#he always knows The Many Ways Things Can Go Wrong in any given situation

[snowyquokka]

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jeongin x fem reader

cw: angst (😈), breakup, kissing, swearing, mutual pining, mentions of cheating, kinda toxic/asshole seungmin (FORGIVE ME), not proof read bc why tf would i do that (im too lazy so my apologies if some of it doesn’t make sense lmfao-)

wc: 3.1k

a.n - so this is not how it was originally supposed to be 😭 it started as a seungmin fic but spiraled into whatever monstrosity this is lmao. everyone thank @solisyeah for the request ily. anywho i hope it’s good <3

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Seungmin furrows his brows as he inspects the photo on his screen. A photo of you with another guy, in his lap with your face nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

Just like you do with Seungmin.

On the very couch he’s sitting on.

At first he thought it was edited, because there’s no way you’d cheat on him, right? But as he took a closer look he just knew it was real.

He was tired, sore, and downright miserable from a rough day at the studio; he had to take way too many breaks for his liking and this picture was just the thing he needed to send him right off the deep end.

He shot up from his spot on the couch so fast it made his head spin, but that didn’t deter him from storming into your bedroom where you were sitting on the bed, aimlessly scrolling through your phone. Once you see his face you can automatically sense something’s wrong.

“Seung?” You tilt your head as you watch him take your apartment key off of his key ring before placing it on your dresser with a clink.

“Seungmin what are you doing?” You jump off of your bed as he slides his shoes on. He runs his fingers through his hair with a frustrated huff.

“I don’t- I think we just need a break. I need a break.” These words were the last thing you imagined to ever come out of his mouth, in this context especially. Or lack there of.

“Wha- why?” Your eyes glaze over with unshed tears that threaten to spill at any given moment. You don’t want to cry in front of him, you’ve always hated having your raw emotions on display like that, especially in such a powerless situation. “Seungmin, talk to me. What the fuck is going on?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. I’m not stupid.” Seungmin shakes his head “Did you really think you could hide it from me?”

“Hide what, Seungmin?”

“You should’ve just fucking left me. Spared my feelings, maybe. But I guess you’re just too selfish for that.”

Without another word he rushes out of the room, leaving you in shambles with nothing else to do but slide to the floor, curl into yourself and let the sobs take over your body.

Seungmin can hear you crying before he even walks out of the front door, causing his heart to clench in his chest and his gut to twist. Standing with his hand just brushing the door handle, he has to physically force himself to press on, to let you go, to accept his reality. The door slams shut behind him and the noise only pushes you further towards the realization that this is actually happening. You aren’t hallucinating, this isn’t some fucked up fever dream or an even more fucked up prank.

You just wish you knew why. No matter how much you try to put the pieces together, you’re always missing something. You can’t think of anything that could’ve set him off. Everything was perfectly normal less than an hour ago, yet all it took was five minutes to trigger the downward spiral of what feels like the end of the world- the end of your world.

-

“What’re you doing back here?” Jeongin slides next to Seungmin - who is still eyeing up the picture on his screen - on the floor. Jeongin nods towards the phone, “What’s that?”

Seungmin huffs and leans his head against the wall behind him, “I honestly don’t fucking know, I don’t even really want to know, actually.”

Jeongin reaches for the phone, pulling it out of Seungmin’s grasp. His lips part in a silent ‘oh’ as he inspects the photo. He’s assuming Seungmin hadn’t even given you a chance to explain solely based on his reaction, in typical Seungmin fashion. Jeongin turns his body to face the other, his face set in an almost disappointed expression.

“I’m going to say this with the utmost respect and I need you to not cause me any bodily harm-” Jeongin sighs before continuing, “You’re a dumbass. Like the dumbest dumbass I think I’ve ever seen. Like paboracha level dumbass. I’m talking-”

“Are you done?” Seungmin groans and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Are you done? God- you just fucked yourself over. If I were you I’d start praying that she’ll still take you back after all this crazy shit.”

“How did I fuck myself oven when she’s the one cheating? Or am I supposed to just forget about that and take the blame for it all like usual? She brought another guy into the same place I spend almost all my time at, and probably fucked hi-” Jeongin slaps his hand over Seungmin’s mouth, effectively silencing him before he could carry on with his bullshit.

“Hyung. Shut up.” The maknae slowly pulls his hand away as Seungmin’s eyebrows shoot upward. “Look I get it, you’re tired, you’re upset, you’re angry bu-”

“Can you fucking blame me? I can’t unsee it. I mean, you see how comfortable she looked with him.” he clenches his fists.

“Will you keep your mouth closed already? You’re killing me here, got a massive migraine now.” Jeongin groans and rubs his temples as he speaks “That picture was taken over a year ago. Before you even knew she existed, hyung. Besides, I know her better than anyone ever will, other than you obviously, which is why I suggest that you get your ass up and go apologize for being such a dumb fuck. Beg for her forgiveness if you gotta. Maybe get on your knees while you’re at it.” he sighs and stands, holding his hand out to Seungmin before pulling him up.

“How do you know she isn’t lying to you? How do you know she isn’t lying about anything else?” Seungmin finally says.

“Because she loves you too much to do that to you. God, have you always been this dense? You seriously need to wake up and realize how stupid you sound.” Jeongin mocks, prompting Seungmin to glare at him one last time before walking out of the studio. All the while unbeknownst to the younger standing with a frown threatening to pull at the corners of his mouth.

“He’s a fucking idiot if he let’s her go over this,” he mutters begrudgingly while he listens to the soft pur of Seungmin’s car in the distance.

-

Almost a week later you’re still waking up with puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. The first thing you notice is Seungmin’s apartment key still sitting on the dresser untouched. Well, it used to be his. You were really hoping that it was all just a shitty nightmare and that you’d still be tucked in his side with his soft snores being the only sound to fill the room even though it’s days.

You realize what had stirred you awake as another knock fills the almost suffocating silence. You’re half tempted to just ignore it, but something in your gut tells you to answer it.

“Oh, uhm- hi Innie.” you wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie. Or Seungmins hoodie, rather.

God you need to pull yourself together. How could you not even realize what you were wearing. Fuck.

“Hey,” Jeongin rocks back on his heels somewhat awkwardly, “Can I come in?”

You nod and mumble a soft ‘of course‘ as you move out of the way for him to slip past the threshold and into your apartment while you take a moment to collect yourself, and to put on the most convincing smile you can possibly muster.

“What’s up?” you find a spot on the couch next to him as he scans the room for a second, looking for any signs of whether or not Seungmin actually showed.

“He’s not here, is he?” Jeongin turns to you with sympathetic eyes, finding your own longing for comfort, seemingly pleading him for some sort of consolation.

“N-no but he’ll probably be back so-”

“He’s not coming back, y/n. If he was, it would’ve been days ago.”

Before you can open your mouth to protest, Jeongin has you pulled into his strong chest and tucks your head under his chin gently. “It’s okay, baby. I got you.” he sighs, rubbing small and slow circles on your back just the way he knows you like. He places a small, chaste kiss on the top of your head because he’s learned over the years that the action relaxes you and makes you feel secure.

Jeongin knows you like the back of his hand. Sometimes he thinks he knows you better than he knows himself. He knows your favorite food, your favorite season, your favorite movie. He knows how much you love to read, having periodically skimmed your shelves for books you may have and promptly buying you ones that you haven’t already buried your nose in.

Most importantly, he knows exactly what to say in order to subside your bad moods (he’s well seasoned in this field), and that sometimes you say things you don’t mean yet he never - and will never - hold that against you.

He knows just how much you loved Seungmin, not even wanting to imagine the amount of absolute heartbreak you’re feeling. Despite all this, he can’t help but feel somewhat relieved. You and Seungmin undoubtedly wouldn’t have worked in the long run and that’s exactly what you desire and deserve: a stable, long term relationship where you’d be taken care of and treated like the absolute goddess that Jeongin thinks you are.

He just wishes you give him a chance to treat you like his- more so than he already does now.

“Thank you, In,” you mumble into his chest.

“You don’t need thank me, baby. You know I’m always here.”

You did know that, you’ve always known that. Jeongin doesn’t let you doubt how much he cares for you, he’ll spend every waking moment reminding you if he has to.

You pull back slightly to look into his eyes. “I always end up burdening you with my problems.” Jeongin’s eyes soften at your apology and all he wants to do is hug and kiss and cuddle you until he thinks he’s convinced you enough of his adoration.

But for now all he can do is settle for words, though he can’t help but think it won’t be enough.

“Baby, please don’t be sorry for that. What kind of best friend would I be if I never listened to your complaints or rants?” Calling himself your best friend took more out of him than it should have and he tries to hide his hesitation. Thankfully you hadn’t noticed.

Hearing Jeongin say this makes you realize that he’s treated you better than any boyfriend you’ve ever had. Seungmin never reassured you like Jeongin does. Actually, now that you think about it, Seungmin didn’t do half of the things Jeongin does, even if it was the bare minimum.

He’s always like this, but why does it feel different now?

That’s just his personality, right? There isn’t any hidden meaning behind his words or gestures. Or the way he’s holding you and speaking to you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever had contact with. The sudden urge to reach out and cup his face is unreal. You just want to make sure you aren’t hallucinating. You wonder how you managed to find such a perfect person who thinks the world of you just as much as you do them. Someone who loves you just as deeply and truly as you do.

Wait what?

You’ve singlehandedly scared and confused yourself all at once now. Obviously you love him and he does you, but it feels as though you love him in a different way. A special way, one that you don’t think you’ve ever felt for anyone. Not even Seungmin, who you once thought was hands down your soulmate.

What you failed to realize, however, was that your soulmate has been here the whole time, and he’s holding you in his arms like he never wants to let you go.

You cut off your train of thought because he doesn’t want you like that and you’re making assumptions that could get you hurt.

Too late.

Another wave of sadness that has nothing to do with what upset you earlier washes over you.

“Baby? Hey, where’d you go?” Baby. Fucking baby. He’s got to stop calling you that. You want to tell him to stop, so why can’t you open your mouth and form those simple words.

“Mhm, ’m okay.” You can’t even bring yourself to put the tiniest bit of distance between your bodies.

You mentally scream at yourself for sounding so noticeably pathetic. He must think you are how could he not when you’re making it so painfully obvious.

“Don’t hide from me, baby. You know you don’t need to hide anything from me.” How ironic.

“I’m not- I just-” you huff and lean your forehead against Jeongin’s chest. God, when did he get so…buff? Has he always been like this?

He pulls your head back to force your gaze to meet his. “What did I tell you, hm? Talk to me baby. I’m all ears.” His arms encircling your body is the last straw before the world comes crashing down on you.

Tears flood your vision and you aren’t even sure as to why you’re crying this time.

Pathetic and dramatic. Great.

Jeongin immediately thinks he’s overstepped now, he took it too far and made you uncomfortable. He removes his hands from you immediately though the action kills him inside, when in reality you want the exact opposite. You want him to pull you closer, you want your chest flush against his to the point where you can feel his heart beating.

“I’m sorry, Innie. I’m sorry.” You finally climb out of his grasp and step away from him. He follows you and with every step he takes forward you move backward until you collide with the wall.

“Why are you sorry when you didn’t do anything wrong? I don’t want you apologizing to me for no reason. If anyone should be apologizing it’s Seungmin, but it’s his fault and his loss, you know that.” You wish Jeongin would stop being so supportive, it’s making it ten times harder to ignore your surfacing issues.

“That’s not the problem, Jeongin.”

Since when did you call him by his full name?

“Then what is it? Is it me? Please I- I just want to help you.”

Your tears have finally halted and you couldn’t be more thankful. You need to be able to properly look into his eyes.

“You can’t help me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“Why are you being so difficult all of a sudden?”

“I’m not.” You cross your arms over your chest.

Jeongin blows out a frustrated huff. “Why can’t you tell me? Is it because Seungmin and I are friends becau-”

“I love you.”

“I know you do, which exactly is why you should be talking to me right now instead of bottling it all up-”

“No, Jeongin. I love you. Not in a friend way, not in a platonic way. I want to kiss you and hold you and-” You’ve worked yourself up so much you have cut yourself off in order to calm down.

Jeongin’s mouth stays agape for a solid five seconds before he even processes what you’ve said. “You love me?”

“Is that not what I just said?” Jeongin has to bite back his smile at your remark but quickly frowns again at the expression on your face. You look regretful, like you wish you never spoke. You’re just waiting for his rejection, willing it to come faster so you he’ll leave and you can wallow in self pity by yourself in the comfort of your bed. You disturbed the peace that was your friendship.

“I- the breakup is still fresh and you aren’t thinking straight, baby. Don’t say things you don’t mean.” Jeongin pleads. Is he trying to convince you or himself?

“But I do mean it Jeongin. I really do and I can’t believe it took me this fucking long to figure it out and I wish I’d never caught feelings because this is just a shit show now.”

He goes to speak but you quickly interrupt him. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. Just forget about it,” you expect him to leave, or to at least move away. But he doesn’t, instead he leans in closer to your ear and whispers in a hushed tone,

“Didn’t I just tell you to stop apologizing, baby?” The way he says ‘baby’ sends shivers down your spine, it’s different than the other times he’s called you that. This time his words actually do have a hidden meaning. His breath ghosts the shell of your ear for a moment before he slowly pulls back to look at you. As if he hasn’t studied your every feature to the point where you’re engraved in his mind.

“You have to promise me that you actually understand what you’re saying and that it isn’t the post breakup neediness talking.” He looks at you sternly and fully expecting a response in words.

You, on the other hand, have absolutely no intention of speaking as you instead grab him by the collar of his hoodie before pressing your lips against his.

Kissing your best friend is much more intimate than you ever expected. He kisses you like it’s not the first time and with more than enough purpose. It starts off aggressive but soon simmers down into a delightfully slow and passionate rhythm and as cliche as it sounds, it’s in this moment that you finally know where you belong, where your home is.

No matter the circumstances, Jeongin always left a space for you in his heart. His subconscious wouldn’t let him fill it with someone else even if he wanted (which he didn’t), forever waiting for you to find the spot with your name written all over it and stay there for as long as you may live.

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tags: @skzstarnet @godslino @myseungsunglove @seungseung-minmin @azuna-sz @chanyeolsrealwife

#snowyquokka #skzstarnet #stray kids #skz #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz scenarios #skz reader insert #skz reactions #yang jeongin x reader #yang jeongin #skz angst #stray kids angst #i.n skz #skz imagine #kim seungmin #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #skz fic #stray kids fic #stray kids i.n #i.n angst #i.n x reader #stray kids x reader

[angstywaifu]

The Lost Sister - Part 24

Synopsis: Xaden is known as an only child due to his sister who 'died' during the Rebellion. Little do they know she didn't die and has been so close this entire time.

Garrick Tavis x OC A/N: Just want to say thank you to all of you who have joined in on this series in the last week. There is so many of you now! Hope you're enjoying it! This week is a smaller one, but I can promise you will not be disappointed with some of the stuff you will find out. Enjoy!

The Lost Sister Masterlist | Masterlist

It feels like I blink and December flies by. And with it, the return of challenges. We had been given a break around threshing. Giving us time to adjust to our dragons, the new training we had to take up, and any signets that might manifest. Which was probably a smart idea. There were plenty of signets amongst the first years that could have been deadly if they manifested in a challenge where no rules were in play. I hate to think what my signet would have done if it manifested during a challenge.

But now I had the challenge of not using my signet during the challenges. With a classified signet I was restricted in what I could show around the other students. The only place I was technically allowed to use my signet was around Carr. So far he seemed impressed with the progress I was making. Well the progress I was willing to show him. Which so far was moving objects and even him around. Controlling a human was way harder than an object. That night of the attack had seemed so easy, but Carr had informed me due to the situation I had probably delved deep into my power to save myself. I had made that cadet drop that dagger as if it was natural and something I had willed. Carr was a different story. He looked like a puppet. His movements were janky and rigid. I had to remind myself I was also going up against someone who knew how to shield very well. Another thing I would have to learn to break through he told me. Something I would have to practice with Xaden or Garrick in our training sessions after classes. Outside of Carr’s private sessions I now no longer needed to delve into my mind, into that courtyard to focus on someone’s mind and sense what they were feeling. I was starting to pick up on more their strengths, weaknesses and emotions. I was getting small glimpses into their mind. Nothing solid that I could pinpoint what it was, but it was progress. Progress I hoped I could turn into reading opponents intentions. Not that I needed it. Melgren’s training had taught me how to read my opponents movements and stances, to predict what their next move might be. But only time would tell.

As the rest of my squad head to another round of challenges, a round I could tell Violet and Liam were extremely nervous about, I walk through the door to Carr’s classroom. And it’s clear this lesson will be different to the last. Standing in front of Carr is Dain Aetos. The only other cadet in the quadrant with a classified signet. Dain turns as I walk in, his eyes narrowing, clearly not expecting me either.

”Excellent, you received my note.” Carr says with a smile. “You’ve proven you can handle a weapon without any issue so I thought we could use the time to strengthen your signet and test Dain’s.”

Dain turns his head back to Carr, confusion written all over his face. “And how do you expect to test me sir?”

Carr gives Dain one of the smiles that always sends a chill down my spine. “Miss Riorson here has a very very rare signet. The first of its kind. And if the tomes I have studied over the years are anything to go by, she should have a very powerful shield. One so powerful, it should be able to stop anyone from accessing her mind.”

Shit. He planned to see if Dain could access my memories. And if Carr was wrong, Dain would have open reign on everything I know. Everything from the rebellion. Everything from my time with Melgren. And everything that had happened since I had been here. Including the information I now knew about the weapons smuggling and the Gryphon riders. Shit.

Relax. You will be fine. He will not be able to get anything. Mealladh says confidently in my head.

So Carr is right? I ask, relief washing over me.

Yes. You have a very strong shield. Even before I chose you and you manifested your signet. It is one of the reasons I chose you. No one without a dragon or a signet should have a shield as strong as yours. The colonels son wont be able to make a dent in it unless you let him in. Which for you, can be harder than learning to shield for most cadets. You won’t have to do a thing.

Mealladh’s words fill me with confidence as I walk over and drop my bag next to Dain’s on the floor. Carr merely nods at Dain and motions towards me. Signalling to start. Carr had not uttered a word of Dain’s signet. He assumes I don’t know what it is. Probably hoping if he is wrong that I will have no time to stop what is coming. But Xaden and Garrick had known. I assume as those higher up in the Quadrant they had access to the information. I had never asked how they knew. I just knew to avoid his touch. But right now I had no choice. I just had to hope and believe what Mealladh said was true.

Dain turns to me and holds his hands up, hovering either side of my head. He’s nervous. “My signet relies on touch. You ok if i-”

”Just do it.” I tell him sternly, cutting him off.

Dain nods before placing his hands either side of my head, closing his eyes as if needing to focus. But I keep mine open and focused on him. I watch as his eye brows furrow in confusion, as if not expecting what he finds. Or what he doesn’t find. I can feel something faint, very faint at the edge of my mind. The sensation remind me of a feather being dragged across my skin. I hadn’t tried to put my shields up like Melgren taught me. It was like they we’re already there. Already solidified in place. Unbreakable. I feel the sensation again, as if the feather is trying to break through. I can see Dain’s face shift at the effort. As if he is trying to hammer through my shield with great force. But to me, its as if barely anything is happening. I do what Melgren had taught me, slamming up the shield. I watch as Dain recoils as if shocked, his hands leaving my head as his eyes fly open, his chest rising rapidly as he struggles for air.

”I-I couldn’t see anything.” He tells Carr, his eyes still focused on me.

Out of the corner of my eyes I watch Carr smile again. “And let me guess, you tried to put up an actual shield at the end there?” His question directed at me.

I nod. “Yes.”

Even as I keep my eyes on Dain who looks like he is still trying to figure out what happened, I see the joy in Carr’s eyes. The joy at being right. I know as soon as I leave this room he will send word to Melgren of this new discovery. I had no doubt I would be tested against other cadets in the quadrant who bore mental signets. But I knew none we’re as powerful as Dain. The only exception might have been Jeremiah. Could a full innistic penetrate my shields? I would have no way to know seeing as the quadrant killed anyone who manifested that signet.

”Excellent. You are both dismissed. Feel free to head to challenges if you so wish.” Carr says with a flick of his had before turning to his desk and grabbing a roll of parchment. Another note of Melgren.

