement that he glides his hands down her shapely arms and takes her hands in his, weighing them between them as she watches in surprise. He thumbs over the knuckles before splaying them out in his much larger palms and running a forefinger over the mangled cuticles.

“Mmm, not well enough for my liking, judging by this.” he remarks and when she goes to snatch the evidence of her worry away he clasps them stronger until it is an undeniable struggle for her to take them back -one he denies with an iron grip and a patronizing smile that she has only ever seen Aegon receive from him. “Those days are over, munta, we will have peace and plenty now.” he drags her stiff arm through his own and turns them towards the entrance of the Keep, patting the sore fingers laying on his arm, “And I’ll have no more of…this.”

Dazed, Alicent allows him to lead her through the great doors and into the colossal tomb that has been her children's home, she stares up at the familiar face of her third born in the light of the grand hall’s torches and marvels at the comfort one existence can bring another. Just as she fears the firm hold on her hand and heeds the temptation she feels to obey a man child she should be governing. These thoughts are put to flight when Aemond halts and turns to her warmly, no sneer remaining and no cold authority left when he whispers excitedly,

“Will you take me to our boy?”

The instant awareness of his meaning, that he means his nephew, that he means her grandson, that he means the future king, that he means Maelor -it sickens her how natural her impulse is to smile back at Aemond’s oddly paternal expression, to lead him back to her antechambers and reunite the little family they made before the war called him and that witch possessed the son Alicent had so lovingly made pure and noble in her belly. It is balm to hear him grown and saying that they are one again, that she is paramount in his life once more, that together they have made something gentler and better than any bastard lovechild conceived in wartime.

“Come.” Alicent urges her son, taking his scarred hand in her soft one as she had a million times before to lead him to the Sept. Yet this time, Alicent leads Aemond to her rooms and the cradle of their future King.

#house of the dragon season 2 #house of the dragon #alicent x aemond #aemond fanfiction #prince aemond #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #hotd alicent #queen alicent #alicent hightower #Alicent fanfiction #Alicent Hightower fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #game of thrones

[thirstyforcharacters]

*The Hunter and the Hunted (Din Djarin x Bounty! Reader)

Summary: You were a master thief who, even when captured, always managed to escape. Maybe, that was about to change.

Warnings: smut!!! 18+ only!!! enemies to (sort of) lovers, hate sex, vaginal fingering, orgasm denial, p in v sex, unprotected sex, slight sir kink, humiliation/degradation, mean (ish) mando

WC: 1941

Notes: The Din Djarin fic is here! I had originally had something totally different planned that I ended up hating lmao, and this is fic number two, which I think turned out much better! Enjoy the filth😈

Stealing was second nature at this point. It was all you knew. At first, it was just a piece of bread from a food stand to feed your hungry sister. During the war, it was smuggling secret plans to either side; you got your paycheck regardless of who you did the job for. Now, it was taking large sums of money, treasure, and other important items from the rich. You were always on the run, though you were used to it by now. You had been caught before, but escaped every time.

This time, you were hiding out in the dense forests of Dantooine, far away from the settlements in the grasslands and hills. It was the same routine. Steal, hide out for a month or so until law enforcement and bounty hunters forgot about you, then steal again. You kind of enjoyed when you got to lay low; it gave you time to rest and plan your next move. But it was now sundown, and the lack of electricity on the planet meant that you couldn’t do much after the sun had set. So you quickly checked your traps, meant to ward off potential intruders, then settled down for the night.

You woke up to the sound of one of your traps going off. Silently, you climbed down from your bed, peeking through the window. You could see a tall figure outside, but they didn’t appear to be trapped. Instead, it seemed he purposefully set it off. Cursing under your breath, you knew this was one of the rare instances that you would have to flee. You quickly and quietly gathered your things and slipped out of the back door, clutching your blaster tightly.

Only for you to be slammed into the ground!

You pushed the figure off of you, purely running on instinct as you fired a shot at them. But the shot bounced off of the armor that you could now see. Beskar.

