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ohbo-ohno · 6 months

Note

Okay but *gulp* soap with his dick slipping out and accidentally pressing into the wrong hole. Doesn’t stop him from continuing tho

listen LISTEN listen - yeah!! soap is 100% the kind of asshole to do this!!

1.7k soap x f!reader "wrong hole" drabble 🫶 (cw: pwp smut, noncon anal sex between partners (also unrealistic anal sex), pussy drunk johnny)

You arch further into Johnny, slick skin sliding along slick skin as your mouth drops open on a moan.

“Jo-Johnny,” you pant, gripping tightly to his broad shoulders. “Feels ssooo- so good.”

“Yeah?” He grunts from above you, mohawk messy and dripping sweat. “Bet it- bet it feels big, huh?”

You whine, pushing your hips closer to him as he slams home inside of you. “So big,” you agree, your mind draining from you slowly as he pulls nearly the entire way out on every thrust, leaving you almost empty before filling you to the brim. “God, you’re so good, Johnny.”

“Fuck, yes,” he pants, arms wrapping around your back and squeezing you tight to him. Your hips are pushed a little further up, a little closer to him. You wrap both your legs around his waist, hold him as tight as he does you. He only manages to keep up his rhythm through pure strength, easily able to overpower your grip.

“So good,” he mimics, eyes squeezed shut. You can’t look away from him - the sweat dripping down the side of his tanned face, the wrinkles and scars decorating his skin, the way he looks like he’s either in agony or euphoria. “Feel so perfect, so tight. Fuck, missed you so much, lass, missed your perfect cunt.”

Your eyes nearly roll back in your head when he hits the perfect spot inside of you, body limp in his arms. You feel almost like a doll, like a toy for him to fuck, but he’s so good at it that you can’t even begin to care.

The both of you devolve into moans, occasionally trying to speak and choking on your words. You might feel embarrassed of what a mess Johnny’s made of you, if he weren’t in the same condition.

He pulls out completely on several thrusts in a row, both of you gasping at the sensation - you, because it’s a shock to go from nothing to everything completely and him, because every thrust inside of you when he’s pulled all the way out feels like the first. You dig your nails into his muscles, pushing your chest against his for all the physical contact you can manage.

It happens too quickly for you to even really notice. One second Johnny is rearranging your guts, giving you the best dick of your life, and the next you feel like you’re being torn in two.

You nearly scream, eyes flying open and nails dragging down his back, peeling skin off. Johnny’s loud groan drowns you out almost entirely, and he doesn’t seem to notice what he’s done.

You notice. Your unstretched ass feels like it’s on fire, and after your first sound of shock you can’t get enough breath in to try and say it hurts.

Johnny can’t thrust the whole way in, like he had in your pussy. Your body gives him too much resistance, which is what finally makes him realize.

You’re nearly blinded by the tears filling your eyes when he finally blinks open, staring down at you.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, and you can feel his heart racing against your chest. “Did I-? Am I in your-?”

“Pull out,” you gasp, tapping at his back desperately. “Oh my god, Johnny, pull out, I can’t- fuck, you’re too big.”

That’s the wrong thing to say - instead of pulling out, he groans, dropping his forehead to yours and letting his eyes fall shut again. You let out a long, high whine when his hips push forward, slowly spearing you further and further on his cock.

You’re made mute by the pain, left only with your nails as defense as you try and tear his back to shreds. You should know better, though - Johnny’s a masochist, and pain you inflict only drives him more insane.

“God, you’re fuckin’ stranglin’ me,” he pants, pulling out just enough to force himself a few inches deeper. “Thought your cunt was tight, but it’s nothin’ compared to this.”

“Johnny- please.”

“So fucking warm.” He looks nearly delirious above you, pupils blown so wide you can barely see his iris even as close as you are. “Tight.”

“Johnny,” you whine, even as the slide becomes a little bit easier from all the slick dripping from your cunt. “Hurts, please, you gotta… gotta stop.”

He makes a sound that’s somewhere between soothing and a snarl, a low sound that makes you instinctually arch further towards him and then yelp when that gives him more leverage.

“You’re fine,” he comforts - well, the words should be a comfort but his tone is almost dismissive. “You’re wet, I can feel it.”

“Not enough,” you cry, half choking on a sob when you feel him finally bottom out inside of you. “Ok, ok, please pull- pull out, Johnny.”

“But you feel so good,” he purrs, butting his nose against your temple. “Fuckin’ hot little ass, huh lass? You’re squeezin’ me so good, you sure you want me to pull out?”

“Yes!”

You feel the sharp smile pressed against your temple and hiccup a sob, shifting your legs so that instead of wrapping around him you’re trying to push him away. But he’s too strong for you to make him move, and he only shoves himself even further inside of you by leaning his weight forward.

“I think you’re lying,” he almost sings, grinding his hips deep inside of you. He shifts briefly, holding himself above you on one arm and sneaking the other between your bodies and down to your pussy.

You cry out when his fingers work quickly at your clit, tight fast circle that have you shaking and moaning. It’s almost enough to drown out the pain of having your back hole stretched so ruthlessly - almost.

“Here,” he says, dipping his hand down a little further to almost scoop the slick dripping from you, smearing it around your plugged hole like he’s trying to make up for the lack of lube in the first place. He pulls out about halfway, thrusting back in and moaning when you cry out. “Th-there, how’s that feel?”

“Still hurts,” you manage to get out through your sobs, eyes squeezed shut against the pain.

Johnny’s panting like a dog above you as he starts to fuck you again, his pace sharper and uncaring about your sensitivity. You can’t help but clench down, your inner muscles squeezing tight in an attempt to push him out that only drags him further in.

You can’t do anything but lay there and take it - as he moans repeatedly into your ear - while he fucks you. The pain eases after a bit, your own wetness making the path at least slightly easier, but the sharp sting never fully dissipates. Your tears don’t dry up, and you’re nowhere close to the orgasm that had been building before.

Johnny’s your complete opposite - he’s lost in his own pleasure, and your desperate scratches down his back only make things better for him. If you’d thought he was euphoric before, he looks like he’s found Nirvana now. You’re not sure if he’s so wrapped up in his own pleasure that he can’t hear your pain, or if your pain is what’s driving him more and more insane with pleasure.

For your own sake, you pray it’s the first.

He doesn’t last long - thank God - and only a few minutes later his thrusts get choppier and choppier, jerking in and out of you without any rhythm at all.

“Gonna make me come, bonnie, fuck.”

You can only stare wide-eyed at the ceiling as Johnny buries his face in the crook of your neck and comes deep inside of your ass, the hot spurt of his come a distant sensation with the stretch of his cock still at the front of your mind.

“Alright, alright, pull… pull out now, Johnny, please,” you beg again, too shell-shocked to even flinch at the embarrassing crack in your voice.

He obeys wordlessly, pulling his limp cock out slowly enough to make you whine when he finally leaves you empty.

“Hush, hush,” he quiets you, pressing a kiss to your cheekbone and brushing over your spread hole with his fingers. You jolt and whine, turning to press your face into his sweat-soaked mohawk. “You’re alright, didn’t even tear.”

“You-you sure?” You sniffle.

He chuckles a little, the sound vibrating through your chests. “Yeah, you’re alright, lass. Didn’t think I would really hurt you, did’ya?”

You can only whine.

His fingers dip inside your back hole just long enough to drag out some of his come, moving up to shove it inside of your pussy.

“There ya go,” he soothes, repeating the process again and again. “Still got a nice load in your guts, you're alright." His fingers lift to your clit, rubbing in perfect circles to make you arch and gasp, squirming for more pleasure despite the growing ache in your other hole.

He brings you to a slow orgasm, one that has the last of your tears dripping down your cheeks and clinging to his shoulders like a life raft. Your breaths are uneven, heartbeat quick in your chest, and you feel fuzzy around the edges.

Unlike usual, Johnny stops at one orgasm. You almost expect him to keep going like he always does, never satisfied with less than three for you and two for him, but he pulls his hand away after your first pained whines start again.

He doesn’t get off of you, letting his weight push you deeper and deeper into the couch cushions. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close to you and breathing in his musk. It takes a while to get your breathing even again, though Johnny’s levels out in moments.

You only let your eyes close once his snores start up, loud in your ear. The rumbling of his chest is a comfort, and you float into sleep with Johnny’s sweaty body pressed firmly against every part of yours, and the ache in your ass only growing more noticeable with every breath.

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uncanny-tranny · 8 months

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Shoutout to all the other adults who have acne or any other condition of the skin that you are expected to outgrow or "just deal with."

Adulthood isn't this magical time where everything just disappears, and the reality is that these skin conditions are largely genetic. It isn't your fault (nor your skin's fault) that you are an adult with different skin than other people. In fact, it's neutral (and even, dare I say, good!).

#positivity #body positivity #acne positivity #i have skin redness and acne still and it actually is a neutral thing at worst :3 #in fact it makes me feel better because it gives me the (false) notion that i am genetically more like him than anybody else :)#he has the same unique features i do :)#and it's helped me appreciate body moles and non-ski slope noses and boney features #as much as people like to pretend that body image is shallow (it can be) it's still not a moral failure to be insecure #we live in a society after all and it's inevitable that society's messaging can become like a malevolent growth in your brain #it's okay if you have a hard time with the reality that your features are neutral at WORST. it's hard to swallow that pill sometimes #but no matter what just know that you are lovable and you are loved. as you are too #do what you want forever dear reader #oh hey the 'him' that the tags didn't include is my dad! not some Mystery Guy lmaooo

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lauraneedstochill · 1 year

Text

My first choice (part 1/2)

summary: Aemond thinks you are way too good to be Aegon’s best friend. But you are enough for the one-eye prince to fall in love with.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen and F!Reader words: ~ 5500

warnings: friends to lovers, slow burn (with very obvious mutual pining), angst, Aegon is a sad boy (but ends up being a pretty good wingman!)

author's note: this is inspired by “Little women” and Amy March in particular. I took the liberty to rewrite some plot lines because to me Aemond is nothing like Laurie (Aegon is ;) and I hate love triangles so we are not having any of that sorry. it's a bit of a roller coaster so I divided it into 2 parts in hopes that it will be easier to read: the first part explains Aemond's feelings, the second one is about hers. ✨ part 2

part 1. How could you be so blind

Aegon knows he's supposed to be relieved — he never wanted the crown and now that Rhaenyra is the Queen and a feast is arranged in her honor, he should be celebrating. And he may have been hitting the wine way too hard for the past couple of hours, but he can’t pretend to be happy, and he gave up trying to force a smile. It’s ridiculous that he is upset over this, and yet he can’t help but feel horribly useless. The prince drinks one cup after another until the room starts spinning and he can’t even sit straight — and then he suddenly finds himself propped against the wall, sliding under the table instead of sitting at it. Aegon catches a few judgemental glances but at this point, he couldn’t care less. There is only one person whose judgment he is afraid of — and it’s not long before he’s greeted with a displeased remark:

“When I asked you not to swoop too low, I couldn’t imagine you would literally lay on the floor.”

He looks up — and here you are, staring down at him, not even trying to cover up your disappointment. At any other time, Aegon would’ve at least tried to sober up, but today he’s disappointed in himself, too, so he doesn’t make an effort. Instead, he reaches out an arm to you with a lax smile:

“Would you like to join me?”

“I didn’t get the invitation to this pity party so I will pass,” your tone suggests you are not in the mood for jesting. “Now that you’ve succeeded in making a fool out of yourself, would you mind getting upright?”

“I think I like it here,” he retorts, shamelessly staring at the legs of the maids passing by.

“You like wallowing in misery for all to see?” you huff. “Aegon, get up.”

He fakes a whine:

“My legs gave out, I’m afraid!”

“You would need to drink all the wine in the castle for that to happen, and I doubt you managed to do that,” you roll your eyes, taking a step toward him — but pause upon hearing a voice behind your back:

“You underestimate my brother.”

Aemond has a habit of sneaking up on people which often startles you yet right now you are too angry at Aegon to be bothered. You throw Aemond a glare over your shoulder but your eyes soften when you see the apologetic look on his face. It’s not the first time that the two of you find yourself in this situation — throughout the years you learned to work as a team: you bring Aegon back to his senses while Aemond helps to physically bring him to the nearest flat surface. You have never asked him for help — and yet he’s always there.