Dain and I leave the classroom, Dain rushing off towards the challenges. I roll my eyes before following slowly behind him. Maybe I can catch the challenge Liam and Violet we’re so worried about. As I go to round the corner to the gym, a voice in my head stops me in my tracks.

Shit. He’s gonna kill me cause she got hurt. Shit.

A voice that is neither mine nor Mealladh. It sounds almost like-

I round the corner and pacing back and forth is Liam. Liam whose voice I just heard inside my head

Part 25 (coming soon)

@riorgail @going-through-shit @fw-gt @bbkissme99 @xceafh @leptitlu @came-to-laugh-but-cried @onthewaytotimbuktu @daardyrnitta @lovemesomevesey @mxtokko @krowiathemythologynerd @callsign-blue @1islessthan3books

#fourth wing fanfic #fourth wing #garrick tavis #garrick tavis x reader #garrick tavis imagine #garrick tavis x oc #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing imagine #xaden riorson

[canisalbus]

my headcanon is that machete would be a great motorsports driver, specifically stock cars not f1. But modern au machete can't drive.

.

#aw that's cute #modern Machete can drive if he has to but he doesn't love it #he gets agitated and irritated and has read too much about fatal road accidents #he always knows The Many Ways Things Can Go Wrong in any given situation #if they're both on the move Vasco is usually behind the wheel #but Machete doesn't mind being the designated driver whenever one is needed #modern au #answered #anonymous

[hazbin-writings-and-musings]

Lucifer Morningstar x Pregnant!Reader Headcanons

As much as dear Lucy and reader enjoyed themselves in this headcanon post, I can't help but imagine such activities might lead to Charlie become a big sister, so I put some headcanons together for such a situation. I know that Sinners can't get pregnant as canon currently stands, so I typically employ either the Rules of Fanfic or I imagine reader is a living human that ended up in Hell through magic shenanigans (will elaborate with a prompt post once I've got the spoons), though of course you're free to imagine them as Hellborn or whatever suits your fancy!

Warnings: Pregnancy Mention, Implied Smut

- He's insistent you see the Royal Physician as soon as you start experiencing symptoms, but he's not at all prepared for the diagnosis you bring back, and he might need you to repeat it a few dozen times. You're pregnant? With a baby? And it's his? He put a baby in you? You're going to have his baby? An actual baby? He's going to be a dad again?! So goes the conversation for a good ten or so minutes, and suffice to say he's far from calm once the news finally does sink in. Given that the two of you had assumed that an angel and a mortal couldn't reproduce, this is more than an unexpected surprise, and Lucifer knows all too well how much of a fuss this will create from Hell's lowest ring all the way up to Heaven. That's to say nothing of how Charlie might take the news...

- Once the initial panic fades, after a solid hour or so, he gathers himself and focuses on setting a course of action. A very important decision needs to be made. He says it's up to you, but upon being asked what he'd like to do, the King of Hell surprises himself and answers without hesitation that he'd love to have this baby with you. He's surprised because he knows better than anyone that it will be challenging, but he can't deny how much he wants it regardless. Having Charlie was the greatest thing he'd ever done, and the thought of another little bundle makes his heart swell in ways he can barely describe, but ultimately he'll support whatever decision you make. Carrying a half-Archangel is no easy feat... Hearing that you want the same and intend to carry through is enough to make him lift you clear off the ground in a spinning airborne embrace, wings fluttering like a hummingbird as he breaks out into a celebratory musical number or two. He can't wait to be a dad all over again!

- If you thought he pampered you before, you were wrong. He doubles the amount of servants at your call, ensures there's always a physician available at a moment's notice, and hires a full team of chefs to cook whatever you might crave at any hour of the day. From beginning to end, he doesn't want you to want for anything, and the man knows a thing or two about spoiling, and he goes all out to ensure you're surrounded by comfort at all times. That's to say nothing of his own personal dedication to more or less worshiping your existence. Even the tiniest indication of pain or discomfort has him leaping to your assistance. Backrub? Footrub? Full body massage? You name it, he's quite happy to provide. If it wasn't such a cliche he'd be rather happy to feed you grapes from a golden platter. His efforts are borne from the deep sense of pride he feels every time he looks at you and thinks of how incredible it is that he's with you, that you're carrying his child, and that the two of you are bringing something quite wonderful and unique into existence. Said pride fully extends to the public view, where he doesn't hesitate to show you off and humbly brag to anyone that will listen about the news.

- You'll also find that as protective as he was before, he doesn't even hesitate to get his fangs out now, not that many in Hell are stupid enough to mess with the King's beloved. He expects you to be treated with the highest levels of respect, and if he can't accompany you somewhere, he'll insist on an armed escort to keep you safe. This fear isn't completely unfounded, as there are some willing to risk everything for an upper hand on Lucifer, but he's got ample experience keeping the opportunists at bay. He did the same when Lilith was expecting Charlie.

- Speaking of Charlie, the only thing that gives him any kind of hesitation is his fear that she might take the news poorly. Though she took your relationship well, what if she isn't thrilled about a younger sibling? With their relationship so recently repaired, he fears she might worry about being replaced or pushed aside, and he doesn't know how to reassure her that nothing will ever make him love her less. Thankfully, with her boundless kindness and eternally upbeat personality, the Princess of Hell puts his worries to rest as soon as she gets the news. In fact, she reacts much the same way her father did; a massive hug and a delighted musical number, albeit with far more happy sobbing. She promises through tears that she'll be the best big sister Hell has ever seen, and that she simply can't wait.

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #lucifer imagine #lucifer x reader #lucifer fluff #lucifer headcanons #hazbin x reader #x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin imagine #hazbin fluff #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel imagine #pregnancy #charlie morningstar

[steddieas-shegoes]

It’s been done in every which way but Eddie being in an accident of some kind that leaves him paralyzed, but his doctors believe he could walk again with intense physical therapy

He’s stubborn and absolutely hasn’t dealt with any of the trauma of the accident and takes it out on his physical therapist, Steve, who is used to patients being pretty angry about their situation

He always meets Eddie where he is though, tries to keep a smile on his face and joke when appropriate and even shares his cookies from his lunchbox with him

Eventually, Eddie starts making some progress, but instead of being happy about it, he panics and cancels all his PT appointments for the week

Steve tries calling, texting, emailing, doing everything he can to encourage him to keep going, but it all goes unanswered until Gareth, one of Eddie’s closest friends, calls him on Eddie’s phone

He’s depressed and he won’t get out of bed, he’s given up. He’s tired of being in pain and having to try to so hard just to move his damn legs a little

Steve isn’t usually this personal with clients, and tells Gareth he can’t discuss anything medical with him due to patient confidentiality, but insists he should try to drag him to the office the next day before it opens

And somehow, probably through guilt, Gareth manages to wheel a very sullen and grumpy Eddie into the side door entrance to the office at seven in the morning

Steve tells him to come back in an hour to pick him up and Eddie ignores the goodbye Gareth says to him

And Steve pretends nothing is wrong at all, goes through the usual temperature and blood pressure check, asks how he’s feeling and gets a grunt in response, asks if there’s any pain and gets an eye roll

But Eddie met his match in Steve because Steve then pushes him to the center of the workout room, where a large mat is out and a walker is set to the side

“What’s that?”

“Your walker.”

“I don’t need one seeing as I can’t fucking walk.”

“You are today.”

And Steve knows he’s pushing and he hates being pushy

But he knows what his clients are capable of, and he knows without a single doubt in his mind that Eddie is ready to use the walker for five to ten minute increments. He has the leg strength and the stubbornness, he just needs the belief in himself

“Do you want me to hurt myself worse?”

“Of course not. And if you get tired, the seat on the walker is right there. But you can walk and you will walk.”

“And if I call Gareth to come get me right now?”

“Then I don’t believe my services are of value to you anymore and I’ll wish you the best.”

It pained Steve to say it because he knew he was fucking good at what he did, maybe the best in town. His clients often had to wait for his availability to open for weeks or months at a time because of how many people were referred to him

But he said the right thing because Eddie huffed, groaned, and cursed under his breath before wheeling himself to the edge of the mat to hold onto the walker

He pulled himself up

His legs were shaking from not being used for the last few days more than the bare minimum, but his determination was clear

Steve slowly pulled the chair away as Eddie unlocked the brakes of the walker and glared at Steve as he took one step, then two

Sure, he was relying pretty heavily on the walker, maybe more than Steve would’ve liked to see, but he was moving

He made it across the mat and then locked the brakes, sat down on the pad on the walker, and gave a sarcastic grin to Steve

“Happy?”

“Are you?”

And maybe Eddie wasn’t ready to be asked that because he was suddenly sobbing, covering his face as tears flowed down his cheeks

Steve gave him a few seconds before moving to kneel in front of him, pulling his hands away

“You deserve to have your life back, Eddie. You’ve been lucky to have the chance to walk again. Let’s not waste it, okay?”

Eddie spent the rest of the session walking across the mat and taking breaks every two minutes or so

It was better than Steve even expected, but he reminded Eddie not to do too much at once

Eddie didn’t miss any more appointments with Steve, and every appointment, he seemed to be more charming and flirty, more like “the old Eddie” according to Gareth, who drove him most days

Steve never admitted it out loud, but he knew what he felt for Eddie was different from other clients. It felt more personal, and it felt like it could be more someday

When Eddie graduated to a cane, Steve’s services were officially no longer needed

And Eddie decided that he should probably take Steve out on a date

“Since I can walk and hold your hand now,” he winked.

Steve should say no, but he doesn’t

Because holding Eddie’s hand feels even more right as his boyfriend than it did as his physical therapist

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #headcanon #physical therapist Steve #idk going through my notes on things I’ll never have time to actually write #but maybe someone else does #I’m literally ignoring work so hard right now #I’m just tired!!!! #im just a girl who doesn’t wanna work anymore!!!! #cw: injury #cw: mention of accident

[theminecraftbee]

situation ask game: joe hills for 16?

16. Meeting past/future self

"Howdy!" Joe Hills says.

"Howdy!" Joe Hills says back. "This seems to be quite the predicament."

"Oh god, there are two of them," whispers Doc. He'd just wanted to check on the log shop, man. Joe had said something about fixing some redstone (inherently terrifying to hear), and he'd just wanted to come check on it and inevitably fix the fixed redstone, and now there are two of them.

"I have to say," the first Joe Hills--presumably, the original one, given that he's insisting on saying everything through that stupid hand puppet he made this season, although Doc couldn't tell you--says. "I'm fairly certain seeing my own ghostly visage is normally considered a bad sign in most literature. Luckily, this isn't literature, so I can ignore the ill portent."

"Alas, I am, in fact, a bad omen," the second Joe Hills says, all too cheerfully. The second Joe Hills does not have a hand puppet and appears by all measures to be a ghost. Doc would generally agree that's a bad sign too, except for the fact that the Joe he knows is a ghost about fifty percent of the time, and oh no, he's already confused. There are two of them and he's already confused.

Maybe he should go get some coffee. The cafe Cleo set up is supposed to be good, and if he's this confused, maybe he'll manage to get himself to walk past the cats before he remembers he's supposed to be scared.

"Oh no," Doc's Joe says. "I don't have time for bad omens. For one, I'm not any good at killing pillagers. For another thing, I'm busy. See I was trying to help and I accidentally broke Doc's redstone and I feel bad because I think he's like, actually for-real mad about it, not fake mad, and we're supposed to be business partners, right, so I thought I'd come here and fix the redstone. Except then when I was hanging out with Mumbo at the end of our setup confessional Mumbo mentioned something and I just now remembered it and I think I fixed it wrong, so I'm here to try to figure that out, and that means I really don't have time for a bad omen."

"We never do," the ghost Joe says, shaking his head.

Doc, weirdly, feels touched.

"So if you could go away and give me dire warnings later--"

"Sorry, I don't have time to be put off for later! If you put this off for future Joe, you're putting this off to me! Then I'll have to do this all over again, and it'll be a closed time loop. Or, I guess mostly closed, because I don't remember this. But maybe you hit your head and forget everything! I don't know! I don't know how time travel works, but closed time loops were always the really confusing ones because they try to make sense. If we don't try to make sense you might still be able to change things."

"Oh no. What if this is a self-fulfilling prophecy?"

"I hadn't considered that," the ghost Joe says.

"I mean, everything I've ever read says that in trying to avert catastrophe, I am likely to accidentally cause it!" Doc's Joe says.

"Maybe the solution is for you to not believe my warnings?" the ghost Joe says. "No, that always ends badly too. That means there's dramatic irony!"

"Right, right. Maybe you just have to be as clear as possible, so I can't misinterpret your words?"

"No, I think the solution is to be vague," the ghost Joe says. "Good prophecies are normally vague that way. I mean, I'm mostly just here to tell you how to avert the nasty end of the world that kills everyone super dead, not anything too complicated! If I put too many details in, I'll leave in a dramatically appropriate loophole by accident, and then you'll never manage it."

"True, but Cleo says that I should always be given exact instructions, or I'll do the wrong thing on purpose," Doc's Joe says.

"We do that even more with exact instructions."

"That is true! And I guess it's harder to remember exact instructions?"

"Maybe the solution, given that I am going to vanish back to the past in five minutes," the ghost Joe says, "is that I should simply write down my instructions. That will make them harder to misremember or misinterpret."

"I will lose those too! This is too much responsibility!"

"I know! That's what I said!" ghost Joe says. "I said, why are you asking me. I mean I know the ghost thing is the only reason I can do this, but I don't want this kind of responsibility! I am not trustworthy! You all have known this since, like, day one, stop putting this kind of stressful responsibility on me! I do weird things when I'm stressed! I mean, I'm always stressed--"

"That's true, we are," Doc's Joe interjects.

"--but this is even more stressful than that! If I thought anyone else could do it, I would have said no! And now I don't know how to--"

"Man, if the world is going to end and kill all of us, stop worrying and just say how," Doc says, stepping out of his hiding place and throwing up his hands. "You're wasting time!"

"Oh, you're right," ghost Joe says. "So, the world will end when--"

He vanishes.

Doc and Doc's Joe stare after ghost Joe into the distance. Finally, Joe, with the world's most betrayed expression, turns to Doc.

"You scared me off!" he says. "If you hadn't shown up I'm sure I would have explained eventually."

"WHAT," Doc says as calmly as possible back. It does not appear to appease the Joe he's left with at all.

#answered #boonbeenblade #ask game #a bee fic #joe hills #docm77 #hermitcraft #hermitfic #two joes would form the world's dumbest feedback loop is what i'm saying.

[yanderederee]

SocialCues

a/n: Been feeling a little down lately.. very self-comfort, but I hope anyone else who has deep rooted anxiety and poor social skills can appreciate this…

cw: depictions of bullying and self-degradation/anxiety. Angst/Comfort

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Why did this always happen? How, even?

You seriously couldn’t wrap your head around how you always found yourself in these damned situations…

After being left alone at your desk, you quietly listened as the classmate who had just walked away whispered to themselves.

“What a freak…”

What did you even do? A freak? You were rightfully polite and pleasant, just as you always have been.

Did you say something wrong? Something weird? All you did was ask your classmate about their dog. Out of all the subjects you were taught to bring up in conversation, pets and hobbies were a universal win. (Strictly of the other person, because if you started going on a rant about your own pet or hobbies, you would make the person feel awkward and at a loss for words.)

How is it you always had a way of making everyone you talk to feel so awkward and bored?

But it was so lonely being forced into submissive quietness. You may have hated that more than the quiet glares of others. So still, you try to do your best and talk to people.

But only after a month of trying, it was evident that others were beginning to avoid you. To avoid talking to you. Avoiding eye contact.

You repeated what you’ve been told over and over again.

Saying less is more.

Use considerate language; words and phrasings.

Don’t make the conversation about yourself.

Avoid too specific points of conversation.

Read their facial expressions.

If they look desperate to leave, end the conversation quickly as to not bother them further.

Maybe being too conscious of what you said was your downfall?

But seriously, what else could you do? If you tried being casual, you make it awkward. If you tried too hard, you make it awkward. And if you don’t try at all, you force yourself into isolation.

Once lunch time rolled around, you started your way to the bathrooms to wash your hands before eating. How could you eat when your hands were covered in eraser shavings and lead stains? However, just at the threshold of the bathroom entrance, you could hear a conversation.

“L/n just doesn’t know when to shut up, does she?”

“Seriously! I can’t even get in a word with her!”

“Really? I just felt like she wasn’t even there when I tried talking to her! Like, she was waiting for me to ask her questions or something.”

“She asks way too many questions, like, why are you so obsessed with me?”

“She doesn’t really have much of a personality, I can’t stand people like that!”

“I dunno, I just can’t stand her.”

Honestly, they were pretty loud. People around the bathroom could definitely hear whoever it was talking.

You honestly didn’t even know how to react.

Maybe this was a good thing? At least this way you knew what you were doing wrong. Unfiltered criticism on how you could do better. So silently, you stood and listened.

It really hurt, hearing people talk about you like this. But it was your fault in the first place. Suck it up. Do better. Be better.

Holding back your tears, you fidgeted with your fingers. It was no good. You were bound to burst out in tears at any second.

“Oi.” Out came a sudden call. Startled, your heart leapt out of your chest. Looking up, you saw your classmate, Baji Keisuke, holding three filing boxes of what you assumed to be pre-graded tests and other miscellaneous paperwork. “Lend me a hand, would ya? Teach wants these taken to the teachers lounge before lunch’s over.”

It took you a few seconds to properly register that he was actually talking to you. Though it was hard to tell, given his huge thick rimmed glasses. Once it finally clicked that he was actually talking to you, a wave of embarrassment hit you hard.

“Me? Oh, uhh… o-okay.” You agreed slowly, looking at your dirty hands. You guessed it would be more suitable to wait to wash your hands after carrying a dusty box. Somewhat relieved, you nodded and walked over to your black haired classmate, gingerly shifting the top most box out of his face, into your grip. “Just this one is fine, or should I grab another..?”

You began to ask, until you were met with awkward silence.

SHIT. YOU DID IT AGAIN? Already? Embarrassed to the point of tears, you started down. “S-sorry, dumb question.”

Your classmate seemed disgruntled at your comment. Self pity never looked good. You were just digging yourself into a more massive hole. Just shut up and take the boxes.

Lift your fair share.

Almost forgot that rule.

Just as you went to shuffle the second box out from his grasp, your class mate stepped back. “I got these, just the one is fine.” He said.

“Just the one?” You asked.

“Yeah.. I mean, not to sound like an ass— I mean, um…” he clicked his tongue, trying to think of a better way to rephrase his comment.

“You can say ass, I don’t care.” You giggled quietly. You were faking it a little, what with how shot your confidence was already. But it was cute watching Baji flounder for the right words.

“Right. What I mean is, I’m probably stronger than you are, carrying these isn’t any issue. I just needed help with the third one since it was blocking my view.”

That made sense. He was damn near a foot taller than you after all. And he didn’t seem to struggle with the load in strength. Your silence made your classmate a little on edge.

“I ain’t trying to call you weak or anything. Shit. Just.. lets go.” He huffed before starting his way to the stair case.

Following close behind, you were scrambling your head with how to reply. Do you need to reply? But he sounded a little unsure of his own phrasing, sometimes validation was good for these kinds of situations.

‘It’s okay, I didn’t think you were calling me weak.’

Simulating the conversation in your head, you give up, rationalizing that your comment would more than likely go unanswered anyway.

Lost in these thoughts, you trailed behind Baji silently.

That’s right.

When it doubt, just be quiet. Just. Be quiet.

And it seemed your classmate was content with this as well.

Just as you were rounding the stairs, you were suddenly overwhelmed by a group of boys roughhousing with one another, laughing and unbothered. Before you even had the chance to move out of their way, a boy had rammed into your side hard. This caused for a series of unfortunate events.

Being as you were just making your way down the stairs, this rash shove caused you to lose your balance, trip over your feet, and topple forward. It wasn’t pretty. You definitely did at least one summersault on your crash down, the box of papers you held flying everywhere. What would have made it worse was if you had crashed into Baji on your way down, but luckily for both of you, he had walked at a much quicker pace, and had already reached the bottom of the staircase before your topple.

It was dead silent. Luckily, there weren’t too many students around, but there were enough. The boys looked back to one another, contemplating if they could just run off before you realized who they were, stay and help, or even apologize. You were the weirdo of their class after all, it’s not like these kinds of things didn’t just… happen.

“The hells your guys’ problem, huh?!” Baji yelled. It was really loud, louder than you’d ever heard him before. “Got a death wish or somethin’? Help pick this shit up, now!”