You cursed lowly again. Of course it was a Mandalorian. Though your traps had fooled many, and your fighting prowess defeated those you couldn’t outsmart, a Mandalorian was a completely different beast. One that you weren’t sure you could beat.

In a flash, he shot flames at you, which you skillfully dodged as you fired a few more shots at him. Annoyingly, all of your shots missed as he moved out of the way. Unexpectedly, he shot a whipcord at you. You leaped to the side, almost dodging the attack, but the cord snared your leg! You shot at him a few times in an attempt to keep him away while you tried to cut off the cord with your vibro knife, but he was too fast, pinning you to the ground and using the excess cord to bind your hands.

“Let me go,” you hissed, trying to kick at him.

But he held firm, binding you practically from head to toe. He dragged you behind him, forcing you to leave behind your temporary home and all of your epic traps (which was sad, you spent a long time making those). Though you struggled, he was stronger, and he pulled you all the way to a very old ship. He pulled you up the ramp and shut it behind you, finally letting you go in favor of going to start up the ship.

Manipulating your body within your binds, you managed to grasp your knife and cut yourself free. But it was too late to truly free yourself, for the ship took off before you could open the door. Cursing seemed to be a common theme for you today as your fist landed on the side of the ship in frustration.

Footsteps clambered down from the ladder that you assumed lead up to the controls until the Mandalorian was in front of you once more. Though you couldn’t see his face, you could feel him glaring at you.

“Listen, we both know I can’t go anywhere right now,” you reasoned, trying to get him not to tie you up again.

But he grabbed a pair of manacles and approached you, forcing you down onto a bench. You knew better than to resist.

“You’re the fucking worst,” you spat as he chained you, “I literally can’t do anything to escape.”

“But you could still try to kill me.”

For some reason, the deep timbre of his filtered voice, as well as his close proximity and the way he was able to pull you around like you weighed nothing was doing it for you. You clenched your thighs instinctively, hoping he missed it. But as the rest of your evening had proved, luck was not on your side.

He wrenched your thighs open with his large hands, and you were sure he was smirking when he said, “Is this doing it for you?”

“Of course not,” you lied, trying to pull yourself away from him.

But the Mandalorian held you steady, “You’re lying. Tell me the truth and this might end in something we both want.”

Your thighs tried to close again, but he held you open, fingers brushing higher on the clothed flesh.

“It might be doing something for me,” you mumbled, knowing that this wasn’t a situation you wanted to get out of.

Sure, he was going to turn you in for a pretty large sum of money. But why not enjoy yourself while you still could? Besides, you knew you were going to break out anyway.

“Yeah? You want this?”

“Yes.”

With your affirmation, he yanked your pants down your legs, not bothering to fully take them off.

“Not much time, we’re almost there,” he muttered, pulling off his gloves and shoving two of his fingers into you.

You cried out in pleasure as he groaned, “Fuck, you’re wet. Good thing you are, need to keep things moving.”

“Then just put your cock in me!” you snapped, “don’t waste your time with this part.”

He shook his head, “Have to. I’m too big, I’ll hurt you a bit too much if I try now.”

“Didn’t care much about hurting me when you were bringing me to your ship,” you hissed.

He sighed, curling his fingers and prodding a spot that had you arching off of the seat, “That was different, and you know it. Now shut up and let me open you up for me.”

He punctuated his sentence with a sharp thrust of his fingers, adding a third as you writhed in his grip.

“Shit,” you gasped, “fucking close.”

As soon as the words left your lips, he pulled his fingers out, making you groan in frustration.

“Have to be nice in order to get what you want.”

The remark simultaneously made your blood boil and your pussy wet. Especially when he started pulling off some of the armor that clad his legs. You tried not to gasp when he shoved his own pants down his thighs. You hadn’t believed that he really needed to open you up until this moment: he was fucking huge. The Mandalorian climbed on top of you, lining himself up with your entrance, but making no move to push in. You tried to pull him closer, but your hands were still bound.

“What the fuck are you waiting for? You said we didn’t have a lot of time!” you exclaimed, hooking your feet around his thighs in an effort to pull him closer.