Aemond is about to lean down to help his brother up — you stop the one-eye prince with your hand, your palm inches away from his chest. Anyone else would’ve thought twice before standing in his way but you don’t hesitate.

“He is perfectly capable to get up on his own,” you reject Aemond’s attempt, your eyes fixed on Aegon. “He can hold onto the wall shall he feel unable to stay on his two feet.”

There is something in your gaze that makes Aegon uncomfortable, piercing him to the bone. You are never downright mean or rude but with just a few words you can easily unmask his feigned recklessness. The prince stands up, tottering and feeling a little light-headed.

“Are you happy, now when I'm in the standing position?”

“If you cared about anyone else's feelings but your own, you wouldn't be in this position,” you scold him while Aemond takes his brother under the arm to guide him out. Aegon tries to grab another cup of wine but you slap his hand.

“Do you ever get ashamed of yourself?” you hiss at him.

“Let me think... No, why would I?” he sounds sarcastic.

“You should be,” you whisper scream at him. “You can find nothing to do but dawdle and make a mockery of yourself!”

Aemond feels his brother shuddering at your words, and he tightens his hold on Aegon.

“Well, what else am I to do,” his voice is bitter. “Since I am not an heir and serve no purpose to the realm nor do I have any taste for duty.”

You slow your pace, and a sigh leaves your mouth.

“I feel sorry for you, Aegon, I do. I only wish you'd bear it better,” you reach out to stroke his arm but the prince bristles.

“You don't have to feel sorry for me. Your duty is to marry, and we will see how that goes,” he mutters before he can stop himself — and regrets it the very next second when you swiftly turn to him.

“At least I would be respected if I couldn't be loved,” your tone hushed but sharp.

Aegon stops dead in his tracks, his wide eyes meeting yours. You moved away from the crowd into the hall, and it becomes silent. And then his lower lip quivers.

“But I thought that you loved me,” Aegon whimpers, his assumed nonchalance instantly gone.

“Oh, Aegon, how much did you have to drink?” you come to his side, lending him a shoulder to cry on. While he’s aggressively sniffling, you look at Aemond and quietly mouth “How many cups?”

“Way more than usual,” he gives you a wan smile, and you groan at his answer, taking Aegon by the arm.

“Alright, you can lean on me. But don’t get handsy or I will push you down the stairs,” your remark earns a weak laugh from the older prince, and the three of you head toward his chambers.

Aegon doesn’t talk much but his mood softens and you exchange a few jokes before finally reaching his room.

“I can take it from here,” Aemond suggests but his brother eagerly protests.

“No, I want to be tucked into bed! And definitely not by you,” he sticks out his tongue, and you chuckle at his whim.

“Aemond, I can handle him.”

The one-eyed prince shoots you a knowing glance and holds the door open for you and Aegon to walk in. You slowly move to his bed, making sure he doesn’t stumble on his way — and then, with a sudden boost of energy, the prince flops down on the fluffy blankets, letting out a satisfied moan. You hold back a giggle and wait for him to crawl under the covers.

“Should I call for the maid to help you undress?”

“No, I am way too comfortable like this,” he pulls the blanket up to his chin, and you sit on the edge of the bed.

“I am sorry for the way I behaved,” he reveals, frowning. “I did not mean to, truly.”

“Aegon, you know I’m not the one you should apologize to,” you take his hand in yours, and he squeezes it with childish eagerness. “You left Helaena all alone. And you promised me you would make an effort.”

“I know, I know,” he yawns. “I was doing better until today, I swear, you should ask her,” his speech becomes incoherent as he is already too drowsy to talk, his cheeks flushed from the wine and the heat of the blankets. As you stand up to leave, Aegon mumbles:

“I fetched you a book... the one you were looking for,” he sloppily points to his table by the window before dozing off.

There is only one book so it’s easy to find — and when you do, you can barely contain a sound of surprise: it's the complete history of Westeros, heavy and hardcover, decorated with gilding. You glance at Aegon but he looks fast asleep so you cautiously get out of his chambers.

If you were to turn around, you would’ve noticed that he kept an eye on you with a grin on his face.

When you walk out, you see Aemond still standing there, his gaze landing on the book and then immediately on you. It takes you a minute to figure it out and then you smile at him:

“Even though I appreciate the gesture, it is hard to imagine Aegon in the library.”

“He asked me to help him find the book you wanted. I did,” the prince explains as if it isn’t that big of a deal. But to you, it is — although you think he only did it out of politeness.

“Thank you, Aemond,” you enthusiastically turn your attention to the book, flipping through the pages in awe. He watches you, feeling the warmth in his chest at the sight of your joy.

“You know that you bring out the best in him?” Aemond says in a low voice, and your heart skips a beat at his comment. You are thankful for the dim lighting that makes your heated cheeks less obvious.

“You overestimate my influence,” you say, then dither before admitting, “I’m afraid I was too hard on him today.”

“Someone has to do it,” Aemond objects, and there’s something in his tone — sincere and soft, that makes you look at him again. At this moment, away from the prying eyes and the pressure of everyone’s expectations, you can see the side of him that people rarely get acquainted with.

“I think you are doing a pretty good job, too,” you tell the prince, finding his presence ever so calming. You could never understand why would anyone call Aemond intimidating when he’s been nothing but kind to you ever since you two met. Whenever you have a chance to be alone with him, his company always brings you comfort, and that feeling is so rare, you want to chase it.

But then you remind yourself of the harsh reality, and your smile falters.

“I’m sorry you had to get involved,” you look down at the book. “I wouldn’t want to distract you.”

“You need to elaborate on that,” Aemond says uncomprehendingly.

“I’ve heard that you were courting lady Baratheon,” you explain casually, avoiding his gaze.

He hesitates before answering.

“Well, I only plan to,” the prince clarifies. “If she accepts my advances.”

“It would be silly of her not to,” you blurt out and, while you can’t see it, Aemond gives you a quizzical look.

“She may have her reasons —”

“I can’t come up with a single one,” you tell him with so much confidence, Aemond’s heart flutters at your words but you continue without a second thought. “You are intelligent, good-hearted, handsome — and a really skilled swordsman. Not to mention you have the biggest dragon in the realm, which does sound like a reasonable perk.”

The prince is glad that you’re too preoccupied with the book to see his stunned expression. It’s not just the fact that you compliment him so easily — but also the way you do it. When other people try to, they usually start with Vhagar as if the old grumpy creature is the main good thing about Aemond. But you only bring up the dragon at the very end and in passing, instead keeping the focus on the prince. He is silent for a moment, letting your words sink into his memory.

And then Aemond persuades himself that you only said it out of politeness.

You notice his lack of response — and you are about to question it when a maid comes to you in haste:

“Lady Y/N, your presence is needed. Your father is looking for you.”

“Better not keep him waiting,” the prince encourages you with a grin. “If he finds Aegon, he might hug him to death.”

You playfully elbow him and turn to follow the maid but then stop to say:

“Please make sure your brother stays in bed.”

“Will do,” Aemond looks at you walking away, clutching the book to your chest as if it's the most precious thing in the world.

To this day, it is truly a mystery to him how Aegon managed to befriend someone like you. You met the Targaryen brothers when your family was invited to one of the royal feasts. You were ten and three, the middle one of three sisters. Your oldest — Elaesa — has been the center of attention, beautiful and graceful, but while everyone’s eyes were on her, you looked a little bit disoriented. It was the first feast that you’ve attended, and maybe you got too agitated or overwhelmed — or both — but soon you ended up lost in the castle, and somehow ripped the hem of your dress in the process.

Aemond was the one to find you. The prince has never been keen on taking part in celebrations, often sneaking away from all the noise. That’s when he saw you — fussing with the dress, your sobs echoing through the hall.

“Are you hurt?” he rushed to your side, and you looked up at him with blubbered eyes.

“Why do you have so many halls? You should hand out maps so people can find their way back,” despite being clearly upset, you sounded unusually serious, and Aemond fought back a smile.

“I can help you find your parents without a map,” he suggested, and for a second it seemed to lighten your mood but then your pout worsened.

“I cannot go back,” you gestured at the dress. “I am in such trouble!” you whined, the tears threatening to spill out of your eyes.

Truth be told, Aemond didn’t have much experience with ladies back then nor did he know a thing about dresses but your distress seemed so genuine he couldn’t leave you be.

“It is not that bad,” he pointed at the ripped material. “I can ask our seamstress to take a look.”

You studied his face for a second, then glanced back at the dress — surprisingly, that was all it took for you to stop crying, and no other coaxing was needed. You wiped your nose and fixed your hairdo, smoothing the damaged hem the best you could.

“I'd appreciate it if you help me find my way back,” you said, your face seemingly more relaxed.

Getting you to talk was pretty easy, and Aemond shortly discovered how open-minded and outspoken you were, using your quick thinking to compensate for your timid personality. When you returned to the hall of the Iron Throne, he was reluctant to let you go but promised to come back with the seamstress. The task only took him about ten minutes, but when he did reappear, you were not alone — Aegon was standing next to you, making you laugh so hard, it looked like you forgot about the dress already. Aemond didn’t mean to interrupt as he suddenly felt very out of place, uninvited in his own home, so he abandoned the idea of helping you and just left.

At first, he thought you fell for Aegon’s flirtatious charms but soon learned that, as much as you did like his brother’s humor, his charms had no effect on you. On the contrary, you often chided him for hitting on young girls and openly condemned his affection for wine. Your honesty set you apart from all the ladies Aegon was surrounded with — and that was the reason he came to enjoy your company as much as he did. Despite the three years age gap, you were the one who told him the truth, no matter how ugly it might’ve been, but you did so without prejudice or any ill intentions. You would usually follow your critique with advice or a solution of some sort to keep the prince away from unnecessary trouble. That is why you were on friendly terms with Helaena, too, and your influence was also welcomed by Alicent, the then Queen. She liked that you were straightforward with your remarks and often said that you were wise beyond your years. Although, as much as Aemond agreed with it, he suspected there was a reason you had to grow up early.

It happened the same year you met — your older sister, with all her grace and beauty, ran away from home to elope with some unworthy beggar. Your mother was inconsolable for at least a week, saying that Elaesa brought shame upon her family. Your father, the kind man that he is, forgave his daughter fairly quickly and tried his best to restore peace. And yet, you came to realize that Elaesa's vagary did cast a shadow over your House. Your youngest sister, Alyna, was a fragile little thing, frequently sick and tacit — which left you to be the one representing your family in the eyes of society.

Within a few years, there wasn't a thing you weren't good at: lords lined up to have a dance with you, ladies admired how well-spoken you were and shared a laugh at your florid sarcasm, and you learned to embroider, to ride a horse, to walk exquisitely dressed and with impeccable posture. But while for everyone else it was a reason to compliment you, Aemond saw the underlying cause of your diligence — the corrosive desire to prove one's worth which was something he learned to live with as well. And which led him to think he understood you better than anyone.

More often than not he found himself watching you as if he had the need to make sure you weren't in harm's way. Helping you with Aegon was a part of that routine but it also gave him a chance to be alone with you. You talked about everything and nothing in particular, and he would catch glimpses of you — the real you, shy and emotional at times, but still understanding and perceptive. He cherished every opportunity to steal you away from the never-ending chattering, from lords ogling at you, from Jason Lannister whose interest in your company should've been concerning. Aemond has gotten so used to observing you, so enthralled with your covert conversations, he didn't realize that a particular feeling was creeping up on him. But there was one person who turned out to be more observant than Aemond has been. Aegon was the mere reason why his brother ended up at your door a few days later. Aemond’s been to your place a couple of times and he promptly memorized the way to the farthest room of the house — the one you used to paint in. It was the only thing you truly allowed yourself to enjoy, an unexpected talent of yours which you soon perfected, too, except it wasn't meant for the others to marvel at but plainly for you to keep your head occupied, to have some quiet time.

He walks in when you are already painting the finishing touches. When you turn to greet him, you stop mid-sentence, seeing that it’s Aemond instead of his brother who you were waiting for.

“He overslept,” the younger prince shrugs. “It isn't a bothersome task to come pick up the portrait of my nephews.”

You point in the direction of the painting with the brush in your hand. Aemond admires your work — as he always does — while you try to shake off your confusion. There is another reason you did not expect to see Aemond today. You tarry with voicing your concern but eventually glance at him with empathy:

“I was sorry to hear about lady Baratheon’s decision.”