Hell with his reputation, this shit pissed him off way more than his tempter would allow him to suppress.

“R-right!” The boys who’d bumped into you nodded and scrambled to pick up all the scattered papers. “And apologize!” Baji yelled a second time, furious that they hadn’t even considered to do that first.

“We’re really sorry!! We weren’t looking, it was an accident!! We’re sorry!” They groveled low to the ground as they cleaned up the mess of their own making.

Baji huffed, but seeing as they were doing exactly as he told, he let it be for now. He sat his own boxes down gently, squatting over to help you up. “Hey, you okay?” He asked.

“No—“ you snapped in a sarcastic tone, but it was only out of bubbling up frustration and humiliation. Clearing out your throat, before he would reply, you started to pick up the papers scattered at your bruised knees. “Yeah, sorry. I’m okay; just didn’t expect it.. sorry I dropped the box. Sorry.” You repeated quietly, head hung low.

You only ever made trouble. If you’d just moved out of the way faster, you wouldn’t have messed up so harshly. Even if they were clearly in the wrong, if you’d just caught your footing instead of tripping, none of this would have happened.

“Come on, these bastards can take the rest from here.” Baji glared while his glasses slipped past his nose, leaving each boy trembling in fear. “W-we’ve got it from here..” One nodded in defeat.

Baji grabbed your shoulders, you rushed you to your feet. “Don’t worry about this, ‘going to the nurse.” He had an aura of order around him while helping you down the remaining stairs. “It’s okay, you don’t have to walk me..” you mumbled, not even sure it was worth going to the nurse for anyway. All you did was fall.

“You’ve got a few knots, and a lot of bruising. You should really be put on ice.” Baji looked you over as the two of you walked. “It had to of hurt. Seriously, those guys should have been looking where they were going. Don’t worry about it though, I’ll make sure they properly apologize again later.”

You chuckled humorlessly, and waved him off, eyes still glued downcast. “It’s not that big of a deal. It was an accident.”

“Accident or not, they’re gonna pay.” He muttered. “Sorry to trouble you, you’d probably have been better off if I just took the boxes all myself.”

“No worries, I wanted to help.”

Once you reached the nurse, Baji stopped you before going in. “You’re L/n, right?”

“Y-yeah, Y/n L/n… I sit in the front, a few rows to the right of where you sit.”

“Right. Sorry bout that again, I’ll let the teacher know you’ll be back a little later than lunch, so don’t sweat hurrying back. Just take your time.”

When was the first the anyone was this considerate of your wellbeing? Sure, it was a common courtesy, but it was still out of the norm. He gave a final look over of you, he seemed to narrow his brows further. “Well … I’m off. Seriously, take it easy.” He waved, and stepped back, waiting for you to enter.

“Right… thank you, Baji.” You have a slight bow before escaping into the nurses office.

⋆｡ ﾟ ｡⋆｡ ﾟ ☾ ﾟ ｡⋆

You were so tired. Maybe it would be best to let it go. Just accept you weren’t able to make friends. Finally accept something was actually wrong with you, and just stop trying.

Murmurs about your little fall were the talk of the class after lunch. Apparently the guys who bumped into you were actually pretty popular. Spreading misinformation about what happened, and making you out to be the bad guy. Seriously, what did you ever do to them? It wasn’t fair.

Overwhelmed, the end of the day came, and it was becoming impossible to tune out all 20 different conversations happening simultaneously as students filed out of the classroom. You bit your tongue and waited. The room would become empty before too long.

One by one, everyone left. And you were finally left alone. Finally. The weight of the day finally began to settle in the newfound quietness.

You quietly laid your head down on your desk, and held your arm sleeves tightly. Just breath. Why is it no matter what, you always make things worse? It was so suffocating, you didn’t even realize how harsh your breathing had become. Tears burned your eyes, and suddenly you couldn’t hold it back anymore. Openly sobbing into your sleeves, you huddled in upon yourself closer.

This sucked! What the hell! You didn’t do anything wrong! So why…

It didn’t do any good to think about it further than that. All thinking did was make it worse. Stop thinking. Just pretend like it didn’t happen. Pretend like you don’t hear anyone when they talk behind your back anymore. Pretend like your knees don’t hurt, like your feelings weren’t crushed. No one cared anyway. Suck it up.

Do better. Be better. Stop crying. Stop—

“Hey…” you heard a soft voice call out beside you. Your breath hitched. Was the classroom not empty? Did you seriously start crying in front of someone like that? This had to be the worst day.

You felt something cold touch your shoulder, and what you can only assume to be a juice box plopped down on your desk.

You didn’t lift your head. Soon to follow, the slight screech in a chair pulled out beside you, and the shifting of clothes. “Leave me alone…” you said softly; hoarsely.

“I thought about it… but it kinda seems like you could use a friend.” Wait, you recognized that voice. Ever so slightly, you turned your head to the side, and peeked past your hair to see Baji sitting slouched and wide legged beside you.

Still, you couldn’t let him see you like this. Rubbing your eyes against the material of your sleeve, you mumbled again. “It’s okay. You really don’t have to do all that.”

He was quiet. You were hopeful that he wouldn’t push the pity treatment further. The juice box was enough. It was thoughtful, and sweet. He was trying. But it was unnecessary. You’d forget about today soon enough.

Baji wasn’t sure what he should do. Maybe he should just leave you alone. He wasn’t really that good at comforting people, and you really didn’t seem in the mood to talk.

He’d never talked to you before today anyway.

Yet he couldn’t find it in himself to do it.

Anytime your name was brought to mention, it was always some bullshit gossip he never cared to listen to. You kept a low profile and seemed to always have a cheery aura about you. Those rumors were just that, rumors. It kind of reminded himself of when people would mumble about him behind his back when he first got held back. Sure, everything that everyone said about him was true, about being a delinquent, or being dumb. But it didn’t seem that way with you.

“People are assholes and just say shit to make you feel bad about yourself. I’m friends with a bunch of weirdos— some real freaks, so I can confidently say you aren’t as weird as people make you out to be.”

Well, it was a nice thought, if anything else. You giggled, sniffling a last few times before turning away from Baji, and wiping your face clean. You faced forward, a guilty smile decorating your features.

Baji Keisuke wasn’t ever really one to notice a person’s appearance, not for girls anyway. Yet he couldn’t help but admire you. Maybe it was the puffiness of your eyes and lashes, all clumped up together in wet mattes. Or maybe it was the gentle smile of giving up that twisted his heart into feeling like he should help you. To get closer to you.

“H-here.” Baji stuttered, and held out his glasses to you. “I don’t actually need them, they’re just for show. You were trying to hide you were crying, right?”

You blinked suspiciously at him, who was a little red faced and shifting of his own gaze. Was he trying to be considerate? Either way, it made you laugh. “Why do you wear them if you don’t need them?” You took the bait, and reached out for the plastic glasses.

“Well, I’ve been told I can look, intimidating, kinda. Like I’m always glarin’ or something. S-so, I guess that’s why?” He couldn’t exactly tell you he didn’t want to be recognized for being Tokyo Manji Gang’s first division captain.

“That so?” You played along, putting the glasses on in playful banter. “Huh, you’re right. They’re fake.” You smiled, and looked back over at Baji. Immediately, Baji broke out into a fit of laughter.

“Bwaaahaha! What the hell! You look so dorky!” He toppled onto himself, holding his side. You immediately followed his fit of laughter, kicking the chair below him. “I look dorky? Speak for yourself poindexter! You’re the one who looks goofy on the daily!”

Normally, those comments would cause Baji to roll his eyes, but with how lighthearted the air was, it only managed to make him laugh harder.

It felt good, laughing so hard with someone. A stranger even. “Alright, come on’, I’ll treat you to some ramen. You had to skip out on eating lunch since I asked you to help me right? You gatta be starving.” Baji offered, hoisting himself up and out of his chair, pushing it in.

“Well…” you thought about it. You’d hate to put him out and cause anymore unnecessary trouble. Yet, for once, you felt like you understood the social cues going on around you. Being able to relax, smile and laugh with someone, and they offer to take you out for food? Would it really be a bad thing to accept?

“Sure…”

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers comfort #tokyo rev #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x y/n #tokyo revengers baji #baji #baji keisuke #keisuke baji #baji x reader #baji keisuke x reader #tokrev baji

[cerise-on-top]

Love Languages

What is says in the title. I have no requests right now and I thought now would be a good time to write these, I've been meaning to for over a month now, I think. General fluff, relationship to reader is romantic. GN!reader. Only thing I can think of would be one somewhat dirty joke. But it's literally just Alejandro teaching reader a phrase in Spanish and that's about it.

Price: Acts of Service. He’s been in the military for a while now and, while he may be used to giving orders these days, he remembers the days well where a superior would yell at him to do something. Price is well aware that the chances of survival go up tremendously when everyone is working together as a team, regardless of whether you’ve been given a command to help your pal out or not. It’s almost subconscious, actually. You drop something without you noticing? He’ll pick it up, trailing behind you while carrying it. The dishes need to be done? He’s on it immediately, maybe whistling a song even while he does so. You’re in need of medication? Mans notices when you’re running out before you do and always makes sure to get the prescription and or the meds if he’s able to. And if he can’t then he’ll remind you to pick them up, going with you. As a captain, he’s a busy bee, always filing reports and doing whatnot, so him taking the time out of his day to do something, no matter what, isn’t as small a thing as one might think. It doesn’t even matter how small, repetitive and tedious the task is, he’ll do it just for you. Won’t make a big deal out of it, though, just you noticing he did something for you is more than enough. Give him a kiss in return while thanking him and he’ll be the happiest man alive as well.

Gaz: Words of Affirmation. While it’s hard to pin down one love language for him, he absolutely adores making you feel loved using his words. He can be a cheeky bastard, sassing just about anyone he knows he’ll get away with relatively unharmed, always knowing what to say to make just about any situation go from dreadful to a bit more humorous, for the most part. Gaz does well with words, plus he can also read facial expressions very well. While there might be some guesswork involved from time to time, if you let him, he’ll find the right words fairly quickly. Doesn’t matter if you just want to be told how handsome you look in your new suit, or if you want to be comforted after being let down one too many times. Finding the right time to be silent is also an art, Gaz has mastered it. It comes natural to him, speaking to his loved ones, that is. If he can, he’ll accompany his sweet words with other love languages as well. It’s not uncommon for him to shower you with compliments while twirling you around, giving you a beautiful bracelet, or simply putting his head on your shoulder. This man will hype you up, no matter how insecure you feel. But don’t ever doubt his words, he’s as sincere as it gets with you. If you do then he will make an entire PowerPoint presentation on why you’re as amazing as you are. Has no qualms about holding said presentation either, by the way.

Ghost: Acts of Service. Don’t get me wrong, he loves touching you and getting to touch you, if he could he’d always intertwine his fingers with yours, but he’s not always sure if he should touch you. Would it make you comfortable? Do you even like being touched right now? Sometimes he might be self-indulgent, but it’s not too often. However, performing just about any task for you, he knows that won’t upset you. The trees and hedges need to be cut? You don’t have time to go grocery shopping? Can’t beat this seemingly impossible video game boss? Yeah, he’s got your back. He’s not too shabby at most things in life. Ghost can notice and memorize things very quickly, he’s got enough experience in life to know what to do in most situations plus he loves you dearly, so he’d literally crawl his way to Eden and pick the fruits of the tree of knowledge if you demanded it. If you ask him to do something with you, though, then I can tell you he’s smitten. Loves grocery shopping with you, loves it if you hand him the wrench and hold the flashlight while he repairs something, loves feeding the strays outside your home with you. If you ask him to do something together then he gets the feeling of his affection for you being reciprocated, so never be ashamed to ask him for something. You could literally just ask him for a hug and his heart would soar in the heavens.

Soap: Physical Touch. He grew up with a loving mother who would smother him in hugs whenever she could. He didn’t particularly grow out of that either, he’ll still return any hug his mother gives him to this day. Having grown up in a very physically affectionate household, he took after his family and thus loves touching you in any way he can. Whether it’s ruffling your hair or putting your foreheads together, he just loves being close with his loved ones. Even his friends he’s very touchy feely with. It’s reassuring to him, feeling his loved ones, their warmth, hell, even feeling their pulse is nice. It’s not a given in his line of work, after all. Friend or lover, doesn’t matter, he’ll give you a hug, he’ll cuddle you, he’ll playfight with you. Has a very hard time toning it down and his heart breaks a bit every time someone asks him to not touch them as much, he genuinely can’t help it. When he’s lonely he becomes extra affectionate and isn’t afraid to ask you for some cuddles either, they’re very calming to him. If you return his affection, even if it’s awkward for the both of you, he becomes very happy, almost beaming with joy if you’re not a touchy person normally. Initiate a hug for once and he’ll never want to let you go again. But beware, his hugs are extremely tight. If it wasn’t as embarrassing, I’m sure he’d sleep cuddling something as well. However, it’s not the most manly thing to sleep with a plushie, so he settles for another pillow mostly. Will invite you to take a nap with him, though.

Alejandro: Physical Touch. He’s among the people of his culture who are more tactile. It’s a similar situation to Soap, he learned that from home. While he may not be as prone to being touchy with a friend, unless you’re very close, once you’re lovers he loves nothing more than having his hands on you. Not even in a dirty way, he’s more than content just having his hand on your shoulder too. Will give you massages, lots of kisses and will generally just pull you close to him. Might pick you up and spin you around from time to time as well. He’s a strong lad, so I can assure you, he will be able to pick you up. Not very fond of PDA for privacy reasons, but once you’re home alone, he’ll be all over you. Find a reason to touch him back and he’ll smother you. While he can respect you if you don’t like being touched, he will be sad a bit, but will find alternatives. He’s a very affectionate guy with the ones he loves. For what it’s worth, if you’re not a touchy person and can’t speak Spanish very well, you can say some nonsense and it’ll make him smile every time. Though, beware, he’s not above teaching you things such as “estoy caliente” either. It won’t lead to anything, but he will crack up whenever you say it to Rudy, with the latter being severely disappointed in Alejandro. You trying to speak or learn Spanish shows him that you’re trying to put in effort into learning his culture, which he can appreciate, naturally.

Rodolfo: Quality Time. Much like Ghost, he’ll love you forever if you give him hugs on the regular, maybe a peck on the cheek too if you’re together, but he won’t force anything. It’s ingrained in him that men really shouldn’t be weak, though, ironically, you can see him be just a tad bit softer with lads. A close second for his love language would be gift giving. He earns enough money to buy you something nice from time to time. But other than that, he doesn’t have too much time either, and what little time he does have he wants to spend with you. Sure, he can’t exactly make time for you during a mission, but regardless of how tired he might be, he will drag himself out of bed just to be with you five minutes longer. One activity he particularly enjoys the day after he came home from deployment would be simply taking a nap together. Doesn’t matter if you’re cuddling or not, though he would prefer if you would. He gets to rest, you get to rest, both of you are happy. Besides, whenever he gets to be near you he won’t have to worry about anything happening to you. Considering he’s confident enough in his abilities to keep bad people away from you, he likes having you close as well. You don’t even need to be talking, it could just be the both of you cooking together and eating afterwards, that’s enough to make him content. He can tell when you’re doing your best to make time for him as well, and it warms his heart every time.

Valeria: Gift Giving. She’s the undoubted queen of not having much time for anything at all, and she can’t always make time for you, or most people, either, which is why she’ll opt for other means of showing her affection. While some gifts may take time, those being the special ones, it’s normally something quick she can get you. Some new clothes, some sweets, or something else entirely. She rarely ever gets to give them to you in person, regardless of how badly she wants to see your beaming and surprised face, but she never forgets an important date, her memory is just good like that. Your anniversary, your birthday, your pet’s birthday, she has it all memorized and will get you a gift accordingly. You don’t have to give her anything in return, though, her tastes are very expensive. If you really wanna show her how much you adore her in a way she can easily comprehend, do her some favors. Clean the house, make her a meal, give the soldiers asking for her some misdirections so they won’t catch her. It’s not often she likes someone, much less actually trusting them, but she can appreciate someone, who genuinely wants to help her out, even in the small ways. She might sometimes think that you’re just trying to get a favor out of her, but if you genuinely never ask for anything big even she will doubt her theory and will trust you more. Love goes through the stomach, cook her a delicious meal every once in a while and she’ll love you even more.

Graves: Words of Affirmation. However, it should be noted that that’s just his main way of showing affection, he shows affection in every other way as well, very much so even. It’s hard to pin him down as well, he changes it up every once in a while. But what always stays the same is him giving you small compliments throughout the day. If he can’t tell you how much you’re rocking the garments in person, he’ll leave you a handwritten note to build you up. Very chatty, unlike Gaz, he loves hearing himself speak and will stop at nothing to attain the feeling of just saying something. Considering he’s from the southern part of the United States, he throws around petnames like it’s nothing. If you like it, good, if you don’t, he won’t particularly stop either. In fact, he might get more cheesy and cliche with them as well. Not as eloquent as other people might be, he’s a commander, not a poet, but just as sincere. You look fucking awesome, darlin’. They should make a Met Gala just for you. Will also tease you in a loving way. Bullying his loved ones into blushing is his most genuine way of showing love. Once he teases you, you can be certain this guy really likes you. The formalities are finally over, now he can be genuine and honest with you. Give him strong reactions and he’ll love you even more. Don’t try to fluster him back, though. Conversations like those are competitions and he’s the most sore loser on the planet.

Alex: Physical Touch. Words of Affirmation and Acts of Service are also strong with this one, but I’m limiting myself to one here. As I’ve said a few times already, he loves, loves, loves getting to hug and cuddle you. If you’re together then he has no shame in showing PDA either. Will initiate physical touch, will ask you for physical touch, he’s not ashamed at all. A guy needs what he needs, after all. Even just small touches are more than welcome with him. Hand on your shoulder, his fingers combing through your hair, deliberately leaning against you when he’s tired. Snuggle up to him after a rough day, he’s so gentle with you and will make you feel as loved as he can, either by distracting you with the top ten list of top ten lists of what he loves about you, or by watching a VOD on YouTube with you. Even if you aren’t too touchy, make an effort to initiate physical contact with him, he notices it immediately. Won’t push you, he might stop if you really hate physical contact, but will make it up to you with other love languages. Give him a kiss and he’ll rest his head on your shoulder, with eyes bigger than that of an anime girl. The heart irises are there too, of course. If he’s had a rough day, then please hug him, or better yet, cuddle him. It makes him feel a lot better, drifting off to sleep with your comforting touch. This guy would set a forest ablaze just so you can feel some warmth.

Farah: Quality Time. Unless you’re part of her liberation force, she likely has next to no time for you either. And even then, time alone with her is sparse. You can make plans with her, but chances are she’ll have the revolution on her mind, what her next step should be and how her enemy might prevent her from getting what she wants this time. It’s hard for her too, trust me, but she needs to be prepared, always. It’s not often she actually can do so, but she’ll try to make plans with you without her mind wandering. She’s usually so focused, but also hyper aware of the bad things that could happen. So, sometimes she sits herself down with you and thinks of only the things she wants to do with you. Order takeout, cuddle and maybe read some books as well. Despite not usually being one for things like that, evenings like those will be the only times she’ll try to take better care of herself. By which I mean, if you have a skincare routine, she’ll try it out with you, asking you questions about what this and that might be and what it does. If you have a face mask that evening, she’ll laugh a bit, but won’t be opposed to trying it out either. It’s rather sudden when she does have time, but it’s time well spent. Show her affection in any way, she’ll always appreciate it. Give her a kiss, tell her how much you love her, buy her some fresh baked goods, she’ll fall in love with you all over again, again and again. Once the fighting is done, she’ll repay you with everything she can, give you whatever it is she has to offer and make sure you can feel just as loved.

Laswell: Gift Giving. She’s not particularly one for physical affection, she much rather shows it through things that reminded her of you. That nail polish looked like it would go well with your new outfit, you’ve been eyeing that necklace for a long time, using a scooter to get around the city was something you’ve been into for a while. She always remembers every single small detail that might be important later on. You like Sanrio. You like motorcycles. You like sports. Because her memory is amazing, she’ll always get you something you’ll like. Even when you forgot something or haven’t thought about it in a while, she’ll remind you. Especially nice things. Brains are always biased towards the bad, she wants you to see the good in yourself and your surroundings. But aside from those two things, she’s rather versatile as well. Her words can make even your biggest insecurities temporarily go away. She isn’t always eloquent, but she can be if she wants to be. Quality Time is a given to her. If she can and you want to as well, she’ll spend every minute of her wake with you. Even when you aren’t around to do any of it and she has time to do so, the dishes will be washed, the clothes in the washing machine will be neatly hung up and the living room will be clean. Now, if you want to make her feel loved, give her some genuine words. She hears lies on the daily and knows when people are being insincere, but seeing you give her a genuine smile while telling her that she looks like a goddess in her new dress sort of does something to her. You don’t need to use the prettiest words, just say what you think, tell her how much you love her, that’s all she really needs.