The filtered chuckle that sounded from his helmet made you shiver, “Remember what I said about being nice?”

Your eyes widened, “Are you serious?!”

He pulled away from you, sending the horny parts of your brain into a sex-depraved panic, “Wait, please! Don’t go!”

He stopped his movements, but made no move to come closer. You could feel his eyes boring into you in silent triumph. He knew he had you, the sly motherfucker.

You sighed, slightly in humiliation as you caved, “Need your cock, please, sir.”

“That’s a little better,” he crooned, enjoying the way you squirmed slightly in embarrassment as he lined himself up again, “keep going.”

You cursed under your breath as you begged, “Please fuck me, sir. Never been so wet in my-oh!”

You cut yourself off as he pushed the tip into you. Even that felt big to you, and you knew it was just the beginning.

“That’s a good slut, begging for me,” he growled in your ear, but his voice softened as much as it could as he continued, “tell me if it hurts, though.”

“I will,” you promised, “please keep going.”

It felt excruciatingly slow as he filled you up. You could feel every inch, every ridge, and every vein as he entered you, and you couldn’t help the impatient, yet desperate noises that spilled from your lips.

“Told you I was big,” he remarked as he was fully sheathed inside of you.

“Guess I’ll see if you’re all talk-”

Any further insult you could’ve come up with was cut off with a sharp gasp as he pulled out almost the whole way and slammed into you.

“Oh fuck!”

Each thrust was just as intense as the last, driving you up the bench until your head was almost hitting the metal wall with every thrust. It was almost animalistic; the way his hands crushed your thighs in his strong grip, his grunts into your ear, and the way your eyes couldn’t help but roll into the back of your head. You buried your face into his shoulder, trying to muffle your moans.

“Don’t hide from me, slut,” the Mandalorian growled, one of his hands tangling in your hair and yanking you away from his shoulder.

You sobbed out in pleasure from the pain now pricking your scalp in tandem with his harsh thrusts. You honestly couldn’t speak even if you tried, your mouth permanently stuck open with your whimpers and moans.

“Not so mean when you can’t speak, hm? Maybe you would’ve been more willing to come with me if I had stuck my cock in you first,” he taunted, but you knew he was right.

You couldn’t tell him you were about to come, but the way your thighs trembled and the increased volume of your moans told him everything he needed to know.

Two of his skillful fingers rubbed your clit as the hand in your hair moved to your throat, squeezing slightly as he held you down.

That was all it took, your body spasming beneath him as you came harder than you ever had before.

“That’s it,” he murmured as you fell apart, “look so pretty like this.”

The soft compliment was unexpected, but it added to the pleasure of your orgasm. You didn’t really notice him pulling out and fucking his fist until he spilled onto your thighs. Surprisingly, he disappeared and returned with a scrap of fabric, cleaning the both of you off as best he could. Even more surprisingly, he unlocked your manacles, and you rubbed your wrists where the cold metal bit into your skin.

“Think it might be good to keep you around,” he offered simply before disappearing into the cockpit.

You felt the ship turn in a different direction as you smirked. Once again, you had avoided capture, though this time, you had a feeling you wouldn’t stealing anything else.

He came back down the ladder, having placed the ship on autopilot.

“You know, it might be good to have a business partner. Someone who knows where the criminals hide out so you can get a few more bounties,” you offered.

“I was thinking the same thing.”

You had a feeling you’d enjoy this partnership very much.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian x reader smut #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian one shot #the mandalorian blurb #the mandalorian writing #din djarin #din djarin smut #din djarin x reader #din djarin x reader smut #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x you #din djarin fic #din djarin one shot #din djarin blurb #din djarin writing

[idyllic-affections]

how abt hcs abt gn teen (around 15-16) reader being kaeya’s biological younger sibling !!

if we have each other.

summary. what is it like being kaeya's teen younger sibling?

trigger & content warnings. child abandonment.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. fluff, slight angst. kaeya & younger sibling!reader. 0.7k words. they/them pronouns for reader.