“I was not,” he’s quick to retort.

“I cannot imagine agreeing to marry a Stark,” you say, dipping a brush in a jar of water.

“Is it the cold weather?” Aemond grins knowingly.

“Yes! Gods, just thinking about it makes me feel uneasy. All the layers you have to wear to keep yourself warm, barely being able to move, getting no sunlight...,” you ramble, making sure to wet all the brushes before lining them up on the table.

“Some say they've got quite a beautiful scenery,” Aemond tries to object although he knows his argument doesn't stand a chance.

“I wouldn't be able to enjoy that,” you huff. “How am I to capture the beauty if my paint freezes?”

He only hums in agreement, watching you busy yourself with your supplies. You go through the brushes, delicately cleaning the bristles with a cloth. Your fingers carefully take one brush after the other, and Aemond silently admires your love for neatness and order.

“You are staring,” you say without turning to him.

“Where do you want me to look at?”

“Aemond, you are in a room full of art!” you chuckle lightly. “Surely, enough options to land your eye on.”

The prince lets his gaze go around the place, and it takes him about a minute to quickly examine all the paintings. And then he inevitably looks at you again. Aemond thinks he likes this view the most.

“When do you begin your next great work of art?” he asks, hoping to distract you.

You halt movement, then force out glumly:

“Never.”

“What do you mean?” he’s taken by surprise.

“I’ve come to realize that I’d never be a genius,” you reluctantly explain. “So I’m giving up all my foolish artistic hopes.”

“Y/N, you cannot be serious. You have so much talent and — ”

“Talent isn’t genius!” you throw up your hands in defeat, and he can sense your frustration from a distance. “I may be talented in other things, but when it comes to painting, I want to be great or nothing. And I am only of middling talent,” you scoop up the brushes, give them a quick look and place in another jar to dry.

Aemond wants to argue, he really does — but he also knows better than to try and persuade you when you are like this: firmly standing your ground, exuding nothing but stubbornness. In any other situation, he would’ve found it endearing but it’s upsetting to see you downplaying your brilliance.

“Hm, may I at least ask your last portrait to be of me?”

You instantly turn to him, taken aback. Throughout the years you’ve known him, he clearly expressed that he did not like being painted, and you only could make a quick sketch or two, at best, when he wasn't paying attention.

“Alright,” the long-awaited opportunity makes you smile. “Next time I come for breakfast, I will drag you into the garden to pose for me,” you give him a pointed look, and Aemond humbly nods.

Your smile grows wider but you try to tone it down, afraid to spook him, and focus on wiping the nearest table.

“What are you going to do with your life in the meantime?” he changes the subject.

“Polish up my other skills and become an ornament to society,” you sigh, putting the cloth away.

There’s a brief pause before he says, his voice a bit strained:

“Here is where Jason Lannister comes in, I suppose?”

You say yes but the answer comes a little bit too fast, and Aemond notices that the topic makes you uncomfortable.

“But you are yet to be betrothed to him,” he clarifies, gaze fixed on you.

“I will be if he proposes,” your eyes meet his, and you are sure that there’s a shadow of disapproval on his face that only spurs your stubbornness. You fully turn to the prince to say: “I always knew I had to marry well, I do not feel ashamed of that.”

But Aemond isn’t looking for a fight — he swiftly corrects himself:

“There is nothing to be ashamed of. As long as...” — he can barely bring himself to say it — “As long as you love him.”

For the reason unknown to Aemond, his statement brings a bleak smile to your face.

“I believe we can have some power over who we love,” you object, lowering your gaze for a second as you start absentmindedly twisting the ring on your finger.

“I think the poets would disagree,” he chuckles, trying to defuse the unexpected tension.

But when you look up at him, your glare is as obdurate as ever.

“Well, I am not a poet, I am just a woman,” you rebut crisply. “And as a woman, I have no illusions about my prospects which do not include me earning a living to support my family. And my parent’s fortune has its limits as I've come to learn. Hence why, if I want to have children — I do — and be able to provide them with everything they wish for, I must rely on my husband,” that last word is pronounced with disappointment. “So don't stand here and tell me that marriage isn't an economic proposition, because it is. It may not be for you but it certainly is for me.”

Had he not known you, Aemond would’ve been very impressed — with how blunt and witty you are, you are very good at delivering speeches. But as he’s standing in front of you, watching your face, he senses that your determination is akin to despair. Aemond thinks he might take a chance at arguing with you, after all — but you’re both startled by a knock on the door:

“Lady Y/N, Ser Lannister just arrived.”

You look baffled for a second, your confidence crumbling.

“Why would he — I, I didn’t expect him today,” you mumble, almost ashamed of his arrival.

Yet you pull yourself together faster than Aemond can come up with a reason for you to stay. You remove your apron and quickly examine your dress, then move to put on a cape.

“Did I miss any paint stains?” you ask Aemond in a haste.

“No,” he looks over the flowing material of your neat dress, your hair knotted up high — and then: “...Wait!”

You stop abruptly while he grabs a clean cloth.

“There is something on your cheek,” he says as you both step toward each other — and in the next second you’re suddenly standing too close.

You turn to him and shyly shut your eyes, taking a deep breath. Aemond is frozen for a moment but then carefully wipes away a slight smudge of green from under your cheekbone. His hand unwillingly lingers as he examines the delicate features of your face. You open your eyes, looking at the prince questingly. His facial expression is unreadable but it makes you wish you didn’t have to go.

You brush away that silly thought and stand back, fixing your cape.

“How do I look? Do I look alright?”

“You look beautiful,” Aemond says with no hesitation, taking you in — with your cheeks a bit flushed, lip parted and eyes shining. “You are beautiful.”

You seem bewildered at his words but then a smile grows on your face — and in a blink of an eye, you’re gone. The prince is left standing there, staring at the spot where you were just now. The room suddenly feels so empty without you — and so does his heart.

The realization strikes Aemond like lightning: he wants to be the one you come to, at all times. The one holding your hand, watching you paint, or read, or dance — watching you do whatever your heart desires. Because his only desire is to be with you. That thought puts down roots deep into his chest, and he doesn’t know how to pluck it out.

Nor does he want to. It’s all he can think about for the duration of the week, until you come to the castle — with canvas and supplies, not hiding your excitement. He almost forgot about his promise but follows you into the garden without objection. You sense a slight change in Aemond’s behavior, him being more quiet than usual, but decide not to push the prince so he won’t reconsider.

“I will start with a sketch and then we will go from there. Alright?”

He just hums in response while looking at you but you are unaware of the meaning behind his gaze.

“Take any pose you like, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable,” you suggest with a half-smile, knowing full well he will probably remain standing.

And he does, arms clasped behind his back, his eye never leaving your face. You immerse in the process too quickly to be bothered, the piece of charcoal in your hand sliding over the paper, leaving lines and shadows. Drawing Aemond is an effortless task, and you can only enjoy how easy it is to sketch the sharp contours of his face and his lean body. The simplicity can also be explained by the fact that you've already memorized all the details by heart: the curves of his cheekbones and his lips, the flow of his silver hair, the shape and cut of his eye.

When you are finally satisfied, you can’t tell if it’s been an hour or three, and the prince, as it seems, hasn’t moved a muscle. At this point, Aemond’s demeanor does worry you yet you blame it on his nervousness.

“Want to take a look?” you hand him a few sketches. “Mind you, I’m not finished so please don’t judge too harshly —”

“I could never,” his hand brushes yours when he takes the drawings.

Aemond has seen your works before but it's a whole new experience when he's the one being portrayed. He almost doesn't recognize himself — you didn't miss a single feature of his yet somehow this version of him looks too beautiful to be real. He's at a loss for words until he spots that there's another drawing hidden underneath. It's a sketch of him sitting, both arms on the table, his face looks like he's deep in his thoughts.

“When did you do this one?”

“After the coronation,” the memory makes you smile. “Made my poor father lug around with charcoal in his pockets while he was trying to keep up the conversation with Ser Lannister.”

It was the day you got introduced to Jason. You were supposed to be by his side, with your charming smile and polite talks, yet you spend your time drawing Aemond. He can imagine your gaze focused on the piece of paper, the way you must've been looking at him to capture every detail and movement — all of that without him asking to, without him even noticing. There's so much care in that act, he is unexpectedly moved by it.

The words leave his mouth before he can think them over:

“Don't marry him.”

His request makes your hands tremble, and you drop the piece of charcoal, slowly looking up at Aemond, the smile disappearing from your face. He did not mean that, you must've misunderstood.

“...What?”

Aemond turns to you, looking you straight in the eyes:

“Don't marry him,” he repeats, helplessly and desperately.

“Why?” you ask in disbelief, suddenly having trouble breathing. The only reason you can think of sounds delusional, close to impossible. You wait for him to come up with some clever explanation — instead, he comes closer to you, his gaze so warm it makes your cheeks burn.

“You know why,” Aemond says and his hand gently lands on yours. You look down at it, perplexed, your mouth opening and closing, heart rate speeding up.

He keeps his eye on your face as he waits for your reply. You are not repulsed nor angry — which is supposed to be a good sign — but the reaction he gets is actually worse than that. Because when you finally glance at him, you look hurt.

“No,” you yank away your hand as if his touch stung. “No, Aemond, you are being mean, stop it,” you take a step back, your eyes glossy and lips tight. The look you give causes him physical pain — while you are trying your best to fight back the tears.

His intelligence clearly fails him because Aemond has no clue what’s going on. He feels like there is a deeper meaning to your words but he does not get it.

“Why am I being mean?” he asks incredulously as you slowly continue putting more distance between you two.

You don’t even realize you are doing it — it’s almost an urge to not be in his presence, for the first time ever. The weight of his words feels suffocating and merciless. How easy it is for him to toy with your emotions, you think, and that cruelty of his — as you see it — wounds you so deeply, he might as well put a torch to your heart.

“I have felt like everyone’s second choice my entire life,” you bemoan, not being able to keep your agony bottled up any longer. “In everything, no matter how hard I’ve worked to be better. I thought you out of all people would understand that,” you sound raspy, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

“So I will not be the person you settle for just because your first marriage proposal was turned down,” only when your voice shudders, Aemond finally understands how wrongfully you interpreted his intentions.

But you are out of his reach already — at least ten feet away from him, and the distance separates you like a giant chasm.

“No, I won’t. I can’t,” you are hurting so much, your feelings spill out like blood from a wound. “I can’t do it. Not when I have spent years loving you.”

His breathing hitches as your confession pierces through his chest — and he is left speechless, deafened by it. The moment slips through his fingers with unforgiving pace: you were standing so close only a minute ago — and now you are turning your back to him, rushing away. The last thing he sees is how broken you look, your shoulders slumped and eyes brimming with tears.

Aemond stands, shocked and paralyzed until it’s too late — the garden is silent with your absence and the only evidence of you being there is your supplies scattered on the ground. Your words are ringing in his head, his heart heavy with a dreadful feeling.

He was afraid he would never have you — but he actually could have.

If only he wasn't so blind.

➡ Part 2

yes, this is me blabbing again: I’ve watched this movie an embarrassing amount of times, and I’ve wanted to write a fic based on it for a few months. I did rephrase a couple of quotes but still tried my best to do the story justice. my apologies for the angst — just so you know, it was painful to write. also, will I ever stop using friends to lovers trope? only time will tell! (I probably won't, though) I know there is a very heartwarming fic by aemonds-war-crime that was also based on “Little women” and it's only fair that I link it as well!

tagging @greenowlfactif because you asked 💙 comments and opinions are VERY welcomed! 🥺 🎨 my masterlist English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

#aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #<<< PLS don’t be mad! I know Aegon isn’t the main character but he has a meaningful role #so I thought maybe I should add his tag too... (PLS DON’T BE MAD)#on a completely unrelated note I decided to start with dialogue(s) and then bring the backstory #I think it’s more engaging??? but we’ll see how that goes #also it was a conscious decision to start with Aemond’s side of the story — just so it comes as a surprise when she says ‘hey I loved you f #(I mean it obviously won’t be surprising if you saw the movie...)#ALSO I really hope you guys will want the second part (’cause I already wrote it lmao)#my stuff #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond one eye #aemond one eye x y/n #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfics #aemond targaryen fics #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fanfic #hotd fanfiction #aemond angst #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen angst

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restinslices · 2 months

Text

Everything pt2

PJO Show Ares X Child!Reader (no gender specified)

Word count: 6168 (I realized a bit late that majority is me setting up the scene. If you just wanna see their talk, read after the “~~”)

Summary: You haven’t seen your father since the last time you talked, but of course with your luck he finds you again and you’re forced to make a big decision.