Nikolai: Acts of Service. Another wildcard, he’ll do whatever makes his partner happy. But if we’re talking about his genuine self, the one that doesn’t do whatever makes you happy, then it’s Acts of Service. It’s unprompted too, for the most part. Whatever he can find out, that makes your life easier, he’ll do. He’s a real handyman for all sorts of things and in real good shape too despite his age. Mans can repair a helicopter, he can do the same for your heater in winter. Never be afraid to walk up to him and complain to him about something not working, he’ll fix it himself in record time if you let him. Doesn’t mind his hands getting dirty either, that’s just what happens. Big things, small things, doesn’t matter. Let him take out the trash or let him fix the engine of your car, he can do both. Hell, if you need someone taken care of in the most brutal way possible, if you need some dirt on someone, he’s also your guy. If he really likes you, then chances are he’ll do some of it for free as well. He’s competent enough in just about everything, he has the experience, so whatever it is you need done, he’ll do it. But if you ever were to do him a favor like that as well, he’ll be overjoyed. Most of the time showing affection is subconscious to him, but once it clicks, and it will fairly quickly since he’s a smart cookie, he’ll give you the most loving smile. You don’t have to kill someone for him, just baking him a delicious pie is more than enough. You make his life easier as it is, but the occasional baked good or gifting him a nice bomber jacket won’t hurt either.

König: Acts of Service. I guess Acts of Service just come with age. Not too big on showing physical affection, not the best with his words either since he can still get nervous around his loved ones from time to time. Another big contender would simply be Quality Time. He much prefers not having to talk all the time, so you knitting while he reads the news would be ideal for him. Being near each other in silence is the best thing he can imagine, that way he can show you how much he loves you without straining himself too much. Acts of Service because he’s old enough to realize that if you really do love someone, you’ll make their life easier in any way, shape or form possible, even if it’s just putting chicken nuggets in the oven just before they come home from work. Besides, despite it being tedious, he doesn’t hate cleaning as much as some other people do. It’s calming to him, seeing his living space be decluttered. So, it helps him and it gives you less work to do at the end of the day. Another way he shows affection is by warding off creeps with his presence. Being around you makes him protective over you. Now, you can spend your time with him in silence, or just occasionally talk, he’ll eat that right up and love it, but you can also give him the occasional hug or cuddle. He won’t mind, but don’t overdo it. He’s not a particularly cuddly person, but he will appreciate you standing on boxes just so he can lean into your shoulder for once, if you’re shorter than him. It’s the small things that count. Another thing he’ll always enjoy is you maybe knitting or crocheting him a scarf. He’s not sensitive to the cold, but he won’t mind being warm either. Spray it with your perfume or cologne too and he could just pick you up and give you a little kiss.

#cod #cod x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #rodolfo parra x reader #valeria garza x reader #phillip graves x reader #alex keller x reader #farah karim x reader #kate laswell x reader #cod nikolai x reader #könig x reader #konig x reader

[bigfatbimbo]

you ask me to talk about any of the vees?

why of course. and yes it’s vox i want to talk about.

okay hear me out here…i hc him as obviously a bottom, a sub, and definitely someone needy for their partner. i want more clingy Vox!! we’re talking quadruple-texting, clinging to your side, asking to shower together purely so he can be with you, always running behind you as you flit around town running errands, etc etc.

but this side of vox obviously translates into the bedroom as well.

picture him, dick or boycunt (both are delicious), just absolutely clinging to you as you fuck the shit out of him.

we know this man has a mommy kink at this point, but just picture how well you could play to his clinginess, edging him breathless and then ruthlessly overstimulating him again and again as he clings to you, unable to form coherent words, only “mommy, please!”

and the aftercare…ohhhh, the aftercare. poor baby wouldn’t even want you to leave to get him a glass of water. you’d have to pry yourself off him just to get what you need to care for him, and even after that he’d cling to you, sleepy and needy, falling asleep atop you like a cat, rendering you unable to move for the next few hours.

anyways yeah, vox. we love him.

warnings — smut, unorganized, actually just a long ass ramble, your going to want to kill yourself by the end, dom reader, use of mommy, NOT PROOFREAD

summery — A terrible ramble because you got bimbo all worked up about clingy subby vox. Also this isn’t a drabble or headcanons, but a secret third thing (a mess.)

I AM IN SUCH A VOX MOOD RIGHT NOW!! Who’s surprised? Anyways, let me jibber jabber about this for the next few messy, unorganized paragraphs.

So I love your idea, and so i’m going to take it and put in into a more canonical in-character little ball. Let me start off with getting Vox to this point and how it would take literally forever.

Because even if he trusts you, he still wouldn’t be overly clingy or submissive. I mean, obviously he’s submissive, but in a harder to break, bratty kind of way.

Well, let’s think about this; what would it take for us to get a clingy, subby Vox? It would take lots of time, and lots of building of, not only trust, but reliance. Say you’ve been dating for a while, he’s obviously subbed before, but still in that entitled power bottom kind of way.

Now, we all know his job is stressful, he’s a CEO and his coworkers aren’t the most relaxed people in the world. He’s stressed out and things go wrong. As per usual, he bitches to you about it.

But here’s where we start to break down his walls. Giving him a back massage while calmly giving him actual advice on the situation. Carefully recommending him ways to solve the problem, while relaxing the tense muscles in his neck.

Thats more than simple trust, like I said before, that establishes a small undertone of reliance. He’s independent, a control freak, but fuck, your ideas were good and now he can finally calm down. Now there’s a newfound trustworthiness that you’ll be there for him when he’s too angry or bugged out to think of a strategy.

Maybe you do little thoughtful things for him too, make his coffee the way he likes it, leaving little sticky notes around the house with sweet things on them. He thinks it dumb, probably laughs in your face about it, until he doesn’t. Because on some days, his fragile ego has taken so many hits that he needs your unconditional support and love.

That’s when we see him get more clingy. Even still, it would only show after specific situations, but it’s there. You are his source of comfort in his hectic, exhausting, businessman life. He wants to be powerful and dominant all the time, that’s a given. But it’s the fact that with you, he doesn’t have to be.

Okay enough character analysis, let’s make this interesting. Quadruple texts are very in-character because of his attention seeking tendencies. He’s texting you all sorts of things, while probably watching you on his cameras. Especially if you’re talking to someone else, then he blows up your phone to take the attention off of them.

Clinging to your side would probably only happen alone, but he would try to be so slick about it. Oh you need to get up and get water? Here, he’ll do it— oh, ouch, oh no! His back hurts. Could you maybe stop what you’re doing and come rub his back until it’s better?

Showering with you is a given. Walking behind you in the city while you’re running errands is interesting, however. Because I don’t think he would walk behind you, that’d make him look like some stupid lapdog. No, no, he’d keep up the pace perfectly, maybe even walk a little faster.

But he’d try to be slick about following you around too. Like, oh, you have errands to run? Well, wait up. Coincidentally something just popped up for him as well.

Okay, everyone shut the fuck up we’re gonna talk about sex now. Because once you get him to trust and depend on you this much, he is so needy all of the time.

I’ve talked about his mommy kink before, but this shines a new light on it. We know he’s desperate for validation, attention, and overall someone to stroke his ego, making him the perfect candidate for a praise kink. However, this paired with the fact that he’s not surrounded by the most supportive people in the world, and he’s normally stressed out of his mind and dying to be taken care off but too prideful to do anything about it mommy kink city.

And because, as we’ve established, he trusts and relies on you so much, making him super clingy, also gives him that extra ingredient to fuel his mommy kink. He wants you to take care of him and make him feel loved (fantastic when degrading him because it makes it all 100x more effective.)

So I actually think him being super clingy and needy, with zero to no reciprocation let’s be real, would for very well with this.

Imagine pegging him, as Vox sits in your lap, arms slinked tightly around your neck as his nails dig into your back while you fuck him rough. He’s came several times already and the cities power is long gone, but he thinks he’d genuinely die if you stopped.

His screaming out for you, clawing at your back while shouting anything he can think of. ‘Mommy— mzzz—more!’ ‘Don’t stop, ‘ve been so good.’ ‘Fuck, call me your g—gzzz—good boy.’

Too much praise and too much degradation both make him sob his eyes out and lowkey fucks with his wiring. If he’s getting strapped up good enough he’d probably electrocute you, all while moaning and whining for his mommy.

Sub-top Vox with a mommy kink also does something to be, ask me about it, I dare you.

And he’d be the cutest during aftercare. Still coming out of subspace, hiding his screen in your chest while you rub his back softly, wincing when you get too close to his neck where all the bite marks are.

But he’d be totally collapsed on top of you after you clean him off a little, and because of his sleepiness he’d probably still call you mommy.

a/n — this was lowkey my good night post because i’m too tired to do anything else. Looking forward to reading your Vees requests though, and writing hate sex Lute!

#hazbin hotel x reader #inbox open #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel smut #dom reader #vox x reader #sub vox #vox x you #vox smut

[vroomvroomcircuit]

A never-ending Worry

(A/N): Ikea gave me a big anxiety attack the other day. Here we are now.

Summary: Reader discovers her own anxiety together with Max through several instances.

Pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

Wordcount: 2k

🏎Masterlist🏎 _____________________ Anxiety is a peculiar thing, especially when you suffer from it. It is for (Y/N) at least.

Ever since her first anxiety attack at the ripe age of 16 years, (Y/n) started to worry. About everything. All the damn time. Her head is running the whole time, thinking about different scenarios that could happen. Like her best friend once said:

“The possibility of a baby killing you is slim, but never zero.”

Maybe the possibilities for any of the “what ifs” really happening is low, but she will be prepared if it does happen. It’s an odd sense of safety she can find refuge in, especially in a world of unpredictability.

This is where the peculiarity comes into play. She does not have the knowledge or vocabulary to describe it all.

But (Y/N) never really talked about her constant worries coupled with a never ending feeling of nervousness. Never spoke of this feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop. Everyone feels like that, right?

“Hey Schatje? How many pairs of underwear have you packed for us?” Max called out for (Y/N) as he unpacked their suitcases, that his girlfriend herself packed for the two a couple of days before the trip even started.

A bit befuddled by his question, (Y/N) walks from the kitchen of the rental apartment, where she just finished putting away the groceries they got from their first run to the supermarket, to the bedroom.

“10 pairs for each of us. Do you think it won’t be enough? We can still go out and get some more tomorrow.” Max halts his movements for a second to check if her serious tone matches her face.

It does.

His girlfriend really means what she said.

“No, they will definitely suffice. You do know that we are here for only four days, right?” Max smiles at her. Maybe she just got something mixed up.

“Yes, of course. I planned our activities. It would be bad if I didn’t know about the length of our vacation.” She laughs to herself while moving to help Max unpacking. “Why are you asking?”

“Oh, nothing particular. Just checking.” Ok so. It is a thing for many women to overpack, especially regarding their underwear. “Can you explain your thoughts on the number to me? Why did you decide to pack 20 pairs of underpants in total?”

(Y/N) throws him a look. “Well, we need at least four, one for each day. Then I doubled that number, because something could have gone wrong on our car ride here or will on our way back, making us stay on vacation longer. Then eight felt like it’s not enough. Adding to the extra days, an accident could happen that makes you need an extra pair a day, right? And nine is an odd number that is not even a prime number, so I rounded up to ten. Completely logical.”

Well, it’s logical to her at least. Max was partially amazed by her train of thoughts and worries. He just let it be like that. After all, it’s just over packing and he loves how prepared she is in any given situation.

Prepared (Y/N) is. Always.

“Man, it is so hot, my fingers are sticky with sweat.” Daniel complaints. It’s a race weekend in Singapore and the Aussie is right. It is hot.

(Y/N), who walks with Daniel around the paddock while she waits for Max to get out of a meeting, starts to rummage in her backpack. The back she carries with her all the time. It’s close to iconic.

“Here is some hand disinfectant. It makes you feel a bit less sticky.”

Daniel smiles thankfully while taking the little bottle from the female’s hands. “Thank you. I just need to remember to put on some lotion, I don’t want my hands to dry out.”

As soon as he finishes his sentence, she replaces the disinfectant with another small bottle. “Don’t worry, I got you girl.” She winks at the Aussie.

“Oh wow, do you have everything important with you? Can you flee the country with that backpack spontaneously?” Daniel jokes, but it goes over her head.

“Yes, pretty much. I got a small first aid kit, my laptop and all needed chargers for my electronics. Oh, and my passport and IDs of course. Ah, and some small knick-knacks and snacks. Gotta be prepared for the worst case scenario, right?” Her seriousness unsettles something in the driver. But he kind of lets it go, just nodding to her statement. She is right, at least a bit, after all.

“Do you get more nervous when you get into the car? Or is your level of nervousness on the same level?

(Y/N) and Max cuddle in bed back in the safety of their home in Monaco. While asking the question in the wariness of the night, she traces the same shapes over and over again in her partner’s skin. It gives her an odd feeling of safety, the repetition.

Max has a confused look on his face. “What do you mean?” “Well, does your level of feeling nervous rise from the usual one before or during a race?” It sounds plausible to her. But it doesn’t for him.

Max sits up, leaning his upper body against the headboard to have a better look at his girlfriend. “Yes, it does rise, because my usual level of nervousness is zero like for everyone else. Of course I feel different from that, when I get into the car that can bring me over the finish line as a winner. I don’t get the question.”

(Y/N) blinks at him with a frown. “Not- no, not everyone’s level is zero. It’s really just for you that low.” Of course Max is always cool as a cucumber. He only gets this feeling in extreme situations.

“Oh Schtaje. It’s really not. Most people don’t feel nervous often. Do you?” He pulled her close to him, enveloping her completely.

“Not always. Right now, I’m not. But that is, because I’m with you. I know that together we can solve anything.” Max senses that (Y/N) doesn’t want to continue the conversation. He lets it be another time, partially to not make her feel completely uncomfortable in a peaceful moment, partially because he wants to do some research.

Her conversation with her boyfriend sparked something inside (Y/N). Hearing that not everyone is feeling the same way she does, it’s a lot to take in. So she started to do some reading of her own.

Many people on the internet describe the same moments she has: Constant nervousness, the need of being prepared at all times or she’ll break out in a sweat, plus the endless worrying.

And the sudden bursts of intense panic. These moments, where an all consuming fear grips her whole body into a chokehold. That makes her breaths become heavier and her thoughts even faster.

Reading about similar experiences to hers, it makes (Y/N) feel less alone. But one word stood out to her.

Anxiety.

She heard of it and has seen the portrayals on TV. But those are not what she feels. Or is it?

Everything and nothing make sense at the same time.

“Do you want to drive?” Max offers as they get ready to go out for dinner at a restaurant that is a tad too far away to be considered walkable distance. He regularly lets her drive, it’s a bit of emancipation. Why shouldn’t she drive when she has a license for that?

(Y/N) shakes her head no. “I don’t like today’s thoughts. I also feel extra nervous right now, I couldn’t find the menu of the restaurant online.” Max nods, understanding what kind of thoughts she is talking about - intrusive thoughts.

He also appreciates her openness with him about those feelings. “It’s ok, Schatje. I love driving for you, it’s my favorite kind of ride. We will also find something for you, we can order some dishes and share them until you decide which one you want.” He gives her a reassuring kiss on the cheek, hoping to ease up her worries.

During the drive, she holds his hand on the control stick. “It’s good to have you back. Last night I woke up in a panic and thought something must have happened to you on your flight and that this was the reason I had this huge anxiety attack. I couldn’t sleep until you texted me this morning when you landed at the airport.”

His heart grows heavy at that confession. He hasn’t known the extent of her anxious feelings. Max didn’t know how much they overshadowed her in her daily life.

(Y/N) herself never realized how much she has been hindered in her routines by her own thoughts and worries.

“It wasn’t the first time this happened. But it was the worst it has been so far. I thought you died. I waited for my phone to ring or the police to stand at the door, getting notified that you died in a plane crash. I already planned the next steps I had to take from there in my head.” (Y/N) doesn’t dare to look at her boyfriend after this admission.

It is weird to say something out loud, that she used to bury deep inside of her. This kind of vulnerability, it makes her want to crawl back into that hole again.

Over the last couple of weeks she realized that those spiraling thoughts are not here to make her feel safe. That the need of over preparedness is not necessary. That her anxious feelings are not some signs of something bad.

These thoughts are false friends, waiting for your demise, your downfall, to be able to say “I told you so”.

But where to go from here, from the realization of something going gravely wrong, to getting a grip of the situation. To make it all go away?

Max squeezes her hand before putting a kiss on it without taking his eyes off the road. “I’m here for you. I want to hear all those thoughts. As silly as they may sound out loud. I can help you in differentiating if they are necessary, needed, thoughts or if they are the product of overthinking. I want to help you. I want you to not feel anxious all the time. I want to help you through the anxiety attacks. We can get counseling - for only you or together. Just, let me be here for you during every step you take.”

His pleading brings tears to (Y/N)’s eyes. She didn’t know how noticeable her anxiety issues were to outsiders. She doesn’t know what it feels like for Max, seeing her in her most anxious states.

“Yes”, she answers him, “I want you to be here with me. I don’t know if I can do it on my own.” “You don’t need to find out. I’ll be there, for better or for worse.”

Turns out, Max’ deadpan and brutal honesty is exactly what (Y/N) needs.

The evening, where he was away for a race and she had to stay behind, because of her own work schedule. (Y/N) called him in the middle of a not very pretty anxiety attack. “I have this doctor’s appointment. It’s a check-up for my physical health. And what if I-I’m deathly sick and we are catching onto that only now?”

“This is a dumb thought.”

The female halts in her movements. Is it a dumb thought?

“I mean, yes. I regularly go out to donate blood. But maybe they haven’t caught something important accidentally.”

“That is stupid and unlikely.”

She stops again. “You are right. I actually have nothing to worry about.”

The road to having less anxiety is a twisted one, paved by setbacks and a small gap between succeeding and failing. But with Max as a passenger princess on that path (Y/N) knows she got it.

She will be ok, eventually.

#max verstappen image #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #x reader #reader insert #x you

[accirax]

Chessgram Theory: Who is Kotoko Breaking?

While the object Kotoko is breaking in Deep Cover’s thumbnail is still certainly up for debate, many people (including myself) are of the belief that she’s snapped a white bishop from the game of chess. Given where Kotoko’s mental state is right now and what’s implied by the lyrics of Deep Cover, I think it’s likely that this MV’s theme will depict all of the prisoners as different chess pieces. Therefore, it’s worth asking: who is that? And, in a larger sense, which prisoners could be represented by which chess pieces?

Kotoko pretty clearly sees her situation as her and Es against the rest of the prison. So, I think that the characters would be divided as Kotoko and Es on one team, and everyone from 01-09 on the other. Kotoko is wearing black and appears to be breaking a white piece, so it’s pretty safe to assume that she and Es would be represented by the black pieces. It’s an interesting choice, given that, even to a non-Western audience, black can be considered a color of evil, and white a color of purity and truth. However, if the Es/Kotoko team is “mystery and anger” and the 01-09 team is “cold demeanors and death,” it fits well enough.

And that’s ignoring the most important part: in chess, the white team always moves first. This would fit with Kotoko’s vigilante worldview that everything she does is just a retaliation against others’ wrongdoing. The other characters attack first by sinning, and Kotoko is only picking them off before they can do any real damage to Team Warden.

Anyways, as for the pieces themselves, different websites seem to have slightly different opinions on what each piece can represent, with some obvious throughlines. I’ll be pulling quotes from these three articles, color coded according to which one is being used, which you can read more of if you wish. I’m also not a chess expert, so if I’m missing anything or got something wrong, I encourage you to add any of your own thoughts!

We’ll start with the Black Team, because there are fewer characters and I think it’s pretty obvious who’s who.

Kotoko Yuzuriha

Kotoko herself will probably be the black Queen. As anyone who’s played chess should know, your Queen is the most powerful piece in your arsenal because it can move on straights or diagonals for any distance.