author's thoughts. anon omg... ive been wanting an excuse to write something like this again for a while! i am a professional platonic kaeya enjoyer <3 anyway i hope you like these!!! i decided not to go into the whole ragnvindr family drama thing because honestly? i go into that a little too often when i write about kaeya. i chose to give him a break today!

i see kaeya being very protective of his sibling. he's not so protective that it comes off as overbearing, but he's definitely very involved in their life only because he just... doesn't know what he'd do with himself if he let them get hurt.

given that he basically had to raise them...

it makes sense for him to be so involved. sure, he had help from the ragnvindr family, but kaeya did the most work when it came to raising his baby sibling.

when his father abandoned him in mondstadt, he also abandoned his youngest child, [name]. they were about two or three at the time.

he doesn't necessarily hold the same resentment towards the seven that other khaenri'ahns might, though he doesn't exactly lean in their favor either.

still... kaeya thanked the seven that they didn't get deathly sick (they were so young and frail that it really was a valid concern) that night in the pouring rain, despite how badly they shivered and cried. he'll never forget how utterly visceral their sobs were.

he doesn't doubt that they understood what was happening that night, despite how little they were.

because of that, kaeya doesn't hide anything from them. he tells them the entire truth about their origins as soon as they're old enough to coherently ask why their father abandoned them.

when kaeya and [name] were young, they were absolutely attached at the hip. once they're both older, they aren't seen together as much, but that isn't to say they aren't seen together; it's just that kaeya does have obligations as a knight and his sibling has their own commitments.

he loves them wholeheartedly.

if he had to betray khaenri'ah to protect them, archons know he'd do it. if he had to betray mondstadt to protect them, archons know he'd do it. he doesn't care as long as it means they'll be safe.

to kaeya, they are probably the most precious thing he has—ever since his falling out with diluc, at least. well... they were always his most precious thing. after his falling out with diluc, it just made them moreso.

part of the reason he despises those who threaten others' families is simply because of his sibling.

he does not take threats to their safety lightly, not at all.

kaeya's a very good brother overall, but he is 100% also the most annoying mf.

he's the type of older brother that makes his sibling do things for him and then guilt trips them when they tell him to do it himself LMAO

i feel like he can cry on command and does it just to make them feel bad when they tell him no!

you know that "i'm hungry. grill me a cheese" audio? yeah.

Kaeya: I'm hungry.

[Name]: So lick that coat, you smell like a—

Kaeya: Grilled cheese.

[Name]: What????

Kaeya: Grill me a cheese.

[Name]: I'm not grilling you a cheese!

Kaeya, sobbing on the floor:

[Name]: ...Oh, for Barbatos' sake.

kaeya, as protective as he is, is also very laid-back. his sibling has just about as much freedom as they could want (within reason, of course).

kaeya, his sibling, and klee are a chaos trio. the three of them have lit a concerning amount of things on fire.

he's very physically affectionate!

ruffling their hair, leading them along by the dip in their back, shoving them (lovingly)... he's clingy, really, and just likes being able to touch his sibling because it reminds him that they're safe and alive.

if they ever wanted to become a knight, he's right there to support them. if they wanted to become an adventurer, again, he's there to help them out.

whatever they want to do with their life, he's their greatest cheerleader.

kaeya will always support them, but he's also very tough on them when it comes to training them physically if their aspiration demands physical strength.

they want to be a knight? an adventurer? a traveler, perhaps? alright, but they need to take him down in a fight first.

he makes every duel with him the hardest fight of their life.

kaeya needs to be confident that they can effectively defend themselves, and if he isn't? sorry. they aren't going anywhere until he is certain beyond a shadow of a doubt. he needs to know they can handle themselves, because—as much as he hates to admit it—he may not always be there to protect them.

wouldn't it be interesting if they got a vision while in a duel with him?

that'd be a very fascinating twist of fate.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

#aphelion's headcanons 🌸 #favoniuslibrary #kaeya x reader #platonic genshin impact x reader #platonic genshin x reader #platonic kaeya x reader #platonic genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact x reader