Warnings: Reader is going through it, poor attempt at a fight scene, the lore and timeline is probably fucked up but ignore that, OOC Ares probably and as of typing I’m realizing MAJOR SPOILER FOR THE TITANS CURSE. To avoid this, scroll until you see “I don’t have any friends that come over” or “~” if you wanna be extra careful.

You’d love to say that not seeing your father after your last talk was some sort of surprise, but it wasn’t. Thankfully (is that selfish to think?) none of the demigods had a real good relationship with their parent. Well, Percy seemed to have a solid relationship with Posideon, but it’s not like he saw him everyday. And as selfish and heartless as it sounded, that offered you a bit of relief and comfort. It’s not like your father was sensitive and loving to you and you screwed it up. Everything was pretty much back to normal.

It was a pretty somber day at camp. Percy, Grover and Thalia had managed to save Annabeth and Artemis, but it didn’t come without casualties. You weren’t necessarily friends with Bianca or Zoë but you still grieved over them. The hardest part though, was watching how sad your friends had gotten, especially Percy. You knew what Percy was like. Percy was extremely loyal but that loyalty led to carrying a lot more weight on his shoulders than what was necessary. If your suspicions were right (and you knew they were), he’d blame himself for Bianca’s death. That made zero sense to you. He told you exactly how she died and to you, it seemed like Bianca made a choice. Percy couldn’t have done anything to stop it. He didn’t see it that way and you weren’t sure why you insisted on telling him over and over again and trying to cheer him up.

“Nico?” Percy raised to his feet when he saw you approaching. You shook your head,

“No sign of him. He’s been missing for a week now Percy. If we were gonna find him, we would’ve found him by now”. Percy looked defeated. You were sure he knew the chances of finding him were slim to none, but you kept combing areas of the woods for him to keep him somewhat at peace. If he thought there was a chance, he wouldn’t be as depressed hopefully.

“I’m gonna say it again-“

“Don’t”

“Well what should I say to calm you down?”

Percy thought for a moment but just shrugged and started heading inside his cabin and you followed. Percy collapsed on his own bed and you took it upon yourself to sit on the bed next to his. You didn’t know if it was because you held resentment towards your father, or if you actually liked Cabin 3 but you really wished this was your cabin instead. “Must be nice having a cabin all to yourself. No obnoxious cabin mates, no extra noise, nobody leaving their shit on the floor”.

“I guess” was all he said back to you and you sighed. You didn’t wanna keep repeating yourself but you genuinely didn’t know what to say but not saying anything made you feel like an asshole that was ignoring the situation.

So you tried to change the subject.

“Is it like this at home too? Just you and your mom? No friends over?”.

“I don't have any friends that can come over”

“None at school?”

“None”.

That made you frown. You were older than Percy by a few years, so you had time to adjust to how lonely life could be as a half-blood and by now, you didn't return “home” either. Camp was your home now year round. You understood why Percy kept going home though. You heard about his mom and she seemed like a nice woman. You were grateful he at least had that.

But instead of saying something sweet and nice and voicing your thoughts, you made a joke instead. “That's why your little ass keeps getting into trouble. You have no one out there watching out for you”

“My mom watches out for me plenty”

“But she's not keeping schools from being blown up now is she?”. Percy rolled his eyes, but he didn't look as sad as before so you took this as a sign to keep talking “if I was watching you, you'd be alright. At least you'd have help”

“You're tryna live with me now?”

“Sure”, you said with a shrug. “A cool mom, random blue food, stopping you from exposing yourself - it all sounds grand”. You both laughed at your joke because that's what it was. A joke.

At least… it was at first.

Either Percy didn't know what a joke was, or he was pretty fond of having a big sibling when he was home because the next day he told you he sent an Iris message to his mom and she was fine with getting an air mattress for you. You almost told Percy that it was just a joke, but then you thought about how lonely he must be at home and how annoying it can be only having his mom to talk to about this demigod stuff. Plus, it hopefully wouldn't hurt to get a break from camp.

You didn't know why you decided to pray and tell Poseidon about this, but you did. The sun had set and you slipped out of your cabin and snuck into the woods. You made a mini fire and threw two candy bars the Stoll brothers managed to sneak in, which was a real shitty offering but it was all you had. You couldn't do it during the feast. You had too much to say and someone would hear.

“Terrible offering, I know. I hope you're listening anyway” you started. “I'm gonna be following Percy around when he goes home and I'm gonna try and keep him and Sally somewhat safe. I don't know how safe Percy can really be but I'll try anyway. I hope that's not a problem. I'm not tryna step on your toes or anything”.

In all honesty praying and giving offerings felt strange. You were supposed to pray to Ares everyday and give him an offering, but you stopped doing that after your last talk. The first time you threw food in a fire and didn't say his name, you thought you'd combust as a punishment. You didn't though, so you kept doing it. Occasionally you'd give offerings to other gods but it was mainly Athena. Partially because she was like Ares but not really and partially because you hoped it would upset Ares. Was it childish? Yes. But compared to someone as old as Ares, you were a child.

“That's all I really have to say. If you don't want me to go you can drown me in my sleep or maybe send a letter. Whatever works for you”. You looked around, expecting for some paper saying “absolutely not” to land somewhere around you but nothing happened, so you put out the fire and snuck back into your cabin.

You don't think you have a huge ego, but you definitely felt you deserved a pat on the back for how good your work was.

You were able to convince your own lousy family to hand over any legal documents to Sally and thankfully Percy's middle school had a highschool right next to it. Although the demigods weren't supposed to use phones, a minor text here and there saying “hey, I think there's monsters here” didn't hurt anyone. There were plenty of times you had to sneak out of your school and into his, and if you weren't so busy fighting for your life, you'd audition to be in some spy or assassin movie.

Thankfully though, you weren't always busy helping Percy. You figured you might as well help Sally out so you got a job at a nearby bookstore inside of a mall and honestly? You'd prefer fighting monsters over dealing with bratty customers. Seriously though, how can you be a bitch at a bookstore?

“I've already told you ma'am” you said in a monotone voice, “we can't give you a refund if you do not have a receipt”.

The black hair woman scoffed and looked at you as if you caused the problem she was having. “A receipt? Do I seem like the type of woman who keeps a receipt?! When I bought Twilight, I expected better and I hate it and now I want a refund and as the customer, I am always right!”.

The entire conversation made you wanna explode in front of her and change the trajectory of her life, but unfortunately it didn't happen. What was with mortals and not understanding basic store rules?

“I would love it if you were right but you're not. No receipt. No refund”. She scoffed again and you wanted to grab her by the throat and stop the noise from ever leaving her mouth again.

“Well what do you expect me to do?!”

“Pick up a different book then get out maybe?”.

You couldn't put a finger on the noise that came out of her next. It was some deep throaty sound with a mix of anger and disgust. “Do you know who I am? I'm Holly Holiday-” you accidentally cracked a smile at her stupid name and that just fueled her rage. She pointed a finger at your name tag and said your name, followed by “you are so done for! I'll have you eaten alive for this!”.

She turned on her heels and left in a huff. Fucking finally.

You looked over at your coworker Harper and pretended your fingers were a gun and shot yourself, getting a laugh out of her. Harper and her twin Hazel shared a few classes with you and by some coincidence they also worked in the mall. Harper was with you while Hazel worked at the costume store downstairs. You couldn't tell them apart and you weren't sure if you'd ever pass the “we talk sometimes” stage but it didn't matter right now.

“I know it's closing time but are you ok if I take a bathroom break really quick? I can help out when I get back”

She waved dismissively, “take your time man. Hazel'll be coming up here too”. You nodded with a small thank you and stepped into the mostly vacant mall. The mall was usually lively but with it being so late at night, the only people around were other people like that annoying customer and workers who had the misfortune of still working this late.

It was eerily quiet. Sure, you thought you were used to how silent it was at this time of night, but you still got the creeps and did not take your time alone in the bathroom.

Maybe you should have though, because once you left the bathroom that same annoying lady was waiting outside, which she definitely should not have been doing.

“I told you I did not like that book”.

Seriously? She was still complaining? She was still here after the store had pretty much closed?

You said something that would've gotten you fired if your boss was around, “yeah? Tough shit lady. No receipt, no refund, it's as simple as that. Don't buy books you haven't read. Now get out the mall and go take care of your kids”.

She snarled. A genuine snarl that made you start to sneakily slip off the bracelet you were wearing. You didn't know if gods could give other kids gifts, and either it had been allowed this whole time or Poseidon didn't care since shortly after your “chat” after hours you received a dagger that could transform into a bracelet. You thought maybe Ares had sent it, but his gifts didn't smell of the ocean and a fresh breeze.

Regardless of who gave it to you, that snarl didn't sound good.

“I don't think you're very good at your job”

“I guess I'm not. Now do us both a favor and just leave”.

She didn't leave. Instead she smirked and that was all the confirmation you needed to know something was wrong. The bracelet slipped off your wrist and while the monster was transforming, you gripped your weapon and brought it up through the bottom of her mouth. You pulled it out, but not through the entry wound. You pulled it towards you, letting it split her face in half.

Just in case, you stabbed her in the heart, twisted the knife then pulled it out of her through the side of her chest. You didn’t have to wait for her to crumble. It was game over. A surprisingly easy win.

You grabbed some nearby napkins so you could wipe your dagger clean then returned it back to your wrist.

“What happened?” Harper asked once you stepped back inside, which was really odd for multiple reasons.

Firstly, you looked like you usually did. Nothing about you was particularly out of place. At least you didn't think so.

Secondly, she didn't sound curious. She didn't sound concerned. She sounded frustrated, like you did something wrong.

“Nothing” you lied. “It's nothing. Let's just clean up, yeah?”.

“I'm sure it's not nothing Child of Ares”.

Your brows knitted together and you hoped you just heard wrong. You turned to look at Harper and that's when it started to click.

Harper. Hazel. Holly.

Harpies.

They were too lazy to pick a different initial for the first name and you fell for it like an idiot. Plus the “I’ll have you eaten alive” comment. But in all fairness, who actually takes those comments seriously? If you took every threatening comment seriously, you'd be sent to an asylum.

Harper's short red hair looked like flames now. Her green eyes looked hungry for your flesh and her sharp teeth glistened in the light as feathers grew from her arms. Realistically, you should've been scared. There were two alive harpies in the building, but something about a monster with a gray shirt with mini white books decorated on it really made you wanna laugh. She must've sensed this since she sneered,

“You think I'm funny?”

“Do you want an honest answer?”

“You won't think I'm so funny soon you spoiled demigod!”. You wanted to make a joke about how calling children with severe abandonment issues “spoiled” was silly, but you decided this wasn't the time. Instead you took the bracelet off.

Harper laughed in your face. “You think that will stop me?”

“Handled your friend pretty well. How about you stop trash talking and come over here so we can see if you're any different”. You don't know which comment got her so angry but she leapt at you.

You sidestepped her and planned on delivering a quick stab to the neck, but she must've seen it coming. She grabbed something and quickly turned to bat you in the face with it, making you stumble back. It took you a quick second to realize she hit you with a book. A Goosebumps book no less.

“You are incredibly childish” you mumbled and you wished you could laugh it off. Maybe you were childish too because you picked up the book and launched it at her face, feeling a tad bit disappointed when she dodged it.

You swung at her but she caught your wrist and squeezed hard enough to make you drop your dagger. You were quick on your feet though and you brought your available elbow down on her inner elbow (you were sure it had a scientific name but honestly who cares?). You heard a crunch and Harper screeched. Her grip loosened enough for you to snatch away while kicking her, her flying and hitting the railing.

You grabbed the dagger and threw it. You meant for it to hit somewhere fatal but she moved and instead it hit her directly in the eye, which made her screech even louder.

You snatched your necklace off and the object quickly took the shape of a double sided sword. It was a gift from your father and although he was probably pissed at you, you figured he probably wasn't watching and wouldn't care.

You charged at her and swung the sword. Although she was screaming in pain and was no doubt in agony, she slid under the blade. As she turned to face you, her hands moved and a sharp gust of wind knocked you off the third floor.