The queen is our impulse to fight and possibly our id. It can argue based on beliefs. It can let loose and fight like a rook. It has no reason to hold back as a knight does and will often attack to the other side of the board just because it wants to.

This hyper-violent description of the Queen reminds me a lot of Kotoko. She attacks the other prisoners because, according to her beliefs, they’re criminals who deserve to be punished. Not to mention, the “id” is actually the same thing as the “es” in psychology. After we voted her innocent in the first trial, Kotoko became our teammate. She thinks that she’s the same as Es, so seeing herself as the “id” would fit perfectly with that self-assessment. Speaking of Es…

Es (and Jackalope?)

Es is most likely going to be the black King.

The king is not as powerful as the queen, but he is considered the most important piece that needs the most protection.

Even if Kotoko has more power than Es inside the prison, Es is still the one ultimately calling the shots. They’re the important piece who actually casts the votes that Kotoko can use to exact justice. The way that Es falls asleep between trials (or, at least, they did the first time) also reminds me of how the king can only move one space per turn, and often remains in the same square until closer to the end of the game.

The meaning of the Queen in the game of chess is she is plainly the closest support to the King and is often the second biggest (tallest) piece on the board, signifying her power and importance.

Es and Kotoko being the King and Queen together also opens them up to being assessed as a pair. They start the game next to each other, far across the board from the white pieces. If Es is the tallest, most notable piece in the prison, Kotoko isn’t far behind, acting as the King’s loyal fang.

I don’t know if any of the other pieces on the black team would have any sort of particular association. Maybe Jackalope could be the pawn that starts in front of the King (I think that’s the E pawn), so that he could hop out of the way on black’s first move to allow Kotoko to escape on a diagonal?

If I’m right about this theming, I also believe it’s possible that the black team would start only with the King and Queen. This would 1) make Kotoko and Es appear as rootable underdogs by having fewer pieces, 2) show how Kotoko is doing all of the work to defend justice, and 3) give Kotoko a lot of space to move around in from the start.

Now that we’re done with the black team, it’s time for the 01-09 White Team! Given that this side has many more main characters, there are several more possibilities to discuss here. I’ve settled on an answer for each of the prisoners, but there’s certainly room to be flexible with any of them.

Haruka Sakurai

Starting with Haruka… sorry, buddy, but I think you’re a Pawn.

Look, there are only eight pieces (not pawns) for each team on the board. If there are nine prisoners on the white team, at least one of them has to be a Pawn. And, especially through Kotoko’s account of the first Trial, Haruka wasn’t doing a whole lot. He didn’t get voted guilty, so she didn’t attack him, and he didn’t try to save any of the attacked prisoners, either. All he really did was get a new fit and align himself with Mu, someone who barely avoided being voted guilty in the first place.

There is a debate about whether the pawns are the peasants who live outside of the castle walls or are the soldiers protecting the royal court behind them.

Specifically, though, I think that Haruka would be the pawn that stands in front of Mu. Depending on which piece Mu is, it doesn’t have to work like this, but if you say that Pawn Haruka’s placement is basically a “if you want to attack her, you’ll have to get through me first,” that’s quite reminiscent of the threat he presented in his second audio drama.

Haruka also makes sense as a Pawn because he has a lot of potential. For anyone who doesn’t know, in chess, if a Pawn manages to make it to the other side of the board, they can transform into any other piece. Haruka’s quiet demeanor might let him slip under the radar, but if Kotoko takes her eye off of him for too long, he could wind up becoming a threat to the King (Es).

Haruka (VD2): “If you don’t forgive Mu-san, I’m going to kill you.”

In the audio drama, Es counters this plan by pointing out that, as a prisoner, Haruka cannot attack them. However, the sentiment is still there. Even if a Pawn doesn’t really stand a chance of attacking the King when Queen Kotoko is on the loose, there’s always the possibility that he could get too close and throw a wrench into Kotoko’s plans.

Yuno Kashiki

As for Yuno… well, we all know that she’s a Queen in general, but in chess, I don’t think that argument really holds up. Yuno really just isn’t… relevant? enough? to the conflicts of the prison as a whole (at least where Kotoko is involved) to be represented by such an important piece. But, if Yuno isn’t the Queen, what would she be…?

Personally, I think she would be a Rook.

The rook is brute force. It is a disregard to beliefs.

Simply put, Yuno is a Rook because she’s a pretty straightforward person. That’s not to say that she doesn’t lie, of course– her whole t1 attitude seems to have been a bit of an act, and that one section in the middle of Tear Drop makes it pretty obvious that Yuno conceals her true feelings on order to better please her customers sometimes– but that, in the end, Yuno always does what she wants. If she wants to barge forward or cut across the entire board sideways, she’ll do it. She often keeps to herself, just like how enemy pieces wouldn’t want to get directly in front of the Rook for fear of being curb stomped.

Back to her t1 attitude, though…

The rook is the castle, the walls, the protectorate of the city, and in being so, is the only piece not representative of a living thing.

While most sources attribute the Rook’s walls to protecting the other important pieces, Yuno’s walls protect herself. Yuno’s Castle keeps her true self locked behind cold and stony walls, giving her freedom from making any attachments.

Futa Kajiyama

Futa is a Knight because… he’s, uh, literally a knight.

The knight pieces are the protective knights in the castle. The pieces are shaped like a horse because it is symbolic of what knights rode during battle.

It doesn’t always have to be that deep. (/j)

Actually, though, there are other reasons to call Futa the Knight– possibly some of the same reasons why the Milgram creative team decided to make one of his MVs themed after fantasy RPGs in the first place.

The knight represents the pure inner-warrior. If a knight starts out passive, it will always end up aggressive and vice versa. It can't move very far, but it never moves in a straight line, always preferring to be tactical and thoughtful.

Futa definitely seems to cycle between aggressive and passive. He passively lived his life as a regular guy until he unleashed his aggression and became a cyberbully. That aggression fueled him until he learned of his victim’s death, at which point he shut down and seemed to become more passive and introspective again. Arriving in Milgram triggered his aggressive tendencies, but getting voted guilty and losing an eye for it triggered his passive terror. At the time of his second audio drama, it seems like he’s returned to aggressively questioning Es again, and it remains to be seen whether he keeps that attitude into t3 or if something happens that once again makes him lose his footing (or die).

Mu Kusunoki

Much like Yuno, Mu also has an argument for being called the Queen– more so than Yuno, considering her strong Queen Bee coding in It’s Not My Fault and the titles of both of her audio dramas– but also falls short in the “being opposed to Kotoko” department. Although Haruka certainly looks to her for leadership, I can’t imagine Kotoko actually considering Mu a serious enough threat to put Mu on the same level as herself.

So again, like Yuno, I think Mu might be the other Rook. Mu also displayed a very “whatever I say goes” attitude in INMF, so she can share the same rhetoric behind Yuno being represented by that piece. The logic behind the castle aspect is slightly different, though.

Every country or medieval estate would have its royalty who were protected within the walled city or castle.

Mu is a rich, half-European girl whose dad sells real estate. Of course she would be represented by the Castle! Mu’s tactics involve consolidating her power in order to lead from a place above it all, exactly like how a castle looks over the rest of the village. Additionally, I can’t find the source of whoever pointed it out first, but I’ve seen it mentioned that the dress Mu wears in her birthday art is a reference to the one that Belle wears in Disney’s interpretation of Beauty and the Beast. It’s a fairytale with a princess (and perhaps someday, a queen), yes, but it’s specifically one where the heroine is trapped within a castle. Making Mu into a Rook would be a great way to keep up her royal theming, while leaving the Queen for a character a bit more powerful and relevant to Kotoko.

(Going back to Haruka for a moment, this would make him specifically the A or H pawn.)

Shidou Kirisaki

I really thought that Shidou might have more competition for the role of King, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that nobody fit the role quite as well as he did.

Shidou is the perfect balance of a piece who’s very problematic for Kotoko’s win condition, while also not being much of an active threat himself. There are very low odds that Shidou would ever actually try to harm Kotoko directly or get in her way to divert an attack. However, as long as he’s alive, Kotoko can’t win, because Shidou can keep attempting to heal all of the pieces Kotoko tries to eliminate. That’s not something that the King piece can actually do in a chess game, but hopefully you get my point.

Additionally, Triage let us know that Shidou is a family man. While the white Queen will obviously not be representative of Shidou’s deceased wife, and not every other prisoner would enjoy living under his reign (cough cough Amane), the optics of him being the “head of the family” are obviously there. It’s a pretty bad look if the white King starts the game by pleading with the black King to give him the death penalty, but… Well, at least Shidou changed his mind.

Mahiru Shiina

Not to answer the theory’s main question so early into the post, but… I think Mahiru is a white Bishop. Specifically, the one that Kotoko could be snapping in half in the thumbnail.

As far as I can remember, barring Undercover, Milgram’s MVs have only shown us things that have happened in the past. There are some things that could kind of hint at the future (like Shidou’s “So hey, prolong my life / I’m indispensable” in Triage) or depict prisoner’s fears of the future (like Futa potentially being afraid that Es could declare him guilty again at the end of Backdraft). But, I think that every instance of something like that happening could be explained as something that the character did or thought about in the past as well. That might be wrong, as I don’t want to take the time to write out how everything that appears like it could be in the future is actually in the past, but it sounds right to my memory.

My point being, while the snapped bishop could be indicative of Kotoko’s plans to crush someone in the future, if the chess pieces do represent characters, it makes far more sense if her smashing the white bishop is something that already happened in the past. Thus, it would probably be one of the three characters that Kotoko attacked in the past: Futa, Mahiru, or Mikoto.

Of the three options, I think Mahiru fits the role of bishop best.

The bishop is your belief structure. This is why a bishop that starts on white, will always be on white and vice versa for the black bishop.

While not a particularly religious person, Mahiru is someone who lives and dies based on her beliefs about the value of love. No matter what happens to her, she always keeps her same perspective, believing that love is the entirety of who she is and the only thing that’s worth living for. It’s how firmly she clung to those beliefs that sent her to Milgram, and her lack of awareness regarding her actions that got her voted guilty. AKA, Mahiru’s Bishop-like beliefs are exactly what sent her to be crushed in Kotoko’s palm.

To the extent that the blood in the thumbnail is the Bishop’s and not Kotoko’s, Mahiru was also the most grievously injured of the prisoners in between trials. I saw people joking that the thing Kotoko was crushing was “Mahiru’s bones,” and, like… maybe you’re not entirely wrong? 

I hope that you continue reading the post to hear my thoughts on the last three prisoners. But, if you are tapping out here… uhhhh, 0610 enjoyers, go crazy with this one.

Kazui Mukuhara

When I started theorizing for this post, I really thought that I was going to make Kazui the Queen to Shidou’s King. The two of them are pretty close, so the idea of Kazui being Shidou’s guardian makes total sense. And, most importantly, Kazui was the one to actually intercept and divert Kotoko’s attack on Futa. He’s been established as the most muscular prisoner in Milgram, on par with someone like Kotoko, which is perfect for him being the Queen!

Wellllll… I changed my mind and decided to make Kazui a Knight anyway.

There are a lot of good arguments for Kazui being a knight too, okay? After Cat, it’s pretty clear that Kazui was once a police officer. Thus, being a member of the castle guard would be a good match for his choice of career. They’re also probably the most traditionally “manly” piece, representative of an armed man on a horse, and Kazui tries very hard to be manly.

Knights can also hop over other pieces, much like how Kazui jumped into the fight between Kotoko and Futa. In fact…

Never underestimate [the Knight] for its limited range. It’s known as the "Queen Killer" for a reason!

Knights are often a good piece to use to attack Queens because of their unique L-shaped movement pattern. Unlike every other piece, they can attack the Queen from a position that can’t be immediately reversed upon them. Thus, Kazui’s ability to beat Kotoko could be an indicator of this “Queen Killer” quality, instead of the innate power of being a Queen himself. (This logic applies to Futa as well: he can attack Kotoko from the unique angle of appealing to Es’ morals and own sense of justice. Kotoko can’t do the same because, unlike Futa, she has yet to outwardly acknowledge that her murder could have been anything less than righteous.)

Also… the Knight is the only piece that doesn’t move in a straight line. Get it? The Knight doesn’t move straight? And that represents Kazui? Because Kazui is–

Amane Momose

Amane is the other Bishop because… religion.

The bishop stands close to the king and queen because it represents the church which many royal courts held near and dear to their hearts.

The Bishop represents the church, an important and very powerful entity throughout history and even today if you think about it.

Again, not everything has to be a reach. (/j)

So… yeah, Amane’s beliefs– specifically religious beliefs, this time– are also a huge part of her life. Even if she’s changed what the cult’s doctrine means to her, she still confesses that she carried out her murders for the sake of what her religion considers right and wrong.

This is also considered the third most powerful piece on the chessboard because back in the day religion could influence many people, even without the help of the royal family.

Not so much for Mahiru, but this sentiment also fits Amane pretty well! Between the threats of potential conversions and potential assassinations, Amane was definitely one of the prisoners to watch heading into t2. From what I’ve heard, the main reason why her vote was so down to the wire was mostly because people were afraid of the power that Amane held.

Interestingly, this would put another prisoner who was voted guilty in contention for the piece that Kotoko is crushing. However, I still think it’s more likely that that piece would be Mahiru, because Kotoko didn’t physically attack Amane. If it were Amane, it would more likely be that her beliefs were crushed as opposed to her bones, but… I don’t really think that really happened, either. Amane would almost certainly be a bishop, though, so there’s certainly a possibility that that broken piece could be her.

Mikoto/John Kayano

With only one prisoner left to go, you may have already come to the conclusion that Mikoto is the white Queen. And… yeah, I can’t really deny that at this point. Like I said, I wanted to make Kazui the Queen, but I couldn’t otherwise figure out what Mikoto would be.

Because, there’s one main thing that makes me think that Mikoto has to be the Queen… John’s lack of restraints.

She is allowed to move in any direction and in as many squares as she wants.

Due to the whole situation with John not technically being a prisoner, when John is the alter in charge, John cannot be restrained, even when voted guilty. That makes him very powerful; no matter what he does, we can’t use a guilty vote to try to stop him, much like many people hoped to do with Haruka when voting him guilty in t2. The Queen can visit any square, no matter whether it’s black or white, upright or reversed, Mikoto or John. Choosing any other piece that was constrained to a much more limited set of movement rules just felt off for him.

Next, while Kazui was able to defeat Kotoko and save Futa, the fight between John and Kotoko was a draw. That means that they are also evenly matched– perfect for both being the same kind of piece. Mikoto isn’t as close to Shidou as Kazui is (anymore, I think?), but they were at least smoking club buddies, so calling Mikoto the Queen to Shidou’s King isn’t the most ridiculous proposition.

Finally, making Mikoto the Queen, a very feminine piece, is super interesting in the context of people discussing how Mikoto is often associated with stereotypically feminine roles and the girl prisoners (oboetemasuka | candckirby | purgemarchlockdown). I don’t have a whole lot else to say on this matter considering these weren’t points of Mikoto’s characterization I originally noticed myself, but I encourage you to read these posts to get a taste of what I’m talking about. I’m sure there were other posts discussing it too, but… it’s so hard to find things on Tumblr ;-;

Conclusion

Finally, we’ve been through every prisoner! Here’s a summary of what I decided on (left or right side doesn’t matter):

The funny thing about this theory is that it could be fully disproven wrong in, like, a week, if either 1) that wasn’t a chess piece at all, or 2) the chess pieces obviously represent something else. For instance, the chess board could fully relate to, you know, Kotoko’s actual murder and not what she got up to in between trials. We are supposed to get more actual evidence regarding that too, aren’t we…?

Still, if it turns out that the chess board does represent Milgram, I will get the full satisfaction of having called it ahead of time, even if my assignments aren’t 100% correct. No matter what, I had fun thinking about it, which is (in my opinion) the highlight of theorizing! If you have anything else to add, I encourage you to communicate your thoughts in comments, tags, or reblogs. If you don’t, then I simply thank you for reading this far!

Deep Cover… soon.

#milgram #milgram theory #deep cover #kotoko yuzuriha #es milgram #jackalope milgram #haruka sakurai #yuno kashiki #fuuta kajiyama #mu kusunoki #shidou kirisaki #mahiru shiina #kazui mukuhara #amane momose #mikoto kayano #john kayano #i hope nobody else wrote about this yet i didn't see anyone do it #i am not the most knowledgeable about milgram so hopefully i didn't overlook anything big #but i hope i'm right. that would be exciting! #would be kinda funny if it's not even a bishop though #my theories

[juneknight]

obsessed || 2

Part One

About this: college au. dorm room!marc/fem!reader. Oral sex (f receiving) No I don't edit or proofread my works, thanks for asking!

Immersivity: reader is given no overt physical description and no name. Details about her figure/body could be assumed based on the fact that she wears a pair of Marc's stollen pajama pants. It is referenced that she comes from a sex-negative household. Any further details which hinder your immersive experience are welcome to be pointed out to me.

-

That’s how he gets you sitting ramrod straight on the center cushion of the couch, knees pressed so tightly together that not even the holy ghost could come between them, both hands covering your face. Marc sits cross legged at your feet, laughing at you. With your eyes covered, he can let his face relax from its cold, neutral expression into one of mesmerized fondness. You have that effect on him. You melt him into something liquid and soft. 

God, he’s a fucking idiot. It’s hard enough living with you now; how is he meant to go on the way things have been once he’s had a taste of you? How is he supposed to listen to you gargle in the bathroom knowing he’s had his mouth on you? His excuse—being pent up and craving pussy—is thin enough for him to see through. Marc’s been jerking off plenty enough at night (and in the shower, and anytime you’re in class and he has the dorm room to himself), and he’s had a handful of opportunities that could have opened the door for sex though he hadn’t followed through with them.

Because he wants you. 

“Come on,” he says, tapping your shin. His eyes linger on the way his pajama pants fit you. You don’t even fucking know what it does to him to see you prancing around in his clothes. With your eyes covered, he feels safe enough to reach down and palm his cock which is aching beneath the denim of his jeans. The little bit of friction helps and hurts all at once. “Spread ‘em.” 

“I’m shy,” you bark at him. 

The naivete would be a turn off if he didn’t know you better. In the majority of situations, you’re far from inexperienced, and he has never known you to be shy in the classroom or at parties. But after many nights similar to this (spent talking about anything and everything), he knows that you grew up in a household where sex was viewed very particularly. Those long-ingrained doctrines have been difficult to unlearn, no matter how much you want to. 

“Hey,” he says. “Just be honest with me. Don’t say yes just because you think I want to. If you don’t want to, then I don’t want to.” 

You lower your hands. “It’s not that I don’t want…to. I’m just scared.” 

Scared. Marc tends to have that effect on people; he’s been told that he’s too deadpan, too intense, too cold. You aren’t the only one holding on to a less than stellar childhood. Even though you had skirted a safe perimeter around him for the first few days you’d shared classes together, you’d been quick to see something in him that others hadn’t. Something that Marc didn’t even see in himself. Always though the fear comes creeping in, the fear that you’re afraid of him. 

He has to know—whether it hurts or not, he has to know. “What are you scared of, baby? Me? Me…accidentally hurting you like that last guy did?”

“No,” you rush to assure him. His shoulders lower but jaw remains tight. He isn’t sure if he believes you. “I know that you wouldn’t hurt me. And you’re probably a lot more careful than that other guy was. I guess I just…don’t know what you’re getting out of it. What if you think I’m disgusting?” 

“I literally spent fifteen minutes earlier waxing poetry about eating pussy. If you think I’m not going to thoroughly enjoy myself, then you’re wrong, and for what it’s worth—you could never disgust me.” Honest, too honest, Marc, some voice warns from the back of his mind. He lifts one hand to let it rest below your knee, gently clasping your shin. “If you want it, I want it. Let me make this good for you.” 

You let out a shaky sigh. His heart pounds when, marginally, your knees begin to open. Marc lets his thumb drift down from the top of your knee down and inward, breaching the newly open space and rubbing your leg softly through the flannel pajama pants. “Okay. What should I do?”

“You should probably take your pants off.” Then, he thinks about it. “No, wait, just stand up. Let me take them off of you.” 

Then you’re standing, calves pressed against the couch cushions when Marc doesn’t move back to give you any room. He’s eye level with the crotch of your pajamas. Glancing up at you, he’s surprised to see your eyes already on him, wide and unblinking, staring down at him with something akin to amazement. The moment is almost enough to make his head spin. Here he is, on his knees for you, about to undress you and put his mouth on you. 