To make matters worse, Hazel decided to make an appearance. She was right below you, cackling, arms outstretched and you knew if you landed in those arms she'd devour you.

You did the only thing you could think of with such short timing. You angled the sword vertically and aimed directly for her mouth. She seemed to understand but it was too late. You came crashing down, your sword along with you and it slid directly in her mouth and down her throat. Because of the sword having a solid middle so you could hold onto something, it didn't go all the way through and you stumbled a bit, but you were better off than her. She stopped all movement and to make sure the job was done, you ripped the sword through her, cutting her in half.

“MY SISTER!”, Harper screeched and you looked up at her with your messy sword in hand.

“You want more from the Child of Ares?!” You claimed you hated trash talk and you especially hated being called his child but the adrenaline was really getting to you. “I have plenty to give!”.

She flew up higher and started to come down fast towards you. You readied your sword, prepared to end this but suddenly she stopped and started trembling.

“L-L-Lord Ares. I-”

Before you could ask any questions and she could finish her sentence, you were being launched into the air. The scream you let out was embarrassing but it didn't matter in the end. You both collided and hit the wall and instead of being knocked out or injured like you thought you'd be, you were completely fine. Your sword went straight through her chest and pinned her to the wall behind her and you were hanging above the ground, grasping onto the hilt of your sword and hoping your hands wouldn’t start sweating.

“L-L-Lord Ares. I-”

No. No way. It couldn’t be. But who else could’ve launched you in the air like that?

You looked down and there he was. You don’t know why, but you expected him to look somewhat different. Maybe a new haircut or a new jacket. Maybe he’d try contacts, but no. He looked exactly the same. You didn’t know if you were comforted or unnerved by it.

You wished you had something cool to say but all you said was “what are you doing here?”.

“Saving your life”. Yeah right. You had everything 100% under control. He chuckled and you started to wonder if he could read your mind. When you screamed internally though, he didn’t flinch so that theory went out the window. Maybe you looked annoyed and didn’t know it.

“Are you gonna catch me?” You asked.

“What for?”

“Because you threw me all the way to the fifth floor and it’d be nice not to break something”

“You need me to warm up milk up for you too?”.

Fuck it. You’d risk the broken leg.

You tightened your hands around the hilt and planted your feet on the wall then pushed off with all your might. Fortunately, you got the sword out the wall. Unfortunately, you were now falling from five floors up.

You braced for impact, but instead of falling and hitting the floor, you fell into someone’s arms. You looked up, thinking that maybe someone was with your father that you didn’t see before, but no. It was him. He caught you. Something you weren’t expecting but you weren’t against.

You mumbled a thanks and stood on your feet. The year was 2006 when you last talked. It was early in 2008 and while that wasn’t that big of a gap, the talk you had last time made things more awkward.

“I thought you’re not allowed to interfere”

He raised a brow at you as if saying “you care about rules now when you’ve been breaking them?”. Were you breaking them though? Sure you were encouraged to give offerings to your parent but you hadn’t been punished… yet. If it was so bad you wouldn’t be walking right now. And you doubted he paid enough attention to notice. He was probably relieved to have one less kid bothering him.

Gods, you were a downer.

“Are you gonna tell on me?” He asked.

“If you hadn’t caught me”

“And now?”

“My lips are sealed”. You didn’t see his expression. You were too busy looking down at your shoes. A habit you hated you developed. It made you feel small. But you guessed demigods were supposed to be small in comparison to their parent. That’s why you showed them respect but they hardly returned the favor.

A moment of silence passed before he spoke up again.

“You have money on you?”.

Was he gonna rob you now? “Uh, yeah”.

“You’re paying for dinner. Let’s go”

He started walking away before you could even respond, and like a reflex you grabbed his arm to slow him down. “I can’t”.

“Can’t?” He said so calmly it kinda scared you.

“Yeah. I can’t. My uh…” you decided not to tell him the entire truth about staying with Percy and Sally. “My ride… mom. She’s coming to get me. You don’t want mom knowing you’re in town, right?”.

He looked you up and down and you tried your best to not seem nervous. You weren’t sure he believed you but he let it go for the night.

You wished it stayed that way. That he’d just go back wherever he came from but instead he told you the name of a diner nearby and said to be there by noon tomorrow and that you were paying.

“Great. Thanks dad” you thought. “I always love our talks”.

The good thing about his random plan to go to a diner at noon was that you were allowed to clean yourself and sleep beforehand. The bad thing was that now you were sitting across from him and it was incredibly awkward.

Ares kept laughing at his phone and you debated on asking him what was so funny but he said “started a Twitter war about vaccination. It’s getting good”. You screamed in your head again, but once again he didn’t flinch. Maybe he just had a good poker face.

“I’m happy for you?”. He glanced up at you and instead of going back to his phone, he set it face down on the table. You didn’t know if he seemed to glow because of the little war he started, or if a source of light was hitting him nicely. Maybe it was a god thing.

“You’re probably wondering why I’ve called you here”

Was this an HR meeting? “I’m wondering why I’m paying”

“Ask me”

“You know I wanna know though so why am I asking?”

He didn’t respond. He just looked at you and you could hear his foot tapping on the floor.

You rubbed your brow, already feeling a migraine coming on. You took a deep breath and let out a sarcastic response (which was not a good idea but your mouth worked faster than your brain).

“Ares, the amazing God of War. The Protector of Mistreated Women. Wearer of biker jackets. I come before you as your humble child, begging thee to tell me what required my summons and why you were at the mall last night. Please please please tell me. I’ll fall over and die if you don’t”.

Sarcastic or not, he accepted it. He motioned towards the platter of burgers and fries, “this is your thank you. This is your offering to me since you haven’t been doing that”.

Well fuck. You didn’t think he’d notice.

You leaned back in your seat and your fingers strummed against your knees and you had to remind yourself that running out probably wouldn’t end well.

“You noticed?”

“I did” he said simply. It reminded you of how emotionless he was the last time you talked. It reminded you of how frustrated you were that he talked as if nothing was wrong and as if your pain didn’t affect him.

“You demigods think you’re so smart. You have these big egos and think you’re ahead of us. You gave your offerings to Athena and Poseidon of all people ” he spat their names like it left a bitter taste in his mouth to mention them.

“And then you stay with that fish boy and his mom. Yeah. I saw that too. And I save your life and you don’t seem the least bit grateful”.

Grateful.

Something about that word you hated.

Grateful? What was there to be grateful for? “Yeah dad, I’m super grateful my life consists of monsters trying to eat me and a dad I only see once in a blue moon. Totally grateful”.

“We can’t interfere”

“Didn’t stop you last night”

He tsked, “I don’t get you. You complain about my absence then you complain when I’m here when I could be doing anything else!”. His voice rose but the people in the diner were either used to this or didn’t care enough to say anything.

The nervousness and the fear rolled off you the more he spoke. Gratefulness? Doing anything else? You weren’t stopping him.

“Then go do those things. I’m not holding your hand and making you stay”. Your brain told you to shut up and apologize, but your mouth wasn’t having it. “And this isn’t about us and you know it. This is about you. This is about your ego being hurt. You don’t care about my safety. You didn’t go to the mall to protect me. You just love a fight and you were probably disappointed you couldn’t do more”

“That’s what you think?” His eyes burned with something you couldn’t quite place. Anger obviously, but it seemed like something else was there. Or maybe there was literal fire in his eyes. Either way, it was clear he was upset and if you didn’t shut up soon, he’d probably turn you into a random animal.

But who didn’t love animals?

“That’s what I know. And I didn’t need your help. I was just fine. The only thing you would’ve missed if I somehow died was your little offerings. I don’t matter to you. Just admit it so we can move on”. Ares opened his mouth to say something, but you spoke again “and for your information Percy and Sally are very nice people. They feel more like family than you do”.

That shut up whatever he planned on saying. The last time you two talked you swore you saw an emotion cross his face. This time you were definitely sure you saw something cross his face before it went back to its default expression.

Was that regret?

No. That was stupid and you’ve had plenty of stupid thoughts.

It went silent. Weirdly, eerily silent.

The diner wasn’t silent obviously but you two were.

You both were just staring at each other like statues. You wished you could read his mind. You hoped you would see thoughts of regret and sorrow and maybe hopefulness about your relationship going forward. You wished he had the same thoughts you had. Another stupid thought. Being hopeful didn’t work with him.

For whatever reason, your mind wandered off to the late night talks you’d have with Sally and for whatever other reason, you started to speak.

“Have you heard the song American Pie? Yes, it’s somewhat important to what I have to say. Yes or no only please”

He looked bored and unamused but he answered anyway. “I don’t know. Maybe? Who cares?”.

“There’s a line in the song that says this’ll be the day that I die. And for whatever reason it made me think about what I’d do if I were dying. If I woke up one day and I knew I was gonna die that day, what would I do? You wanna know what I realized?”

He raised his brows for a second and leaned back in his chair. There was a possibility he was still bored but he seemed somewhat interested. “Shoot”.

You smiled bitterly. Here he was so calm and fine and here you were, speaking slow and hoping your voice didn’t waver or crack. “I realized-” you failed. Your voice wobbled a bit and you cleared your throat a little too loud. “I realized I’d spend every second trying to make you love me”.

You didn’t bother trying to read any expression he had next. You knew you’d always get it wrong and you’d imagine what you wanted to see. “And I uh… I don’t wanna be that way anymore”. You blinked rapidly, trying to prevent any tears from falling out. You didn’t have the rain to cover your face and blend in like you did last time. “And selfishly I hope that scares you”.

“Gods don’t feel fear”

“Well whatever you wanna call it I hope you feel it. I hope -and I’m gonna keep calling it fear- I hope you feel afraid for what that means for us”

“Allow me to humor you for a bit” you felt as though the comment was supposed to be sarcastic but it didn’t sound sarcastic or aggressive. It was weirdly soft. “Why would you not wanting to spend your last day with me scare me?”

“Because that means I won’t admire you anymore” you answered. “You don’t get it. You don’t get how much you mean to me. You don’t get how much I used to idolize you. Before I was claimed, I was already intrigued by you. Once I was claimed I read every single story that had to do with you. I was honored to be your child and tried to show you how honored I was everyday. I didn’t do all this for me. The training, bettering my Greek, learning everything I could about mythology. I didn’t do that for me. I did that so I would never shame your name and make you look like you raised incompetent idiots. The way I would defend your name and what you represent, you’d think I was being paid”

“Me not admiring you anymore means I won’t care about defending you. It means I won’t care anymore about our family relationship. And I hope the idea of me calling you Ares instead of dad terrifies you. That emptiness or indifference I’ll feel when I hear your name… I know it hasn’t happened yet but thinking about it terrifies me too. Maybe I’m just selfish and don’t wanna be alone”. You used your sleeve to wipe at your wet face, a mix of embarrassment and relief for finally getting this out of you. “I could be right. I doubt it. I’m probably just making all that up but either way I need you to stop doing this. Seeing you at all, it gives me hope. I don’t want an enemy for life. I’m not Percy. But this is just gonna make this harder and if you hate me I am begging you to have mercy and leave me be. No visiting. I won’t come to see you when we do that little field trip either. I’ll stay at camp or I’ll go bother another god. Hermes is really nice. And if I break my end of the deal you can do whatever you want to me. Turn me into an ant, rearrange my fingers, throw me down a flight of stairs at full force, whatever”.

There you went again making up shit. Swearing you saw something worse than sadness on his face; grief. That was impossible. Your eyes were just playing tricks on you like they always did.

You didn’t know what you wanted him to say, but you didn’t expect “you think, but you don’t know anything”.

“Then tell me what I don’t know”. He didn’t say anything. He went silent and you were getting real tired of his silences. You sighed, “Sally’s been waiting outside so…”

“Yeah…”. He let out a breath. Annoyance. Had to be. “You want this?” He asked.

You were honest. “No” you said instantly. “No I don’t but this just seems like the best thing to do”. He didn’t argue with you.

Your hand went to reach inside your pocket for money but then he spoke again “keep it”.

“It’s no problem-”.

“Just keep it”.

You nodded.

You stayed sitting down. Why was it so hard to stand? Why did your legs feel so wobbly and your throat so dry? Why did your chest feel like a huge weight was crushing it? Weren’t you supposed to feel the opposite? Free and lively? Feel like you could float?

Another stupid thing escaped your lips. “Can you do me a favor?”.

“Another one?” He asked lifelessly- no. He was not lifeless. He was happy. You were sure of it. You’d leave and he’d cheer because he wouldn’t have to deal with another kid anymore. You knew it.

“It’s not a favor if you don’t wanna see me either”. Another bit of silence but you weren’t surprised. “Can we do that thing mortals do? You know, when they hug and say they love each other before they go their own way? Or maybe just the ‘I love you’ part”. He looked at you for a bit and you were about to apologize for making it weird and leave but Ares stood up.

You stood up.

It’s strange how something you’ve never done before can feel so right. Like it was always meant to happen or always supposed to be this way. You weren’t necessarily cold and Ares wasn’t a heater, but the second he wrapped his arms around you and you did the same for him, you felt much warmer. Not a burden type of warmth. The kind of warmth that brings you relief on a freezing cold day. That crushing feeling stayed the same though.

“I love you dad” you said and it fell out so naturally, you’d forgive anyone for thinking this was a normal occurrence. That the fight you had was just a small disagreement but otherwise you two had an amazing relationship.

You didn’t know how the words “I love you too” would sound coming out of his mouth, but it sounded better than you hoped for. It once again sounded natural and genuine even if you knew it wasn’t.

You thought it wasn’t.

No. You knew it wasn’t. This was no time for brain tricks and delusions.

Pulling apart was probably the hardest thing you had to do and your job was keeping Percy Jackson safe. That sudden coldness fell over you again and the crushing got worse.

It didn’t get any better when you left. You didn’t have the guts to look at him one last time, afraid you’d call off your deal right then and there if you made eye contact with him.

Luckily Sally was an intelligent person. She was smart enough not to ask how it went. Even if she did, it’s not like you could answer with the huge lump in your throat.

“Do you want ice cream dear?”.

You shrugged. There was that word again. Want. You didn’t know what you wanted anymore. You thought you did but it all felt wrong. There was no weight lifted off your shoulders and you didn’t feel light on your feet. You felt cold and hollow. The weight got worse and pushed down on you with so much force, you didn’t know it was even possible.

Then your eyes landed on his bike and it all came out. Your head fell into your hands and you let out sobs that were lodged deep in your chest. Your ears were ringing and you were sure you looked and sounded like the most pathetic person alive but you couldn’t care anymore. Sally, once again being an intelligent woman, took that as a sign it was time to go and pulled off. You assumed Sally would’ve dropped Percy off after you went inside. You assumed he wouldn’t wanna wait out here for you while you talked to one of the people that hated him the most. His hand patted your shoulder, notifying you that he was in the car still. Usually you’d make a joke and tell them that you were fine, but nothing came out but borderline hysterical sobs.

You grew jealous of Percy. He didn’t see Poseidon much but at least he knew deep down that Poseidon cared for him. Sometimes you’d get that feeling but you thought it was all a delusion. Fuck. Why did you keep doing that? You knew it was all a delusion.

That choice had to be the right one. It needed to be the right one.

That didn’t stop this wave of agony from drowning you, and you’d fight a thousand harpies if it meant this feeling would go away.

Omg y’all I did it😭. I mixed two ideas someone suggested with my own ideas and here we are. I hope y’all like it even though a huge portion is me yapping but to be fair I didn’t realize until after I was done and summarizing all of that didn’t seem like it’d sound right, yk? There was definitely a way I could’ve done it but I’m stupid soooo… yeah. Anyway, OOC Ares but this is my angsty fantasy so I’m making him care about his kids. In my head the whole “I hate my own kids” is him trying to convince himself he doesn’t care for them so it’s easier to stay apart from them. Idk, maybe I’ll make a part 3 from his perspective and answer why he said he was saving their life. I make no promises tho. And I know I said it’s show Ares so skipping ahead doesn’t make sense but we know what’s gonna happen Taglist: @kyuupidwrites @chadmeeksmartinswifey @lebguardians @beansficreblogs (one asked to be tagged, one asked for more dad fics, then one commented plus reblogged and one reblogged, so although majority did not ask, imma just assume y’all would wanna see a part 2😀. We’re getting the band back together like this is Phineas and Ferb)

#percy jackson #percy series #percy jackson ares #pjo tv show #ares pjo #percy jackson angst #pjo angst #ares x reader #ares x child #ares angst #idk what else to tag #HEY YOU GUUUYYYSS #I yell like we’re on Electric Company

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bakubunny · 30 days

Text

coming back to tcm practitioner!geto who does tui na massage and bodywork every time you come in bc why not.

practitioner!geto, who you never expected to be so pretty and almost soft spoken. he looks at you with kind eyes at every appointment, asks how you’ve been doing, and asks what you’re comfortable with for the day.

practitioner!geto whose hands are massive and warm. they’re soft, often so gentle and slow when he kneads and prods at your skin. it always makes your cheeks burn a little when he starts bodywork, but of course he remains professional.

practitioner!geto who’s almost more in tune with your body than you are, it seems. who catches even the slightest looks of discomfort on your face as he works, and about half the time he knows exactly where the pain is before he asks. but he asks anyways, his voice soft. “are you feeling discomfort in your stomach?” you mumble an approval, and a hand shifts there to soothe it gently.

practitioner!geto who quietly talks you through what he’s doing every once in a while. who encourages you to let your body and mind to unwind in his hands as he cradles your head and neck. who may or may not know what he’s doing when he says, “relax your neck. let me hold the weight of your head…. good girl, there you go….”

practitioner!geto who does the most work on your neck and lower back often because that’s what you need. some days, you’re thankful he saves the awkward part for last when he has you lift a leg and slides his hand under your hips, fingertips landing just above your tailbone to adjust your sacrum. he always asks if you’re comfortable, and what else should you say other than yes?

practitioner!geto who has to be aware of how your body responds when he’s that close with his hand between your legs, just above your ass, his face not terribly far from your thighs as his eyes fall shut once again. when you’re in thin cotton shorts and a tank, you think he can’t be oblivious to the way your cheeks get warm and blood rushes a bit in your body. he’s close enough that he could probably smell the arousal on you, and that thought only makes it worse.

practitioner!geto whose fingertips are gentle as he works on that delicate, sensitive area of your back. you settle back in to pushing every thought from your mind when he speaks, his voice warm and low. “that’s it, just relax….”

practitioner!geto who definitely does notice the way your body suddenly gets warmer right below his wrist. who could glimpse the damp heat at the core of your body if he tried, but of course he would never do that. who wills himself to ignore the way his body responds to yours in kind, pushing out thoughts of slipping his hand down just a little further.

practitioner!geto who may have thought about you one too many times when he’s home alone late at night, groaning into his hand, riddled with guilt that he’s imagined you underneath him. who almost knows his dreams of you are all he’ll ever get.

gremlins: @arlerts-angel @dcsiremc @bookcluberror @zazter-den @neon-gothicc @breadandbutter33 @i-literally-cant-with-this @rinalouu @stvrfir3 @r4td0lll @emmab3mma @aria-chikage @liliththeunqualifiedsimp @yazt09 @doumadono @dreamcastgirl99 @maddietries @jazzafayesworld @karebear5118 @unofficialmuilover @cherriluvs35 @erensslut @ruu-https @hana-yuri @keiva1000 @katsul0vr @trickster-kat @flamgosstuff @mistressreaper @angelltheninth @anonymously-ominous @amberexe2 @hisconsistency @223princess @toji-girl @naughtygobbo @acenanxious @blumoonwisteria @chaos-gem @levizonlywife @kxtsxkii @katsuslover @yooxverse @nuttyunknowndetective @jjamiee21 @levis-fav-brat

#not sure abt this but hey #i know shiatsu would make more sense bc it’s japanese but i have zero knowledge on it so #also pls excuse my tag list needs to be adjusted a bit if you’re waiting to get on #geto suguru #geto x reader #geto smut #x reader #jjk smut #jjk #jjk x reader #f!reader #bakubunny

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mixtapedoh · 1 month

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How about lonely boy, lee know, and forced proximity?

@eclliipsed — i am thinking of you, specifically while writing this <3

;༊ — lonely boy

pairing: lee minho x gn!reader genre: fluff, office setting word count: ~3.6k warnings: language, situational stress, han is here stirring the pot, a startling amount of homicide jokes

olive’s notes: a unique challenge of writing lino fic that i did not before account for or even conceptualize is that when i think of said silly little stray kids cat boy, i think of him almost 99% of the time as 'lino' and like 0.9999999999% of the time as 'lee know'. lee minho? you mean the actor? it's not clicking up here, asdfghj. all that's to say, if i make a mistake and call him lino instead of minho, i'm so sorry, feel free to stone me in the square on whatever day is most convenient for you <3.

☄. *. ⋆ lee minho x forced proximity...

— society, as a collective, just loves their 9 to 5, right?

i mean, if it were actually a 9 to fucking 5, maybe you wouldn't be screaming, crying, throwing up, gnawing on the iron bars of your enclosure.

— but haha, as a general rule (collectively agreed upon at some point, or perhaps no one agreed so much as they were browbeaten into submission), more than society loves their 9 to 5, they love their workplace grindset culture.

gotta get those financial gains, amirite?

— which is all to say, you were simply enamoured, quite totally besotted with, completely captivated by and hopelessly devoted to your demanding, grueling, parasitic life-force of an office job.

and people had the gall to say you didn't have romance in your life.

clearly, they hadn't seen the zeal and devotion with which you dedicated yourself to your company issued computer, stacks of files, and white-walled cubicle.

after all, regular hours simply weren't enough for all the worship you had within you — you simply had to have both your mandatory overtime and your Implicitly Dictated and Oh-So-Reasonably Expected overtime hours as well <3 you did want to keep your job after all, and job security is such a silly little thing <3 corporate culture really is just soooo romantic in that regard <3 complete and utter devotion <3 commitment almost pious <3

until you managed to break away from the curse of Living in a Society and could live without bills, debt, responsibilities, more bills, more debt, and the desire for silly little (but financially substantial) hobbies to make this existence of yours worthwhile, your love affair with your job would simply have to stick.

— which made for the perfect little soup you were currently mired in. a thick broth of learned helplessness seasoned with intense loathing, a dash of interest in low stakes coworker drama, a sprinkling of compulsory people pleasing, a garnish of yes man energy, and an optional mix-in of untapped, constantly simmering rage.

so, of course you were best friends with han jisung.

— the universe really did do you a solid when they placed han jisung in the cubicle next to you.

perhaps the only employee that hadn't succumbed to the incessant humanity-sucking leech affectionately called a company, jisung was the only one who kept you sane when you were 56 hours deep in your work week and considering moving to a homestead on alaska where you would likely not even last a whole 72 hours — but, hey, you would at least get some sleep at the end of it when succumbing to the effects of hypothermia, so it didn't seem that bad of a gig, really (jisung always offered to cover half of the down payment cost, but at the end of the conversation, he'd just buy you a coffee and the two of you would call it even).

— and being friends with jisung was, all at once, both a blessing and a curse.

(because this is corporate living and existence is a fucking nightmare ~°~♫⭒~꘎ )

— poor excuses for jokes in your company chat box, sticky note battles during days when the mundane tasks you were assigned were mind-numbing enough to fell the strongest of corporate warriors, the constant "i owe you" back and forth when one of you went on a coffee or vending machine run and grabbed something for the other, and, of course, juicy gossip during your lunch break — all of these were the positives of being jisung's partner in captalist crime.

— but on the other hand, should either of your work be wanting in any regard... well... accountability is a word long enough to stretch between two.

— which led you to your current state of affairs.

"the next time you forget to delete your 'tongue-in-cheek' speaker notes on the powerpoint we're submitting for review from higher ups, i'm breaking your fingers so you can't type them in the first place."

but of course jisung just turns it into a joke about a hand kink.

— your punishment for 'distasteful' jokes left in the margins of official company output wasn't anything too severe — bless whatever cosmic force made it so that the generally easy going mr. ok taecyeon was the one to see jisung's fuck up, and not someone less forgiving — but it meant the next few weeks would be hell in the form of grunt work.

see, your company was expanding in the industry, and it meant that the building you were currently working in wasn't big enough to house all the ✨aspirational goals✨ it was just starting to believe in. thus, the majority of higher ups were going to move into a new office building... and for some ass-backward reason, so, too were all of the archives.

and someone had to go down there and box it all up, making sure it was properly labeled and in order.

sure, the company was just head-empty enough to have the desire to move physical archives to a new office building. but at least they wanted it all in order before they stuck it in a different dusty basement.