His hands come up and rest at your waist, thumbing at your hips until he sinks his fingertips over and beneath the waistband of the pajama pants. He lets his fingers brush against the top elastic band of your panties and you shiver above him. 

And god help him. God help him because—

“Remember when I said that when a woman is really wet, you can smell her?” he rasps, pulling his thumb free to trace a vertical line from the waistband down towards the top of your mound, stopping just centimeters above where your clit must be. Feeling like he’s about to be torn apart, Marc leans in and nuzzles against the crotch of your pants. He inhales sharply the smell of you. The smell of you wet for him. “Fuck, I love it. Fuck, fuck. Can I take these off?” 

You nod, but that isn’t the enthusiasm he wants. 

“Can you say it?” 

You clear your throat. “Yes. You can take them off.” 

With all the care of handling crystal, he peels them from your hips and slips them down your thighs, eyes tracing the newly exposed skin before zeroing in on your panties. They are a pale lilac, cute and sensible compared to some of the other pairs he’s seen in the laundry hamper on the rare occasion that he lifts the lid to put his own clothes inside. He clenches his jaw trying to hold himself back from leaning in and pulling your panties down with his fucking teeth. Gentler than he feels, he guides your hips back until you sit heavily on the couch. With care, he slips the pants off of your feet and brushes them aside, kneeling up onto his knees and then resting back on his heels. 

“Open up,” he murmurs, staring at your cloth-covered cunt. “Spread your legs for me.” 

You do. As soon as your knees spread just a few handbreadths apart, Marc groans, a punched-out sound. The crotch of your panties are soaked a darker purple, clinging to your cunt so that his eyes can just barely trace your folds. 

“Holy fuck, look at you,” he says. “You’re so fucking wet, aren’t you? Look at this.” 

Both of your hands fly up to cover your eyes. He makes an unhappy sound in the back of his throat. You crack open your fingers an inch so you can look down at his raised brow. “Don’t hide from me. I want to see your face. It will help me know if I’m doing something wrong. Or something right.”

Fighting what must be your instinctual urge to hide, you lower your hands to your sides and clench them into tight fists. You’re being so brave for him, for yourself. Marc drags his palms up and down the sides of your calves, relishing the cool softness of your skin and trying to ease your tense muscles. 

“Tell me what he did wrong,” Marc says, breath fanning across your bare thighs. “How did it hurt? I don’t want to do anything that might hurt you.” 

“‘m sensitive,” you grumble. 

Marc breathes a laugh. “Yeah, it’s your pussy, I bet it’s sensitive. How sensitive, though? Was it too much when he was using his tongue? Or was he using his teeth?”

“The tongue was fine,” you say, speaking about it the way you might a mediocre appetizer you’ve been served at a restaurant. Marc holds his jealousy in a tightly closed fist. Now isn’t the time to be jealous of some young boy who couldn’t even make you feel good. Now is Marc’s turn.  “But he—oh my god, I hate you, I can’t say this shit out loud Marc.” 

“Tell me,” he murmurs, unable to help leaning in to press the softest kiss against your knee. Your chest hitches at the contact, a movement his eyes track but his mind doesn’t understand.

“He was…”

“Was…” 

“Sucking on me. On my clit. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if I wasn’t so anxious. If I was turned on like, at all.” 

“Consider it noted,” Marc says, refusing to pat his own back by pointing out how turned on you seem right now. Then with gentle pressure (to give you plenty a chance to refuse him) he coaxes you to spread your thighs wide and then wider. 

“Shouldn’t I take off my underwear?” you ask.

“Not if you might be too sensitive,” says Marc. “Come here. Slouch down.” 

You shift around, but not nearly low enough for his liking. So he slips his hands beneath you, cupping your ass and pulling until your cunt is at the edge of the couch, inches from his waiting mouth. The squeal you give has him pursing his lips to keep from laughing. His strength always seems to surprise you.

Gazing up at you, he waits for you to nod before he turns his head and lays a soft kiss on the tender skin inside your thigh. Above him, you exhale shakily. The feeling of your skin beneath his lips has his head buzzing. He begins dragging his mouth upwards, his kisses growing ever-more open mouthed until he is blatantly tasting your skin. His eyes flicker shut as he inhales noisily, the scent of your arousal making his cock twitch. He switches thighs. 

A sound slips through the back of your throat, something high and breathy. A whine. Marc’s eyes flash open at the sound, flickering all across your face for any hint of pain. But he doesn’t find it. If anything, you look fucked out: mouth parted, eyes heavy lidded. He hasn’t even fucking touched you.

I can do this, he thinks. I can make you feel good.

He softly sucks blood to the surface of your skin until you can’t seem to sit still, thighs tensing beneath his mouth. When he opens his eyes, your panties are even wetter. Enough teasing the both of you, he thinks. He shifts and drags the tip of his curved nose up the seam of your clothed cunt, nudging so softly against the apex.

“Oh my god,” you mutter above him, sounding about as wrecked as some of his past partners did when he was already finished with them.

He’s losing it. He can feel it, the threads of his control fraying beneath the sharp edges of his desire for you. Never does he think that he wouldn’t be able to stop if you asked him to or if you gave any indication that you weren’t enthusiastically enjoying his work, but he wants to make sure that you know you’re in control. You’re in control of him, no matter how consumed he appears. 

“If you want me to stop, you say the fucking word okay?” he rasps. His lips brush against your underwear and come away faintly sticky with slick. He doesn’t even let himself lick it from his lips, not yet. “And if I’m not stopping fast enough for your liking, gouge my goddamn eyes out, you hear me?” 

He waits until you give a frantic bob of your head. Then he licks the flat of his tongue up the soaked crotch of your panties. It’s hard to tell who groans loudest. You taste good. His jaw aches the way it does when he sucks on something sweet, mouth salivating. He laps at you again and again, careful not to be too forceful. Your thighs clench tight around his head and he has to pull them away and pin them open wide to the couch so that he can move the way he wants to. 

“Is—am I—” Marc begrudgingly opens his eyes to see you struggling to speak. He struggles to keep his gaze on you. The taste of you in his mouth, the feel of your warm skin beneath his hands, the serenity of this moment all has his eyes wanting to roll back. It takes a herculean effort to pull his mouth from you, to lay his head on your thigh taking deep breaths through his nose while waiting for you to collect your thoughts. You finally manage to ask: “Am I—gross?”

Marc blinks. “Are you gross? Baby who the hell hurt you?”

It’s your turn to blink down at him. “What?”

“Who in the fuck has put you so deep inside your head that you can’t see I’m sixty seconds away from cumming in my pants because you taste so fucking good? Because you smell so fucking good? Because you sound so fucking good? You know what. Don’t answer that—” Marc reaches backwards towards the coffee table, finding the flier he’d written on earlier: HOMETOWN DICK is scrawled there. He slaps it on the couch cushion beside you along with the capless pen. “—write it down if you can and I’ll get to them later.”

He lets saliva pool on his tongue before his next lick of you. Between his spit and your own slick, your thighs are wet and sticky, panties soaked. He can’t help but reach up to tug upwards at the waistband just a bit, just so the fabric rides up flush against your pussy so he can see every last curve and fold of you. The stimulation of the fabric must feel good because you whine—honest to god whine, your pelvis giving the most adorable little arches as you try to decide whether to press into the stimulation or press away from it so that his hand draws the fabric against you tighter. 

Marc has to let go to keep your thighs spread as they try to creep in closer to his ears. His eyes are shut as he laps at you with long, firm strokes, alternating directions, doing his best to be gentle in case you’re as sensitive as you think. Periodically he glances up to make sure you’re okay, and that is when he notices the way your hands are clenched into fists, shaking with the force you’re using to keep them still. He reaches out. Your fingers are cool beneath his, and at the first touch, your hand opens up, blossoming like a flower so he can lace your fingers together. He smiles against your pussy—he hadn’t intended to hold hands, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to turn it down. 

“Put your hands in my hair,” he says. He gently shakes his head from side to side letting the flat of his tongue rub against your clit. Your gasp makes your chest heave, fingers clamping down around his. Fuck, yes. You just need something you can pull on. “C’me on, baby, you can get rough with me.” 

Your eyes are wet, wide as you shakily move your hands to his hair. The feel of your fingers in his curls is divine. His lashes flutter. “Yeah?” you breathe. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“Hurt me, baby, I love it, okay?” 

You tug a little. His cock jerks where it’s still confined in denim. “But what if you need to breathe?” 

“Don’t care,” he says. “Drown me in your pussy, I do not fucking care. Okay?” 

“Ma-arc,” you whine, thighs spasming. “God Marc, please—” 

He groans, pausing to lap at your thighs, to clean up the mess he’s making. “Please what, baby? I’ll give you anything, just ask for it.” 

“Just—don’t stop, please—” 

And he doesn’t. He has no plans to. Not when his scalp is alight with the way you pull at every new movement of his tongue, not when you’re so fucking vocal, whining his name and little pleas and nonsensical strings of words that will forever echo in his brain. He doesn’t know how you manage to touch yourself so quietly at night when you think he’s asleep, when the only indications he gets that you’re touching yourself at all are the little shifts of the bed, the way you hold your breath before you cum, and (sometimes, on nights when you must be really, really worked up) the occasional wet sound of your fingers slipping over your clit.

“Marc, ‘m gonna cum,” you gasp. 

Marc’s heart stutters in his chest. He finds one of his hands lowering, aching to press a finger or two inside of you so that he can feel the clench of your pussy when he pushes you over the edge. But that’s just another good reason why he left your panties on; the last thing he needs is to push your boundaries in the heat of the moment, to lose his head and maybe take a liberty that would hurt you. He lets his thumb press against your soaked panties though, notching itself against your entrance even through the fabric. His jaw aches, legs numb from where he’s kneeling on them, but nothing could stop him now. Nothing. 

He focuses on the aching little knot of your clit, letting his tongue rasp over it until your back bows off of the couch, your breath stuttering and then stopping altogether the way he’s already so familiar with. Your fingers spasm in his hair, nearly losing your grip and then you’re pulling him closer, his nose pressed into your pubic bone, thighs shivering and shaking while you give a short cry. 

You came. You are cumming. Because of him. For him. He can feel the way your entrance spasms beneath the firm press of his thumb, and he lets himself imagine how that would feel around his cock. There’s no harm in just thinking about it. If thinking it were a sin, Marc’s soul would be lost long ago. 

Just as he expects you to come down, he finds you doing the opposite. 

“Don’t stop, don’t don’t, please, I can cum again—can I? Please—” 

Marc lets out a broken moan, nodding his head. Fuck it does things to him, hearing you beg, hearing you ask him for permission, like he has more of a say when you cum than you do. But you are pushing him back suddenly, and he jerks away as if he has been burned, eyes wide—had he had a time-slip? Had he missed something, some indication that you really wanted him to stop and not continue?

But all you do is shift your hips up, hooking your thumbs in the waistband of your panties and wrenching them down over your thighs, knees, tossing them to the side. He pulls his eyes away from where he’s dying to let them rest so that he can look at your face: damp at your temples, lips swollen from biting them. Your chest is heaving, and out of the corner of his eye he sees your hands clutch into fists again, suddenly anxious, exposed—

Exposed for him. Because you wanted to be. Because you chose to be. 

Marc lets his eyes fall, takes in your swollen pussy, slick with your own cum, and not to get fucking philosophical, but he’s pretty sure that it’s going to change his life. He wants it. He wants his mouth on it. He finds himself being drawn in like your pussy is a fucking siren and he’s ready to dash his ship on the fucking rocks just to drown in it happily. He barely manages to stop himself at the last moment.

“Can I?” he rasps. 

“Please,” you groan. 

He swipes his tongue from your entrance to your clit. Your taste is so much more concentrated like this, a little salt and a little sweet. He can’t help but press his tongue inside you as deep as your pussy will allow, his head nearly spinning when he feels the way you clench down softly, like you’re trying to keep him inside you. Then there is a sharp tug of his hair as you drag him back upwards a fraction. 

“My clit, please, pleasepleaseplease—” 

His eyes nearly roll. Fuck, he loves when you’re a little bossy. He loves when you’re confident, loves to see you chasing what feels good without letting your insecurities get in the way. He takes your clit between his lips and sucks sweetly, letting his tongue flicker over it. Only a few moments have passed since your last orgasm, and it’s clear that you’re heading towards another with the way your nails dig into his scalp, your breaths coming more and more stuttered. Beneath your breath, all you can repeat is fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck. 

This time when you cum, you shriek. The volume of it clearly surprises you because it sends you into trilling peels of laughter that have him grinning even as he struggles to focus on prolonging your pleasure, letting his teeth graze over you just to see the way your laughter cuts off and your back arches, a gasp pulled from deep within your chest. 

“Holy fuck, Marc,” you gasp wetly. “Oh my god. I want to go for a third. Can I?” 

“Fuck, you’re one of those girls,” he laughs breathily. “And you thought you were too sensitive. Yeah, baby. Three for three sounds good.” 

This time his jaw just can’t keep up. You don’t seem to mind when braces a hand against your lower tummy and lets his thumb rub the slick little nub. The exhaustion of your all-nighter has clearly caught up to the both of you. He nearly loses himself watching the way your thighs go lax, utterly relaxed in your pleasure. Your head tilts on your neck like you can’t keep it up straight. Your lashes rest against your cheeks as you breathe out his name and ask so fucking sweetly, would you put a finger in me?

“Need something to clench down on?” Marc wonders, resting his head on your thigh. “Is your poor little pussy empty?” 

“Uh-huh,” is all you can whisper back. “Feels good to have someth’n inside when I cum.” 

“I’ll bet it does,” he whispers back. Gently, so gently, he eases a finger into you. You’re burning hot, slick and soft. Your orgasms have you so relaxed around him, he immediately knows that you could take another of his fingers. Two seems to offer you the stretch you want, because your shoulders sag in relief, walls clenching around him. 

When you cum for the last time, Marc gets to feel it. Wrung dry as you are, your pussy does nothing but give soft little spasms around his fingers as he flexes them and rubs the slick textured walls inside you. Your thighs twitch, a low whine rising in the back of your throat as he overstimulates you. But he can’t help it. He wants every last moment of your pleasure. He wants to commit every moment to memory in case this is all he ever gets from you, in case after graduation you move away and it’s all he has left of you. 

When Marc pulls his fingers free, he doesn’t hesitate to tuck them into his mouth and suck them clean. Your eyes are shut, head reclining back against the couch, thighs still spread as far as he forced them open. Your poor pussy looks so sensitive, so fucked out and fucked open by him. 

The need rises up in him, a tsunami wave that blocks out the sun. He’s been ignoring his cock for so long—during what is without question the most amazing sexual experience of his life, no less—and now the desperation becomes almost a frenzy. He has to get to the bathroom so that he can jerk off, posthaste. He doesn’t care if it’s improper, doesn’t care if it’s all too obvious to you what he’s doing. 

Marc stumbles away from you on his knees, palms hitting the floor to keep himself balanced. He catches sight of his fingers, still wet from where he had sucked them clean, and a sound slips from the back of his throat: high and desperate. The little movement he’s made has brushed his cock against the denim and pushed him incrementally closer to that edge. 

“Marc?” 

The bathroom is right there—

“Marc—” 

—he can see it, see the door cracked open, see the silly little night light you put in there, the one that keeps him from constantly banging his hip on the sharp edge of the sink—

“Marc.” 

He has stopped his forward movement, he realizes. He has fallen to one elbow, his other hand fumbling at the button of his jeans, but his fingers are clumsy and exhausted and shaking with how badly he needs to cum, so he just says fuck it, just reaches down and rubs himself over the denim. The attention after so much neglect has him gasping wetly. He let himself lower the last few inches until he is laying on the floor, lets himself tip onto his back until he is looking up at the cheap fluorescent lighting doing his to jerk himself off through the restrictive denim—

And he sees you, sitting upright on the couch with your eyes on him, face slack. 

Yeah, he cums. Right then, looking at you, at the haze in your eyes and the hair plastered to your forehead. He cums so hard his eyes roll back, cums so hard that it hurts, cums so hard that he knows a little piece of his soul slips out of his body and will forever rest there in Dorm Room E12. There will be a monument there, useless though no less momentous for it, like Plymouth Rock or the Liberty Bell. It will let future generations know that this is where Marc Spector saw God. 

He lays there on the floor panting. Slowly your face comes into view above him. You’ve tugged your pants back on. 

“Are you…okay?” you ask. 

He holds up his thumb. 

The smile you give him is wobbly, and the next ten minutes the two of you spend cleaning up the apartment (after Marc ducks into the bathroom and changes his pants, thanks) are painful with how quiet you are. When you crawl into bed, you pull the blankets up so high that all he can see is your hair, facing the wall.

Maybe he should have known that this would happen. Common sense could have forewarned him that eating out your best friend might lead to some internal conflict. While it was happening, he would have told himself that no matter the consequences, it was worth it, but now he isn’t sure. He crosses to his bed, sheds his shirt, and is just about to slip between the sheets when he sees it: a neat little folded square of pale purple fabric, tucked just beneath the edge of his pillow. He pulls your panties free and clutches them in one fist, heart pounding. It had to have been an accident—except it couldn’t have been. You must not have done it on purpose—but then how could you have done it at all? He brings them up to his face and smells the scent of your slick. They’re still damp, for fuck’s sake. 

“Here lies Marc Spector,” he mutters. He tucks the panties beneath his pillow, mind already spinning about the implication of them. Already determined that he’ll give them back when they’re pried from his cold dead hands. Just as he pulls the sheets over himself, he sees the glow of the sun strike the wall through the window with the broken slat blinds. He plans to watch the sunlight move across the wall as it rises, but falls asleep within an instant.

#marc spector x reader

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

gevivys (beauty) │ Chapter 5: Resolve

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

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

Synopsis: Daemon returns to King's Landing after ten years in exile, intent on rekindling his affair with Rhaenyra. He wasn't expecting you - the revelation changes everything.

Hello, all! I know, it’s so soon! But this one is a cobbled-together piece of stuff you’ve already seen, just padded out a bit more. I figured I might as well push it on out now, so here ya go! Featuring Jason Lannister for the very first time, to finally bring all this shit together a bit more cohesively. As always, thank you to my boobear @ewanmitchellcrumbs​ for reading though this and reassuring me it isn’t total shite!

TRIGGERS: incest, purity culture, age gap, general Daemon grottiness, allusions to non-consensual sexual situations.

According to most, Daemon Targaryen is a man in possession of little capacity for feeling beyond what is required to partake in lechery and barbarism. He knows himself; his disparagers are not entirely wrong. Except for one important, essential truth—he would die for his family. He loves his family.

Love, as he understands it, is what he has always felt when looking upon his brother, upon Rhaenyra. No matter the strife that has torn him from his kin time and time again, he can freely acknowledge that such sentiments will remain everlasting.

A kicked hound is one most loyal, he thinks with no small degree of bitterness. Or perhaps the meanest hound is more loyal. Either way, I am the hound—and my master, the King.

Love is what has wrenched harsh and twisting in his heart whenever he laid eyes on you, a toddling girl-child eternally eager for the cossetting attentions of your uncle, your kepa—and he had always been kepa, never Viserys, no, your father had never received an honour beyond being called ‘papa’ like any common pauper—now a stranger in so many ways.

The garden and the morning repast had served to ignite the wellspring of all his wildest desires, delivering to him seemingly all he had ever wanted in a prospective bride; young and beautiful, obedient and good-tempered, Valyrian of colouring and of status. But you had seemed smaller than your younger self—trapped in a prison of your own making, hidden beneath layers and layers of chaste courtesy and painstaking banality. And then, accompanying you to the Dragonpit had given him a curious glimpse into the power you kept hidden, the ancient strength of your lineage slipping through the cracks in your genteel veneer.

Regal. Arcane. These are the words that had come to mind watching you interact with your mount, none other than the famed Cannibal himself; something of the majesty of the Conqueror lay within you, waiting for the necessary spark to kindle the flame. Your exchange with Athfiezar—your silent fearlessness, your devotion to your savage beast, your unassuming poise—reminds him that, for all your equally meek and mild-mannered nature, you are still Targaryen. You are still his sweetling.

It is this that elicits a consuming curiosity to know more.

You are an interesting puzzle, a strange contradiction, one whose buttermilk skin and pert teats and spit-shine lips should herald as a welcome to sample the delights hidden by the fabric of your darling little gowns. Yet, you act not as a silly young thing learning of her sway over men—teasing with fluttering lashes and bit lip and lilting tone as Rhaenyra had—but as a docile girl disinclined to press the limits of propriety as all maidens do. You ride the most savage dragon in the known world, and yet there is no such quality in you that echoes your mount’s disposition; instead, a loveliness that is near to cloying, pure and unadulterated and surely too good to be true. You are a fucking princess, and yet you are perfectly content to fade into the periphery, drawing little notice to yourself and seeking none from those around you, not even your own blood. A scholar, quick-witted and erudite, but somehow still so sweetly unknowing of the depravities that rule the minds of men who lay eyes on you.

You fascinate him. And his newfound realisation does not lessen his temptation to fuck you—to ply you with praise and charm and no small hint of avuncular affection (the reminder of your shared blood thrills him to the bone as always) so that, over time, you might be swayed to give your maidenhead to him—but, rather, that it results in a metamorphosis, a muddling, his longing mingling the base needs of the flesh with a rekindling of his fondness for you.

Which is why he cannot stand the presence of Jason Lannister.

“Why are you entertaining this farce?” Daemon asks, fists clenched at his sides. “A pompous fuck like him has no business anywhere near her.”

“Whatever is the problem, brother?” Viserys says distractedly, hunching over his miniature of Old Valyria and studying the replica of the Targaryen manse on the outskirts with intent. “Jason Lannister is Lord Paramount of the Westerlands. By any standard, I would think he is the best contender for her hand.”

That fucking model of his. Daemon resists the urge to smash the King’s stone city into rubble, though doing so might grant him the attentiveness he is sorely lacking from the man. “Are you not hearing me? He’s an arrogant cunt. He’d bore her in a sennight, let alone whatever hellish span of time an entire marriage would last.”

Viserys hums noncommittally. “She will make do”—he waves Daemon off—“as all noblewomen must when their fathers command them to marry. That is her lot in life. Besides, Lord Jason is one of the wealthiest men in the Realm, and I am told he is rather pleasing to a lady’s eye. She could do worse than he.”

His brother’s remark is a fair one—of the trio, Jason is the preferable choice. And what a fucking miserable choice it would be.

He rolls his eyes. This is going nowhere. “And Tyrell? Your idiot son? Are they the ‘worse’ you speak of?”

Between that foppish peacock, his spiteful little twit of a nephew and the prancing Lion, the latter just barely scrapes by as the best of the bunch.

“Enough, Daemon.” The King sighs, finally deigning to look up from his pile of rock. “These are the suitors she herself has chosen. I care not for the particulars; only that the girl should be wed before her eighteenth name day. Each of them possesses some quality I am sure she finds worthwhile…”

At that, he pauses, brow furrowing. He squints up at Daemon. “What is your interest in the matter, anyway? It has naught to do with you.”

Shit. Daemon makes an evasive comment—something about sullying the purity of their noble lineage—and departs as quickly as he can, eager to escape the risk of Viserys’s suspicion falling on him. It would not do for the man to suspect his intentions toward yet another of his daughters.

He does not intend to seek you and the Lord out, truly; but it nonetheless does not surprise him to realise that, upon freeing himself from the wrathful spiral of his own musings, his feet have taken him to the very same garden where he had first laid eyes upon you again after so many years, where you are now enduring the attentions of the insufferable Lannister patriarch. On this occasion, Cole is nowhere to be seen, and the entry is instead guarded by one of the Cargyll twins.

Daemon spies you on the path just inside, a careful distance placed between you and Jason. Though he cannot make out your expression from his vantage point, he observes well enough the flourishing bow the lord proffers in your direction, the polite curtsey you extend in return, his smug prancing step as he leaves your company. He sees the manner in which your shoulders droop, your head bowing as you turn to wander past the great tree and out of sight. My poor girl.

And then his view is blocked by a garish wash of red and gold.

“Prince Daemon,” Jason says with a haughty simper. With a curt nod, Daemon wordlessly returns the salutation. His lack of warmth is noticed; the Lannister lord hesitates for a moment before returning to his condescending civilities, forcing a relaxed stance. “I was most glad to hear of your return.”

He doubts that. There is little love lost between him and the lord. Jerking his chin toward the garden, he asks, “Leaving so soon, are we? I had thought the entire afternoon was devoted to this little outing.”

Jason chuckles awkwardly. “Well.” He scratches his beard. “The Princess has another engagement to attend to. Something about a tutor.”

Thank the gods for that Lysan fellow. They had never met, but Daemon is certain he’d like the man well enough.

“Doesn’t concern you?” he asks, scarcely bothering to conceal the scepticism from his tone. At the confusion on Lannister’s face, he clarifies. “That she’d rather spend time with her tutor than with you?”

“Why would it, my Prince?” is the answer, self-assured as ever. “He is old, and frail. Best for her to spend as much time with him as she can before she leaves for Lannisport.”

That genuinely irritates him, and not simply the notion of you being shipped off to the lurid monstrosity that is Casterly Rock. Even he knows that your meetings with your tutor are less obligations and more gatherings of friendship—your spirit would surely crumble if you were denied your dearest companion after being coerced to marry.

Daemon suppresses a sneer. “Your confidence is… admirable.” If misplaced, he wants to add.

“There is little competition to be found,” Jason says with a toss of the head. His tawny hair rustles in the gentle breeze, giving him the appearance of the sigil his House has claimed. Fucking ridiculous. Then, the man has the audacity to clap a palm against his arm. “Never fear—I shall take utmost care of her. She’ll want for nothing as my lady wife.”

He shrugs off the over-familiarity, stepping out of reach. “For a time, perhaps. And in a decade? Two? A Princess of the Realm has no business playing nursemaid to her husband in his dotage.”

He is older than I, he thinks. And if she is truly considering him above the others, then…

“I might be the eldest of her suitors, yes,” the man says, a tense smile disguising his offense poorly. “But I have a rather substantial inheritance, unlike the Prince Aegon; and my constitution is more… pleasing than the Lord Tyrell, I’m sure.” His mouth curves into a knowing smirk at that, leaving Daemon with no uncertainty as to what he really means. That little—“I would not dismiss Jason Lannister from the competition just yet. She will choose me; I suggest you accustom yourself to reality, Prince Daemon.”

He grunts dismissively, incensed. There is no reply he can give in this moment that won’t incite the Lannisters to break faith with House Targaryen; and so, he chooses to remove himself from the odious man’s presence entirely, stalking past with nary a word of farewell.

You sit where your younger half-sister had a scarce moon’s turn ago, eyes fixed toward your lap, turning an ornament about with your small fingers. As he nears, the lion salient glimmers in the sun, gold against gold in dazzling vulgarity. Of course, he’d gifted her something with his own fucking sigil on it. What a worthless bequest.

When he calls your name, you hardly react. Your gaze flickers up to him for a mere moment before falling once more, resuming your surveyance of the item in your grasp. There is a pensive expression lingering in your frown, the crease in your brow. It tells him all he needs to know of your true feelings for the Lannister lord, regardless of the man’s own delusions.

“Why—you look positively miserable, sweetling,” he says, settling himself beside you. You glance up at him again, sullen pout puffing out your lower lip. Though your disposition is so downtrodden, it is tempting to press his thumb to that lip, to push inside and feel the wet warmth of your tongue pulse against his flesh in a coquettish tease. “Not enjoying being courted? The gifts, the attention, the romance…”

You take the bait beautifully. Starting at his reference to the pendant in your hold, your nostrils flare exasperatedly. “No. No. I—I just—” You stop, shaking your head. “Never mind.”

“Go on,” he cajoles gently, lowly. “Tell Uncle Daemon.”

It is all the encouragement you need. “There is little romance to be found in this—this charade.” You sigh, eyes fixed on some minute detail past his head. He’s struck by the melancholy in your voice. “These men—Lord Jason, Lord Denys, Aegon—they do not want me. They want an idea of me; a Targaryen bride with pale hair and Valyrian blood. One who will give them children they shall make little effort to raise, a silent doll to clasp onto and show off at feasts and balls… as though possessing me is somehow meaningful. They do not—they do not see me.”

It’s here your voice cuts off strangely. He wishes it hadn’t, for he finds himself enthralled by the mournful monologue that paints a picture of the loneliest girl in King’s Landing. There is something yearning and haunted in that saccharine stare of hers, he thinks. A babe with her arms held out, wailing at the world as it leaves her abandoned in the crib. It’s an eerie echo of a conversation that took place a decade prior, though the lead role lacks the infantile petulance of the previous star.

He finds himself retracing those steps almost without realising.

“Idīnnon dēmalio syt verdilla mērī issa. Dīnakson toliot, gaoso gaomagon kostas.” He is testing, prodding, waiting for what might result from his efforts. Marriage is only a political arrangement. Once you are wed, you can do as you like.

The words make your cheeks flush fetchingly and your brow wrinkle once more, glancing back at him apprehensively. Pretty pink girl with a pretty pink blush; how far down does it spread? You swallow; pause; look away, wrestling with a thought. You peep back up at him.

“Se skorverdon jessivo aōt kesrȳsi jiōrtas?” you ask with surprising cynicism. You exhale loudly, staring at some fixed point in the distance. “Ābrazȳri buttā, riñar daor, mērpāves… Tolī jaelan.”

And how much joy did this bring you? you say. A wife you hated, no children, loneliness… I want more. The quiet longing in your voice is palpable.

He grimaces at the mention of his bronze bitch—he’d rather not know how widespread the knowledge of the circumstances around her… accident… had been in the wake of his departure.

“What is it you want, then?” he asks, switching back to the Common Tongue, the corner of his mouth already contorting in anticipation of the naïve response. True love, a happily ever after… We don’t get to have happy endings, he thinks to himself.

“I want someone who loves me,” you say, pressing on crossly at the huff of laughter that escapes him. “I never said I would love him!”

The pessimistic elucidation takes him aback. Again, it is not exactly what he had been expecting. Full of surprises today. He tips his head consideringly at you, inviting you to continue.

You hesitate for a moment.

“I… They say my father loved my mother. I believe it, but—” You swallow, the corners of your mouth turning down as you mull over your words. “They say he had a choice when baby Baelon was born. That he could cut her open to get the babe out, but that it would mean her certain death.”

Gods above. Where in the Seven hells had you learned that piece of information? Viserys had kept the circumstances of Aemma’s death under tight wraps, never even deigning to mention it to his own brother. It was pure happenstance that one of the maids he enjoyed fucking at the time had been present on the unfortunate day.

Your eyes glisten as you speak, limpid pools of lilac glowing like fire in the light. “I do not think I could ever choose my own life over my child’s—but they say he did not even ask her, that he just… held her down while they—How could I ever trust a man to raise the babe I bore him if he would be willing to butcher his own wife in her childbed?”

He watches as you clench your eyes tight, set your jaw and exhale a few shuddery breaths. When they blink open, they are no longer so tear-bright. Daemon suddenly admires you for it, for the way you so ruthlessly suppress weakness. He wonders how often you’ve been made to force back your own pain for the good of your family.

“What happened to your mother was a terrible tragedy, sweetling.” He reaches forward to finally grip your small, pale hand in his. It is cold and dwarfed entirely in his own. “But you cannot live in fear forever.”

You make to pull your hand away. He closes his grip tighter upon it, coercing you to look up at him properly.

“When hope is gone, what choice left is there but fear?” It is a whisper, carried on the breeze, and the thinly veiled misery pains him in the chest.

I thought that beating thing was black and dead by now, he thinks to himself.

You shake your head, smile. The picture of the melancholy maiden fades from view as you affect an appearance of energy once more, gentle and muted as it is. “I know my father loved my mother, and so love is no guarantee of loyalty; but it would be helpful, I think.”

“You see love and loyalty as intertwined, then?” he cannot help but to ask. He is intrigued by this rare showing of spirit, of vitality, a resurrection of his baby niece from long ago. It is you, finally; his little girl, only now you possess the curves of a gold-gilded whore and the thousand-year gaze of an ancient, arcane being.

“Do you not?” Your head is tilted like an inquisitive bird’s, artlessly assessing. “You cannot have one without the other. Loyalty without love makes for an easy traitor, and love without loyalty makes for an unhappy marriage.”

He laughs again at the latter part of your pronouncement. A sweet, trusting little filly waiting to be broken in.

“There are many ways to love someone, Princess.” He ogles you shamelessly, savouring the affectation of outraged bewilderment painting your countenance. “I imagine you’ll find few of them in the marriage bed.”

He waits for you to question him—to ask him what he means, to ask him to explain, to teach you, show you—but instead, you pull back, taking all the warmth from his palm with you.

“I dislike your implication, Uncle,” you say stiffly, returning your hand to your lap and nestling it between your thighs to retain the heat.

Fuck.

He backtracks raising his hands in a jesting show of defeat. “I meant nothing by it, gevivys.”

Beauty. It is an apt title. an underwhelming one, even. Surely there is little else more beautiful than the sight you make here, now, a rich blush spreading along the unblemished expanse of your chest—regrettably enclosed by pale damask just above the protrusion of your tits—the planes of your throat, not quite travelling up to decorate your cheeks.

You sigh. “You never do.”

Daemon lets the conversation lull, deciding to instead look upon the little revelation before him. You are an interesting puzzle, one whose decorum in the face of his gentle compulsion—that same persuasion he had so often utilised to get fetching girls to strip bare for him and show off their equally-as-fetching cunts—had instead left him lacking. The body of a slut and the mind of a scholar, all wrapped up in wide eyes and honey-sweet words and wild hair the shade of Old Valyria. Of home.

A wild thought seizes him. If he leans forward, he could do it. He could grip you by the back of the neck and pull you to him, press his lips to yours and coax you past your panic and fear and into a hot, sweeping rhythm, a push and pull of tongue and teeth that would set you both alight. And from there, how simple would it be to murmur pretty praise as he lowers you down, raises your skirts up, cleaves you open until your blood wets his cock with the proof of his claim, incontestable, not even by the King himself? The deed would be messy, perhaps distressing and no doubt painful, but it would solve several issues at once. He would be free to do as he likes with his lascivious desires after you are made to wed him, and you would be free from your pitiful suitors and given a husband worthy of you. In time, the hurt and shock and fright would fade, he knows it.

He could. He could. He—

The spell is broken. Your attention is diverted by the squeals of a dark-haired boy as he bowls his way to you, throwing himself across your lap with a cry of your name. Daemon tries not to glare at young Lucerys as he tries to roughhouse with you. Having somewhat learned the schedules of his family, it baffles him somewhat that the child is not at his daily lessons. Should Laenor not have him now?

The thought must conjure the man himself, the Velaryon scion appearing seemingly out of nowhere. Laenor’s expression is forbidding as he strides over to you and his son, silver locs swinging with the velocity of each step. With his glare affixed to his face, he reaches a hand down to you in silent command, staring daggers at Daemon all the while.

What the hells is his problem?

You take hold of your goodbrother, bewildered, and allow him to tug you gently from the bench beside Daemon. Lucerys slides from beside you with a rustle, easily revolving around to dart toward the grass. You are already grabbing at the boy’s hand to stop him running off.

Daemon watches Laenor attempt to rearrange his countenance into something less violent. “Would you take Luke off to the training yards, sister?”

A look of vague incomprehension cross your face at the question.

At least she senses the oddity, too, he acknowledges.

Laenor’s head turns down to where he sits, and it is then that it dawns on him that his nephew-by-marriage had very possibly been watching him stare at his baby niece’s tits for longer than he could claim plausible deniability of.

Ah, shit. The darting, mistrustful gaze suddenly makes sense.

“Of course, Laenor,” you say sweetly, biddably.

Daemon cannot help but wonder what else you might comply with if gently persuaded. He glances up at you from where he sits, smirking playfully as you turn to him.

“It seems we must part for now, sweetling,” he tells you. He ignores Laenor’s grimace from behind you.

“It does.” You shift lightly. It is clear to see that there is something about your shared conversation that has unnerved you. The notion sends a trail of perverse excitement through him. He wonders what other reactions he might prompt out of you with gentle teasing. “I—thank you, Uncle. For listening.”

The words are honest, free of artifice. It is surprisingly warming to hear. When you make to depart, he calls you back.

“What—no goodbye kiss for your beloved uncle this time?” he asks, hoping he’ll bait you into action. He determinedly disregards Laenor’s huff, eyes trained on you as you swallow with trepidation before quickly making the short few steps back to him.

Your knee settles on the seat beside him, clearly meant to be no more than a brief resting place so that you may carry out his implicit request and leave—if not for the way in which your skirts gather around your leg in a manner assured to result in your toppling over should you attempt to rise without fixing them. Daemon turns his head to yours as you free yourself from the tangle. Up close, closer than he would ever dare get usually, he can see each lash that frames your eyes, the hairs that sprout from your brows, the slick cherry bloom of your mouth—a whisper-sweet gather of plump, plush fruit he wants, needs, to take a bite from.

Would you let me, little girl? he wonders.

You gasp, a short little breath of surprise, and lurch away lightly at the closeness. A brave little thing, you return to him, pressing those precious petal-soft lips to the skin of his cheek. Your covered breasts press involuntarily against his arm.

Fucking hells.

“Sȳz bantis, kepus.” Good evening, Uncle, you say in that light little accent of yours, an unintended provocation of his basest yearnings.

With that, you bundle the boy up in your capable little hands and make for your destination, the Cargyll knight falling into formation behind you.

“Care to explain—well, all of that?” Laenor asks.

Oh—yes. Daemon pushes himself from his seat, deliberately stalling while he thinks of a response that isn’t what the fuck how the fuck when the fuck and why.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he says idly, slyly, glancing over at him.

“No!” His goodnephew leans forward into his space. He is taken aback by the vehemence in his tone, uncharacteristic of the bumbling, affable man. “You don’t get to do this to her; not this one, not this time.”

“Whatever do you think I plan to do to her?” Daemon laughs, wondering at the answer himself.

Whatever would she let me do to her?

Laenor sighs, steps back. “Look.” He lightly nudges him to walk alongside him as they make for the garden’s entry. “She’s not one of your whores, Daemon. She’s just a girl. She’s not the type to play your twisted little games, so leave her be—please.”

He is warmed by the defence of your goodbrother, an admission of familiarity and care that is sure to have flourished since the man’s entrance into the family some years ago.

“What makes you think I have any intention of—how did you put it—playing games with her?” If he were a little less honest with himself, he would be affronted by the manner in which Laenor had jumped straight to an accusation. But Lord Flea Bottom’s reputation is inescapable, even after so many years. “Perhaps my objective is pure and wholesome.”

“Right.” Laenor snorts, shaking his head as he folds his hands behind his back. “You’re far more likely to fall in with her horde of suitors than to believably claim familial interest.”

True. And yet… why not? He’s conceived all manner of plots to satiate his wants, from drunken fumbles in the dark to his half-baked impulse from but a moment ago. Unlike his previous conquests, though, he doubts the need will dissipate after a single fuck. You are too important to him—his precious girl turned darkest desire, the only woman he could ever deign to carry on his line with.

Viserys has been pressuring him to seek out a bride. He mightn’t be happy with the prospect of his brother asking for his daughter’s hand, exactly, but there is surely no debate that he is the best contender. Not Jason. Not Denys. Not fucking Aegon. Daemon. And, well, if the asking should go poorly—how simple would it be to whisk you away to Dragonstone, to speak the vows and seal the deed before it can be undone? There is no risk this time, no Iron Throne to lose, no treaty or agreement that cannot be broken…

He can see it now. Your sweet little face peering up at him, marked with his blood, lip dripping red with the pledge of entangling your souls together in savage Valyrian custom. Your pretty little eyes wide with maidenly shock as he breaches your untried cunt, tight and pulsing and hotwetwarm, binding you to him irrevocably. The slow waddling of your gait as you round with child, his child, his sweetest babe bringing forth life of her own, belly ripe with seed and leaking his spend—

“Laenor,” he says slowly, eyes glinting as his lips upturn in a wide grin, “I do believe you have the best ideas.”