— the very first day you went to the basement and saw the sheer level of work the two of you had in store, you locked eyes with jisung and just knew that fucker was going to find some way to get out of it.

— on your lunch break you tried to beat him to the punch and defend your honor against the soul crushing weight of undue punishment. but alas! you had already taken vacation days in the last month (damn that kpop concert - did you really have to be that devoted to your ult group??) and han hadn't had a day off for the last 6 months.

how the hell did you end up doing the punishment work for actions that weren't even (mostly) yours?

han jisung better move to that alaskan homestead after all, nowhere else would ever be safe from your wrath... once you got out of this basement, of course.

— the most you were given was help in the form of lee minho — who would have thought that he of all people would be your saving grace?

maybe he'd help you plan jisung's murder. they were friends, true, but anyone who was around han long enough would not be opposed to plitting his demise. it was part of his elusive charm, after all. everything wonderful about him also lent itself to fodder for plotting his demise.

convenient, really, given the circumstances you were in.

— but back to lee minho. perfect performance lee minho. always last to leave the office lee minho. infuriatingly not suffering from looking chronically fatigued or daunted, overwhelmed, or simply fazed by the overzealous work culture you found yourselves in, lee minho. curt and focused but lacking of an edge that would make him unapproachable lee minho. impossible to pin down, the vitruvian man of corporate dreams, somehow the bosses favorite despite failing to do any of the sucking up some of your other coworkers engaged in almost religiously lee minho.

he didn't frustrate you; he didn't even really baffle you, but he didn't exactly occupy your brainspace in a way that could be described as indifference, y'know?

maybe this was something you could blame of jisung, too. he always talked about minho an ungodly amount, waxed poetic about how it was a shame that minho worked in a different department — how the two of you really would get along famously, but damn, if he couldn't convince either of you to spend any of your (perhaps two (2)) hours of off-duty life in the same place at the same time.

social lives, after all, were laughable, where the both of you were concerned.

— the day you walked down there and saw minho already elbow deep in a filing cabinet seemingly older than your parents (which, lamentably, was the worst organized filing cabinet you'd ever seen, and was regrettably representative of 95% of the work ahead of you), you laughed out loud and took the moment to convince minho to take a picture for you, so you could tell jisung that he was missing the Historic and Long Anticipated Meet Up, and that was the moment you realized that you were so deep in the basement, phone service was a pipe dream.

it wasn't a concern, really — you were both benefiting from the random employee benefit of free spotify premium, so your downloaded content was enough to get you through the long hours of organizing and packing, and hey! being in the basement meant no one really expected any more out of you than your required hours and whatever mandatory overtime you had left to complete.

— so really, jisung had been stupid as hell to avoid this punishment. it was effectively less work than you were used to (though tedious) and you were far enough away from your desk that the thought of the work piling up in the world above wasn't eating at you that much (at least not any more than usual; workplace anxiety and you were well acquainted, at that point <3)

— and minho! — god forbid you say anything complementary about that bastard han jisung while he left you (more than) 6 feet under, doing work that was, by many rights, his punishment — but he had been right when he said you and minho would gel.

he didn't disturb you, for the most part, but working in the same space for full work days with nothing to do but listen to podcasts and check the dates on dusty files meant that Annoying The Only Other Person In Your Vicinity became a welcome distraction from wallowing in the fact you were moving at a pace slower than desired. and he responded quite well to any question you threw his way - no matter how brain-dead, invasive, or embarrassing. in fact, he'd hit something back - put the ball in your court in a question almost more ridiculous, leaving you to question how jisung hadn't forced the two of you together sooner (but fuck jisung; all my homies are blaming this comedy of errors on jisung and are in this basement actively plotting his demise).

— and it didn't take you long to realize charming minho is almost exactly like getting a neighborhood cat to endear itself to you.

pspspsps at random (bat a stupid ass joke his way);

give him space but respond to his random bids for attention;

have a snack drawer (one of the first emptied out file cabinets furthest to the back of the archival area) and occasionally offer something sweet as a reminder that the snack drawer exists and is for joint indulging;

entertain him with logic puzzles and psychological warfare;

and, of course, shit talk your coworkers and company.

indulge the cats desire for destruction and mayhem; tell minho that whenever he was ready to put in his two-weeks, you'd be right there beside him and would run the paper shredder all night while he corrupted the files.

exist calmly and comfortable in the cat's space; work so well in tandem that you began anticipating the movements of the other.

spend quality time with the cat; both of you begining to wordlessly take your lunches at the table in the archival basement, instead of going all the way back up to the cafeteria, choosing instead to chat with each other and indulge in the other's niche interests and stupidly staunch opinions on poor pieces of media.

slow blink at the cat; catch yourself staring for a bit too long when he doesn't notice you looking, your thoughts getting all muffled and sappy as you become wholly fascinated by the slope of his nose and the softness of his big, dark eyes that look perpetually half-bored at work but sparkle with intelligence and mischief when you call out his name — lighting up with interest and disguised delight as that lazy, gummy smile makes it's way onto his features, eyebrows quirking upward, already expecting a challenge and...

— wait... what was that?

— is there absestos in the company walls, and that's why they decided to randomly move buildings? is there lead lining these filing cabinets? black mold in the ceiling? were you perhaps inhaling narcotics in this dusty ass air and hallucinating something vivid?

you were not developing a crush on someone just because you were stuck in the basement with this fool for going on two weeks now and hadn't seen another good looking coworker in quite some time. this wasn't some kind of drama where the ceo has a strange delight in forcing company employees into situations laced with ✨sexual tension✨. you weren't a main lead suffering from romantic withdrawals. remember your leech of a company. you have no time for shit like that.

— but, i mean, if you're never out of the office, perhaps finding romance in office is a solution...

shut the fuck up, you and minho weren't even in the same department. that point was moot.

— because damn, maybe asbestosis really was getting to you, and that's what was knocking the wind out of you any time minho smiled. yes, certainly the absestos in the walls was what was informing the way your heart constricted whenever the two of you brushed hands passing a file between you. maybe you should sue your company and have some hospital use you as a case study. maybe all the distracted daydreams was a new symptom of your newly contracted deadly disease.

see, that would make sense. you weren't catching a mean case of crushing on your forced proximity coworker, you were simply dying. because of the absestos.

— but even still, the day both of you piled all the boxes of (appropriately lableled) filing into a work car, and minho drove you over to the new building, the fresh air didn't seem to be a cure all. you were still a little more than distracted by his messy hair and black sunglasses... his concentration on the road... his pushed up sleeves... not to mention his hands wrapped around the steering wheel.

(but of course you'd snap out of your thoughts when you remember that joke jisung made about your supposed hand kink at the beginning of all this nonsense. shut the fuck up, memory ghost jisung. you don't know shit. you and minho had already talked about it and were coming for his broke ass the day he had the courage to step foot in the office again.)

— yeah, haha, you weren't crushing on lee minho because of a comedy of errors you had never dreamed would befall you in the first place. working alongside him hadn't woken anything in you. certainly not.

— and yeah, haha, you'd definitely be able to hide this from jisung when he came back. not a problem at all when he asks you about how sorting archives went (he had the gall to bring it up every five minutes — taunting you with the fact that he got to have 4 days off and was then reassigned to do answer all the emails that had piled up during his time out of office. yes, he had picked up some of the work originally meant to go to you, but still. a veritable traitor who deserved your absence from your usual lunch dates. and yes, it was hard to be slick when he'd bring up your casual absence from lunch — were you finding minho's company to be more than enough? — but you'd manage. like hell were you going to give the smug bastard satisfaction after he made you atone for his and also your crimes.).

— and yeah, haha, you'd would definitely be able to explain to a suspicious and put out jisung why you were canceling anime re-run night with him to instead go with minho to this hybrid cat-and-comic-book-cafe he had mentioned never being able to get a reservation for, despite living two blocks away from it. silly little things like that would be easy to wave away, right.

it's like, totally platonic for you and minho to meet up on your only day off to spend hours lounging at a cafe retreat together where you cooed at semi-sociable cats and joked about adopting and co-parenting the one who enjoyed wearing cute hats, and read comic books for hours and order food to share and have low-stakes debates about the best tropes and characters of shared beloved media.

it's not like that whole set up is incredibly date coded.

and it's not like it would become a recurring habit for minho to invite you to do things with him that would have jisung waggling his eyebrows even as you pleaded innocence and smacked him with whatever quasi-weapon you just so happened to have on your desk (mostly file folders and your favorite cat themed mini calendar).

— haha... it wasn't like you were down bad and incredibly bad at hiding your crush.

...right?

— you fool. you absolute buffoon. han jisung could smell your lies and poorly contained crush from thousands of leagues away. even if you weren't shit at hiding it, he would have known. he could have actually been on that remote homestead in alaska and still picked up on just how brain dead you were over your crush. you thought you were slick? when han jisung has a doctorate in anxious suspicion and twelve master's degrees in the art of bullshitting?

hell, he knew you were going to fall in love with minho before the two of you even met. why do you think he'd wanted to connect the two of you in the first place? because he thought you two needed a social life? please — he knew going in that putting the two of you in the same room was horrible for his self preservation; he knew it was practically undermining company goals because your joint productivity would fall 2000% and the amount of cat memes you two would send on company time would increase so exponentially, you'd both resort to making your own memes using your company paid subscription to adobe creative cloud; he knew that the two of you were almost scarily well matched and equally devoted to drinking your refusal-to-believe-i-can-be-loved-romantically juice.

he knew that you and minho would develop glaring crushes on each other and wouldn't do a damn thing about it beyond smoothly flirting for an afternoon, inviting the other out on dates-that-aren't-dates and promptly fake-gagging and denying in a manner almost theatric that you might *gasp* enjoy the other's company in a way not-so-platonic, only to do it all over again. a vicious cycle of 'stop feeding the rest of us lies and just kiss with tongue already, damnit.' and he knew all of your coworkers would be caught in the middle of it.

— which they were. for, like, a solid five months.

— now, it wasn't too bad, considering the fact that you and minho worked in different departments, but anytime there was cause for collaboration, suddenly you were clambering to be considered, no matter the intense workload or the way the task was slightly out of your wheelhouse. suddenly, it seemed you were incredibly eager to learn and prove yourself.

at first, your team leader was overjoyed. initiative? drive? a seeming zest and fire for more commitment? say less and do more! marry yourself to the dumbass collaboration with the other department! perhaps this could mean freedom for their long suffering servitude under the corporate thumb!

but then they saw you flirting with minho and making plans to spend an afternoon together at a book signing while still on the clock. and while they're not opposed to a bit of misuse of company time (vive la révolution contre les régimes capitalistes, and all that), it was a bitter and sobering pill to watch that shit happen daily while not getting any yourself, and then stomaching the fact that these clearlly love-struck fuckers won't admit their own transparency-set-to-0% feelings and put their chronically-single corporately-suffering coworkers to rest. either say you're in love and just be done with it or take the rest of us out with a shot gun. goddamn.

it's like a sitcom's mind-numbingly over-the-top valentine's day special. someone make it stop.

— and it didn't take a genius to connect the dots and realize that the employee responsible for all of this was han jisung.

after all, he's the mutual friend between them. no doubt he talked about the other constantly in glowing terms. no doubt he planted the seed they'd be a match made in heaven. no doubt he was the one to blame.

and! wasn't it his fuck up that forced you and minho to work together in the archives to begin with?

maybe killing han jisung wasn't going to make you and minho confess to each other, but it would be some kind of catharsis for the people who were stuck in this hell of Watching You Two Take Your Sweet Time With It.

— so jisung had to understandably think of some kind of plot. after all, the two of you were his best friends, but to hope that you would admit your feelings for someone to save his livelihood? don't be ridiculous. the both of you were quite happy with the flirting stage, as it currently stood.

— how to get your stubborn friends to admit their (very real and very reciprocated) feelings for each other... when there's no external or even internal pressure (on them, at least) to do so... jisung would have to think outside of the box.

or perhaps inside of it.

— which i'm sure is reason enough to explain how the both of you managed to get stuck in a closet during your company's holiday party.

and, through it all, is minho's mischievous eyes and your flair for the dramatic.

"do you think we should tell our coworkers we've been dating?"