Read the story on AO3 here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42100623/chapters/120880855

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#terms of endearment │ daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x oc #matt smith #house of the dragon #hotd #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire fanfiction #asoiaf fanfiction #game of thrones #got #game of thrones fanfiction #got fanfiction #daemon x oc #daemon x reader #daemon x you #daemon targaryen smut #dance of dragons #house targaryen #fire and blood

[megumishotgf]

comforting megumi after a nightmare

summary: as the title says! aged up gumi. my precious boy i just want him to be happy he deserves this type of comfort!!

warnings: manga spoilers (!!), possible mentions of depression and suicide (very small), canon divergence (i’m resurrecting people idgaf)

masterlist

megumi fushiguro has had a very difficult life.

his mother passed away when he was too young to even comprehend it happening, and his deadbeat father had abandoned him and sold him off to an unbearable clan, preferring to indulge in his gambling habits than family matters. despite being luckily (?) 'rescued' by gojo and growing up relatively normal, megumi has a whole lot of self-esteem issues that were embedded into his psyche at a shockingly young age.

megumi’s cold, unwelcoming and closed off from the world. that’s what he thinks. he was forced to mature and act older than he was to survive and protect himself and tsumiki, leading to the formation of many interpersonal barriers, which have restricted his relationships throughout his entire life.

jujutsu tech seemed like a fresh start. he met yuuji, nobara, you. you. you were different from everyone. megumi finally had people to care about, other than himself and his sister (and gojo too, although he will never admit it). but how many people has he witnessed die unspeakable deaths, some at his very own hands? how many people did he hurt when sukuna had taken over his body? how the hell did he even survive that? maybe he wasn’t even meant to.

nevertheless, in the cloudy, messy fragments of his broken mind, you were the sun. how could megumi ever think of leaving you? the one thing he is certain of is that you love him more than anything. you’ve never given him any reason to doubt that. while he doubts whether or not he is deserving of you, he knows you would have been broken if something happened to him. and so he keeps going, just for you.

it’s the middle of the night when megumi finally awakens from another awful nightmare. he had only been asleep for an hour maximum before those terrorising memories had plagued his mind again, replaying as constant reminders of who he had hurt and lost.

you’re still besides him, snuggled into his side, chest rising slowly and calmly. how can something so precious be able to sleep so peacefully next to someone like him?

megumi is too consumed in his thoughts to notice you stirring besides him, blinking away the sleepiness in your eyes. you take a few seconds to register that he’s wide awake and visibly panicked. you can feel the pounding of his heartbeat underneath the hand placed on his chest and he feels awfully shaky.

you sit up instantly, sensing that something’s wrong. “gumi? are you okay?”

megumi swallows thickly before answering, afraid that his voice might falter. refusing to lock eyes with you, he stares (sulks) at the ceiling above you. “mmh. sorry, baby. didn’t mean to wake you.”

you can see through his facade, though. you notice the way he’s trembling and how he's covering his face, as if you studying his features for too long will give away his misery. “hey. another bad dream?”

megumi hesitates for a moment, ultimately deciding this isn’t something he will be able to keep from you. you can see right through him. “yeah. again.”

you’ve been in this situation more times than you can count. you insist that these bad dreams and the thoughts that come along with them will eventually dissipate (after all, time is the best healer), but it's becoming increasingly difficult for the both of you. is your comfort enough? are you even helping megumi at all? what if this deteriorates into something worse? your mind is racing with your personal anxieties, and your own memories of the awful war, but megumi takes priority. you usher him to rest on your chest, while one of your hands begins to play with his hair. yeah, he loves that more than anything, that always helps.

“tell me what happened, hm?” you say softly. you don’t ever want to push him, but you also don’t want him to keep the dream himself, hoping that by confiding in you, you can take some of the heavy burden for yourself.

megumi hesitates again, but as he breathes in your familiar scent and focuses on the slow rhythm of your heartbeat, he feels the weight on his shoulders being lifted. “i… killed you. and yuuji. and ‘miki,” he recalls. it’s the same unbearable scene that’s played over and over in his unconscious mind like broken film, even if it’s been years since the initial trauma.

“sukuna,” you correct him, arms tightening around him. “you did nothing wrong, gumi. i’m here holding you, right? and yuuji and tsumiki are perfectly fine, too. sukuna won’t be able to hurt any of us ever again.”

“but you were hurt. one of you almost did die - at my own fucking hands.”

you can sense his anger now. megumi’s angry at himself. he thinks he’s so damn weak and that’s why people got hurt. you know that’s the way he sees himself and it kills you inside. you hush him before he can spiral any further into his angry thoughts, hands soothingly caressing his skin. gentle strokes of his upper arm - the kind of tender touches that can lull him to sleep and ground him.

“you were so young, megumi. you shouldn’t have had to carry such responsibility at that age. you have immense strength, mentally and physically. but sukuna’s actions are not your burden to carry. you were a victim, not the instigator. you’d give everything to us, the people you care about. and we love you. we know you’d never hurt us, yeah?”

you feel megumi nod against your chest. he’s grinding his teeth, blinking away unwanted tears that eventually fall onto your skin. your hands cup his cheeks, pulling him to look at you.

“humans cry, gumi. it’s okay. you don’t need to feel embarrassed, especially in front of me. come on, you’ve literally seen me sob uncontrollably during frozen.”

megumi chuckles at you and it feels like a breath of fresh air seeing him more light-hearted.

“see? you’re okay. you’re smiling again. you look so pretty,” you coo at your boyfriend. a blush tints his cheeks but he can’t stop the stupid grin that forms on his face.

“yeah, yeah. whatever. i’m okay now,” megumi replies, snuggling into your chest once more. “i don’t know what i’d do without you.”

“you won’t ever have to find out, baby. i’m always gonna be here,” you say, brushing away his hair so you can kiss his forehead. “do you wanna stay up a little more?”

megumi’s reaching for your laptop seconds later and that gives you your answer. he puts on frozen, of course. he cries like a baby when elsa and anna reunite, but it's okay because you're there to kiss his tears away.

yes i'm in my serious megumi brain rot era!! i have so many unfinished one-shots that will be coming soon because he refuses to leave my brain!!

#megumi x reader #megumi my beloved #megumi x you #megumi fushiguro x reader #jjk x reader #megumi headcanons #megumi fluff #megumi comfort #i love him omfg

[kiss-me-cill-me]

Can we get a part 2 of morning light where Jim gets to do all the things he wants to do to her 🙏

Okay, you've all convinced me. The world clearly demands more Jim, and who am I to deny the world? Nothing too crazy going on here, because I honestly see him as the type to still be a little hesitant in this situation, but he does get to have a bit more fun in this one lol.

Moon Light

Pairing: Jim (28 Days Later) x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: Maybe moments of peace aren't as rare as you'd think, even during the apocalypse. Although, if you have anything to say about it, not all of Jim's moments with you will be quite so peaceful as the first.

Warnings: Smut, mentions of reader's recent loss of virginity, hair pulling, maybe some light manhandling, corruption kink if you really squint

A/N: This is a sequel to Morning Light, which you can read HERE!

***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***

The end of a long day always makes you eager to crawl into bed. That heavy feeling that sweeps over your limbs after many hours of arduous hard work - scavenging or gardening or doing any one of the other dozens of small chores necessary for survival - is like a siren’s call to the pile of blankets that wait to enshroud you and Jim every night.

Today has been long for a… slightly different reason than usual. After your slow start to the day, it's been hard to focus on anything else but Jim. And now, pleasant memories of your shared morning together still float through your head as you press back lightly against Jim’s chest; the steady rise and fall of his breath lulling you into a state of half-sleep.

Jim’s body suddenly twitches behind you; his arms contracting momentarily as he falls deeper into his own slumber. You stir, roused from the edges of some dream that had been almost ready to claim you.

“Sorry, love - go back to sleep,” Jim murmurs. 

He places a soft kiss on your temple, brushing his lips over a stray beam of moonlight that lands on the side of your face. You settle back, burrowing into the crevice of Jim’s arm that’s wrapped securely around you.

“M’not asleep,” you say, dreamily.

“Sounds like you are,” Jim teases, his breath still pleasantly warm on your neck.

He’s already nestled back into the pillows, nose pressing into the crook of your neck, lips lazily kissing you as he speaks.

“I’m not,” you insist, your voice a bit steadier.

And it’s true. You haven’t been able to sleep, even if you may have been teetering over the edge of it just a few seconds ago.

“Something wrong?” Jim asks. His own voice is sleepy but still clear; concern washing over his words as he pulls you just a bit closer.

“No. Just… thinking about earlier,” you reply.

Jim’s fingers against your waist tighten; almost too softly to notice. You might not have if not for the way your senses seem to be heightened; anticipating even the smallest movement.

“Earlier?” Jim’s voice now has the faintest hint of suggestion. “What’cha thinkin’ about earlier for?”

Your body wiggles against him; unable to hide your excitement at his slight teasing. As your back brushes just a bit lower, you don’t miss the feeling of something hard pressed up against you.

“Jim!” you squeal.

“What? You’re the one thinkin’ about it,” he hums, playfully holding your hips against his.

And he’s right; your mind is running wild. Racing with all kinds of thoughts and ideas about what he could do to you now. Now that you’d given yourself to him once. 

There’s still so much time for you to explore, and to have him help you discover this new and exciting part of life. But… why bother to wait to get started?

“Jim…” you sigh, grinding back into him.

“What is it, love?”

He’s gentle as always, letting you take the lead. You press back even a little harder, testing the limits of his resolve.

“Touch me, Jim. Please.”

Jim doesn’t waste even a second with asking you whether you’re sure, this time. He must know, with the way your back arches into him, how badly you want him again. His hand snakes down, not quickly and not slow. Trying to hide his eagerness, unsuccessfully. You hum as he pushes past your waistband. All you have on is a pair of lace panties, and not much else aside from an old t-shirt. No wonder you were both getting ideas.

“You really have been thinking of me,” Jim laughs.

His fingers curl into the wetness that’s already gathered between your legs, not quite pushing past the soft resistance - to the place where you want him most desperately. Your walls flutter at the absence.

“’Course I have,” you reply. “Liked it that much, did ya?”

Jim’s voice is still slurred, heavy with the remnants of sleep even though he’s fully awake now. Before you can think of a response, you’re cut off by your own sudden gasp, as Jim’s fingers finally press inside you.

“Too much?” he asks.

“No - keep going. I like it.”

“Mmm. Wanna do more than just think about me?” Jim teases. “Want me to stop you from gettin’ yourself all bothered?”

“Yes.”

The word comes out a bit more desperately than you’d meant it to. But there’s no stopping yourself as Jim curls his fingers inside you, coaxing out more breathy sighs as you whimper against him.

Jim drags his fingers out of you, only to bring them up to pull down at your panties. You help him maneuver them over your hips, lifting your legs once they slide past your knees so that you can snatch them away. Under the blankets, Jim hurries to slip out of his own boxers. He’s wearing even less clothing than you are. All that’s between you now is your thin t-shirt.

“Wanna take this off, too?” Jim asks, tugging at the hem of your shirt. 

You sit up for a second to pull the shirt off, then settle back down to rest against Jim’s chest. He’s already pressing between your thighs; rutting himself through the tight space of your legs. One of his hands comes up to messily grab at your breast; his fingertips pressing into the soft flesh.

“Want me to be gentle again, love?”

Your throat clenches at the dark tint in his words. You think back again to earlier, when Jim had promised to let himself do things to you that might break the rickety old bed that you shared. Now that you’ve gotten your first taste of intimacy, you’re thrillingly eager to learn about other, slightly less soft and gentle sides.

“Am I allowed to say no?” you breathe.

“Only if you want to,” Jim says, laughing a little.

His hips thrust just a bit more roughly against you as you squeeze your thighs together. The drag of his hard length between your legs is making your head spin already. Jim brings his lips up to rest against your ear.

“You’re not the one who needs my permission, you know,” he teases. “Already told you how badly I’d like to have my way with you.”

You bring a hand up to cup over his, still squeezing into your breast. Your fingers brush lightly for just a moment, before clamping down and pressing his touch into your skin with an intensity that's unlike anything he’s dared to give you.

“Then no,” you say, your voice sounding soft even in the silence of the dark room. “This time, I don’t want to be gentle.”

Jim tears his hand away, leaving the soft flesh of your breast to instead grab roughly at your hip. In one swift movement, he has you pressed into the mattress, your chest shoved against the sheets as the blanket over you is torn off. He leans down to whisper in your ear, his voice a bit huskier now.

“I was kind of hoping you’d say that,” he admits, before pressing a quick kiss to the side of your face. “Just promise to let me know if you need me to stop.”

You don’t have a chance to reply before Jim is pressing inside of you, taking it fairly slowly at first to give you a chance to adjust, but clawing against your hips the deeper he gets. You let out a soft whine, but press back to make him slide further into you, silently letting him know to continue.

The feeling is strange again at first, but now that you know what to expect, you adjust quickly. Jim stays still for a moment, then tilts his hips, hitting the same spot inside you that made you go crazy earlier. You see sparks, and grab at the bedsheets.

“You take me so well,” Jim praises, starting to move at a slow rhythm.

You arch your back, desperate for him to do more; go faster. He’s still being too gentle, and while part of you is grateful, what you really want is for him to let loose. He’s strong, though, and each thrust pushes you into the mattress. Your hips rise to meet him, and your face presses deeper into the pillow.

“You’ve got no clue how hard it is to hold back with you,” Jim growls above you.

You feel your walls clench down around him, and Jim lets out a hiss. His fingers are so tight against your hips that it feels like he might sink into your skin. You moan, desperate for more; desperate to make him pump into you and chase his own high.

“Don’t hold back, then,” you beg, wriggling as much as you can with him holding you.

“You need to pace yourself, love,” Jim grunts, the exertion of restraint creeping into his voice.

“I told you to not be gentle.”

Your voice is almost a whine at this point, and you feel Jim’s hips stutter against you. He regains his composure quickly, pistoning in with another sharp thrust. That’s more like it, and you hum in approval. 

“This still too gentle for you?” Jim teases, leaning down to press into your back. “God - fuck her once and she’s already begging for me to corrupt her.”

You let out a small squeak as Jim grabs a generous fist of your hair, pulling your neck back a few inches as he gives it a soft tug at the roots. 

“But alright, love. I can be a bit rough with ya.” Jim pulls your hair again, and you sigh, sinfully. “Too bad, though. You were such a nice girl.”

The smirk in Jim’s words makes you grin. This is exactly what you wanted from him, and you listen with growing thirst as the sound of his hips snapping into you fills the small room. His pace is getting faster now; the sound of his breath speeding up to match. His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling back sharply with each thrust. You let yourself give in to the pleasure of knowing he's close; enjoying the ride as Jim chases his high. All of a sudden, he stops - pulls out and flips you over so that you’re laid on your back, looking up at him.

“Touch yourself,” Jim gasps, lining back up without pause. “Wanna see your face when you come.”

It takes you a second, between the distracting heat that blossoms over your chest, and the feel of him pressing back into you; stretching your walls as he picks up just where he left off. But you do, once you’ve gathered your thoughts well enough, bring a hand down to play with yourself as Jim continues to thrust.

“Fuck - might not last long enough for you to do it,” Jim laughs, more than a little out of breath. 

He stops, pressing into you one more time before pulling back, still half inside of you as he looks down, watching your fingers knead over your clit.

“That’s it, love. Oh, fuck - keep going. Need you to come like this.”

He starts to move again, more hesitantly. Wary of finishing before you’ve had a chance to do the same. It’s hard not to make quick work of yourself with Jim nearly growling over you, and soon you feel yourself tip over the edge.

Jim lets out a string of curses as you feel yourself clench hard around him. And just as quickly, he’s lifting you up, one hand snaking under your waist while the other comes up to grab hold of the headboard. He pounds into you with your hips raised shakily off of the mattress, desperate and making you grab at the bed sheets just to avoid getting pushed by the force. 

Finally, Jim pulls out with a sharp breath, letting himself sink down to nestle his face in your neck as he screams weakly.

“Shhhhit… fuck,” Jim groans. 

He’s still holding you up, your body half hovering over the mattress, your shoulders pressed into the pillows. The sheets below you are ruined, to say the least - until you have a chance to bring them down to the river and wash them, in any case.

“Sorry,” Jim laughs, clearly embarrassed. “Got a little carried away there…”

You giggle and look up at him still bracing himself against the headboard. Carefully, you push Jim across to the less messy side of the bed, flipping him over. Once he’s on his back, you straddle him, feeling the dampness that still lingers against your core as it presses into his stomach.

“Why do I have a very bad feeling that I’ve awakened something in you?” Jim chuckles.

You don’t reply, until you’ve had a chance to lean down and give him a long, steamy kiss on the lips. Only then do you pull away.

“Because you have,” you confirm.

You and Jim both laugh as he flips you over again so that you’re stretched out below him, looking up at his playful eyes in the hazy moonlight. 

“Well, since the sheets are already half ruined,” Jim says. “What d’you say we finish ‘em off?”

You nod, already wrapping your legs around him.

“Told you I didn’t mind sleeping on the floor,” you laugh.

#jim 28 days later #jim 28 days later x reader #jim 28 days later smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #28 days later smut #LemmyFics

[cattonicdragon]

So how about tooth fairy Jack frost Easter bunny and mr claus(sorry if do do him) with someone that represents karma and make bad things happen to terrible people.

Tooth fairy,Jack frost,Easter bunny/bunnymund and north with a karma reader

I have so many requests so I'm starting off with the requests that have the less characters bc they take me the less amount of time.

Of course you can,for this you will be chosen as a guardian because karma dosnt nescerally have someone who represents it so they just have to believe in karma and shit.

Also norths will be more platonic than romantic

Has been proof read

Ty for the request

Tooth fairy

Shes kinda scared that you'll be something like pitch black

However once shes been explained to that you give people what they had coming she understands alot better

Despite her first interpretation shes actually very sweet

She sees you give a bully karma and she just smiles sweetly at you.

You and her come across each other every so often,usually it's because someone had their tooth taken out unwillingly(like someone punching someone or something)

She likes hanging out when shes not collecting teeth or just having some down time

You also explain to her that when you give someone karma they had it coming and deserved it

You like to hang out with her at the tooth palace(or whatever its called)

You have actually given abit of karma to pitch before

There have been times where you've had to put bunnymund and Jack in their place,she finds it funny whenever this happens

Her mini tooths love you to bits

Even when your not at the palace you'll always have a small group of them following you about

They like to make sure your okay and pick up teeth along the way

Jack frost

Honestly hes kinda excited

A guardian of karma sounds excitciting

He probally wouldnt be surprised if he was one of the first to receive karma though

He asks you constantly why you give him karma,much like a kid who broke a vase then pretended they didnt do anything

Hes very clingy

Tries to get other people out of trouble by bribeing you

If hes ever done something that you need to give him karma for he'll try get out of it by sweet talking

If there one person he'll never stop you giving karma to its pitch

Infact he constantly whines to you about giving pitch more,even going as far as making things up

He likes putting his hand on your shoulder

Will start snow fights with you at random

He will definatly see you floating around during an unexpected storm

Your almost constantly busy so he dosnt get to much time with you

Because of this he will definatly start more frost days so you can spend a day off with him and enjoy the snow

Bunnymund/Easter bunny

Hes mixed between two mindsets

Having another responsible guardian

Another Jack situation

He would definitely be surprised if he got any karma,its be a "I dont think I deserve this " even though he knows what hes done

Hes definitely got it easy after seeing the type of karma you gave to Jack though

Will ask if you can give karma to Jack,because he was playing with some of the elves....

He likes to hang out with you when your not doing anything in Easter island

He likes to give you personalized eggs as presents

Hes very protective of you especially when coming on the topic of pitch

Speaking of,bunny would definatly ask how much karma hes due,isnt surprised with the amount

You sometimes help him place the eggs around at Easter,its a fun activity for the day

Your the only one he'll ever allow to brush his fur,let alone touch it

Glares at Jack if he gets to close

North(platonic)

He trust the man in the moon,and so far manny hasnt been wrong in choosing his guardians

Hes also heard about you before so hes confident in manys choosing

Hes grateful that you seperate Jack and bunny alot,they can be quite tiring sometimes

Since you dont really have a realm or anything north let's you hang about in the workshop

The yetis and elvs love you

The elves will often climb on you or show you some of the toys

You help the yetis paint and make the toys every so often

He gives you one of the snow globes so if you cant make it back yourself you can just throw the globe

He acts very much like a father figure to you

Asking how your day was and what some of the people did etc

He was the one to reasure the others that you ment no Ill intention

You fit very well into the guardians

If north thinks you need a break he gives you a toy with a note with it

Let's you pet the reindeer

He allows you to watch the globe if your ever bored

#cattonic writes #rise of the guardians #rise of the guardians x reader #guardian reader #karma guardian reader #north x reader platonic #tooth fairy #tooth fairy x reader #jack frost #jack frost x reader #bunnymund #bunnymund x reader