☄. *. ⋆

blog home

#olive.writes #stray kids imagine #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #skz imagine #skz x reader #skz x you #lee know imagine #lee know x reader #lee know x you #lee minho imagine #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #yeah i still dk fully how to tag but hey; my other headcanon set did good so maybe i'm doing something right #also hi please tell me if you've ever been personally attacked by nosy coworkers and what your coping strategy is #mine is also compulsory and pathologically lying so i feel like lino and i understand each other that much at least

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popponn · 8 months

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call you later; 2.

notes: what if you didn't pick up their call? they left a voicemail, in their own ways. so we still got uh... aryu chigirin and im considering reo. idk who else will come later but i had fun writing this!! character: itoshi rin, bachira meguru. [ part 1 : isagi, sae, nagi ]

itoshi rin

What did you do? This guy is the type to only left anything if it’s urgent, about nii-chan, or about football. Other than that high chances are they are actual death threats and you are not an exception.

Though, he can not deny that you are sort of his favorite in a way—won't admit that to your face too, though. That’s why he even bothers calling you and not just left a message or tell some poor soul to call you instead. While he probably feels a bit irked that you didn’t pick up, he will save the nagging when he finally met you face to face later. And even then, most of teammates will clarify that rather than nagging it’s more like his way of asking for your extra attention. It’s adorable, if you ignore the fact that the next movie night will definitely without a doubt would have to be a horror movie night just to cheer him up. Prayers and thoughts, if you dislike horror.

The message he will left is exactly like him, in a way. Rude, doesn’t have many words, but if you squints you could hear what sounds like a caring nosiness. While he isn’t the type to suddenly get clingy because of one unpicked-up call or thing about it too much, call him back soon as you can even if he didn’t say or rush you to do so. Would never say it to your face, but having you around him calms him down a lot and that includes your voice.

“Where are you right now?” Rin sounds like he was angry, as usual. “You better not be picking up problems left and right or I swear I will—”

A background noise that sounds like a chirpy teasing interrupted him, reminding him not to be so scary, which Rin replied with a snarling growl, “Shut up! And that wasn’t for you—I got a match so you better fucking watch it and fucking message me where you are while you are at it. I will get you home later so you better wait for me or else…..that’s all. Later. Next time don’t just go somewhere without telling me, stupid.”

bachira meguru

Do you know how long of a voice message can someone left on an unpicked up call? If you don’t you will find out soon.

He probably would not really question why you are not picking up, but mostly because whenever you got separated he will always call you in the most ungodly timing possible just for chatting. Somehow. So, at this point, it has become more of a norm for you to not pick up and just call him again later. He is not being nosy, it’s just more of how he expresses his love—sharing literally everything with you. This has led to several one-sided awkwardness from your part between you and some of his teammates, but hey Bachira Meguru’s Hottest Soccer Gossips is a very important segment in your daily life with him.

Which being said, yeah, get ready. He will talk into the phone as if you were there replying to him—and indeed he always manage to predict how you will react. Listening to his voicemail during work is a good replacement for podcasts and such as in case you are bored by them. Though, sometimes, when he is in a rush and have to keep the message shorter than usual, it’s really sweet! He rarely manage to remind you to call him back though, as it feels like norm for you to do so. Don’t forget it, so you don’t get a Bachira Meguru species asking to be carried around for the whole day on the next holiday. He has muscles and those things are not light.

“So, so, so!” Meguru began with his chirpy voice, not leaving any greeting as usual. “Today Isagi and Chigirin kind of clowned and I really, really want to tell you that story—but I gotta go fast, so I will tell you at home later, okay?” Meguru worded out each word in a rushed manner, akin to an excited buzzing bee waiting to run somewhere with skips in his steps and ball for him to dribble.

“Last night I dreamt about Zico so I will definitely win today! But I also dreamt you were there bundled up because you got a fever. Not like I’m complaining if I get to take care of you with my specials, but stay healthy, ‘kay, ‘kay?” Meguru said, jokingly yet dotting. Then, immediately, he continued, “Oh, well! That’s all—I will call again later or you could! So, see ‘ya, Lovely! Love you! Muuuach!”

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python333 · 9 months

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task force 141 reacting to [reader] telling them corny jokes during a mission — python333

— — — —

synopsis just as the title says, tf141 reacts to you telling them some corny dad jokes during a mission!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader.

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign], bad jokes.

note ME AND MY 23 FOLLOWERS ARE STRAIGHT CHILLING RN. i love all of u. anyway gaz is in this one!! yippee!! i thought about ghost and his jokes in that one part of one of the cod games idk ive never played them i watch other people play it but you guys know what im talking about. i also just figured out that i should probably specify gender neutral reader for my fics?? so i'll start doing that! ANYWAY enjoy!! this is all fluff and has some classic tired parent & hyper toddler energy in the first part :}

JOHN “BRAVO SIX” PRICE

➥ insert exasperated sigh here.

➥ he will let you keep telling him jokes, however he will only respond to them with a simple, tired, “Uh huh. Good one. Very funny. Nice one.”

➥ tired dad energy.

➥ the first one you told was okay. he laughed at that one. the tenth one? please, god, just stop talking and put him out of his misery.

➥ he wonders how you know so many jokes, and then wonders if you got them all from ghost.

➥ if you did get them from ghost, trust that he will be telling the man himself all about how you constantly told him bad jokes over comms.

➥ if you just happen to know all of these, he won’t be surprised.

➥ he’ll put up with all of the jokes, for your sake, of course.

➥ the first time this happens, you’re both on a pretty insignificant mission compared to other ones you’ve done.

➥ you’re both talking over comms, just making sure you’re both okay.

➥ that’s when you started your attack.

—

“Captain?” You’d asked, listening as Price hummed in acknowledgment of you talking, “Wanna hear a joke?”

You could practically hear his hesitation, before he responded with a tentative, almost scared, “... Sure, [c/n].”

A delighted grin split across your face as you asked him, “How does dry skin affect you at work?”

He thought for a moment before asking, “How?”

“You don’t have any elbow grease to put into it.” You heard Price give a small chuckle, and decided to ask, “Wanna hear another one?”

Price’s second mistake of the evening, “Sure.”

“Where do boats go when they’re sick?” You asked, still keeping a lookout on your surroundings on your end while focusing on telling your Captain shitty jokes.

“Where?” Price asked.

“To the boat doc.” It took Price a moment, before he huffed out a small laugh and muttered just loud enough for you to hear, “Jesus, that’s terrible.”

Without warning, you tell him another one. He asks why, when, how, or what, whichever was appropriate for the joke you told, and slowly but surely his questioning tone became tired and exasperated. You don’t know why, but somehow his miserable tone made you even more motivated to tell him corny jokes.

“Do you just… memorize all of these?” Price asked in the middle of you telling a new joke, sounding almost astonished.

“Yes I do. Just for these missions, I do,” You answered confidently, smiling when Price sighed. You continued on with your joke, and even though Price didn’t respond verbally, you still told the punch line. You had repeated this for at least ten minutes, all of those minutes appallingly slow to Price, the poor man having to endure your bullshit for such a short yet such a long time. At the tenth minute, the only thing that stopped you from continuing was Gaz’s voice coming on over comms and interrupting you, telling everyone else on the mission that they could head back to the rendezvous point. Price, relieved at the interruption, gave a thankful sigh and you could hear him getting up from his spot before he muted himself.

You sighed as well, yours a direct opposite of Prices, full of disappointment, but you let it go. Besides, you’ll always have more opportunities to terrorize Price with your jokes on the ride back to base!

—

JOHN “SOAP” MACTAVISH

➥ he has the same reaction he had with ghost telling him corny jokes.

➥ he’ll call your jokes terrible, but will still laugh at them somehow.

➥ will 100% put up with your jokes, will laugh every time, even if his laughter slowly becomes more and more strained, he’ll laugh.

➥ tells you some jokes back, but after your 4th joke, he gives up and accepts his fate.

➥ he will suffer for your entertainment, guaranteed.

➥ he will be sure to remind you of how terrible your jokes are though!!

➥ he’s honestly impressed by how many jokes you’ve memorized.

➥ he’ll happily support you doing this to other people, no matter how much it damages his soul when you do it to him.

➥ the first time you do it to him, he starts getting deja vu from when ghost did it to him.

➥ “Oh, God, no’ ye too,” he’d groan playfully the moment you start telling him jokes, getting flashbacks.

➥ enjoys your jokes, even if he would do anything for you to shut up, he still enjoys them.

—

You and Soap were camping out in the same spot—atop a roof of a tall building that was just tall enough to give you a view of practically every other building in the area as well as the ground. It was cold up there, the air so cold that every time you’d exhaled, your breath turned to white condensation before fading into the clear sky.

It was fair to say that you and Soap were fairly bothered by the cold, so you really had no other option, you just had to start telling your jokes. How else could you warm the both of you up? Sure, it wouldn’t do anything physically, but mentally? It was sure to practically melt Soap’s brain.

“Soap?” Soap hummed and looked over at you, “Wanna hear a joke?”

Soap smiled, and decided to humor you, “Sure. Joke ‘way.”

“Why couldn’t the bike stand up by itself?” You asked, turning fully towards Soap. He didn’t bother to think before asking, “Why?”

“Because it was two-tired.” It took him a moment, but eventually he huffed out a small laugh and nodded.

“No’ bad,” He’d hummed, “Want me to say one?”

“Go ahead.”

“How did vikings communicate with one another?” Soap asked, turning fully towards you in turn.

“How?”

“By Norse code,” Soap had said with a grin on his face, clearly proud of the joke. You laughed quietly at it.

Without asking, you tell another joke. “Why did the bed wear a disguise?”

“Why?”

“It was undercover.”

Soap chuckled and turned back down to the ground, assuming you were done. But, oh boy, did he assume wrong. You told another one. He asked for the punchline. You delivered. You told another. He asked again. You delivered, again. Can you recall just how many jokes you told that fateful night? No. Does that make the memory any less funny to look back on? No.

Soap’s expression slowly turned to one of misery, his laughter becoming strained and slowly coming to a stop, the light in his eyes fading away as God himself seemed to appear behind you and reassure him that it would all be over soon. God, how he wished that were true.

Soon enough, you were both told over comms that you were able to safely make it back to the rendezvous point, and Soap couldn’t be happier.

He let you tell him more jokes during the walk over there, of course, and made sure to tell you how awful they were, but still endured them for your sake.

—

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

➥ it’s like he’s been preparing for this moment his whole life.

➥ he’ll put up with your jokes and will tell you a joke back every single time.

➥ at some point you guys will probably use a joke on each other that the other one told you.

➥ he actively enjoys the joke-telling.

➥ he probably tells the first joke and that’s what triggers you to tell him your own.

➥ he’s annoyed soap, gaz, price, and a few others with his jokes, yet you’re the first one to go back and forth with him.

➥ every time you tell him one he’ll make a mental note of it and remember it for annoying people on future missions.

➥ probably thinks some of the jokes are genuinely funny but still knows that it annoys people.

➥ if you tell him a corny joke related to ghosts, he’ll probably laugh more.

➥ i am aware that that is pretty corny in itself but look at the title man what did you expect.

➥ he’ll probably tell some jokes about your [c/n] to you back.

➥ he’ll know when you’re reusing a joke and calls you out on it.

➥ “Does this require more creativity than you expected, [c/n]?”

➥ [in a perfect imitation of matpat’s voice] i find his jokes delightful! [in regular voice, now whispering as if scared i’m going to get caught by ghost saying this] i’m lying. he’s my fictional father figure so i am very much obligated to enjoy his jokes.

—

”[c/n], how copy?” You heard Ghost’s voice crackle through over comms, and pushed the PTT button on your small ear piece to respond.

“Copy, doing just fine,” You responded, “Little bored, if I’m gonna be honest.”

“Oh really?” Ghost breathed out, sounding amused. You could hear some gunfire on his end, and the wind his his earpiece making the annoying whoosh noise you hated. Just a few moments later, Ghost spoke up again, “Y’wanna hear a joke to ease your boredom?”

“Sure,” You’d hummed, looking around to make sure you were still safe to just stay where you were and chat for a moment.

“What do you call a boomerang that doesn’t come back?” Ghost asked, his voice dry and sarcastic. You thought for a moment before shrugging—even though he couldn’t see you—and asking, “What?”

“A stick.” Ghost delivered. The stupid joke made you huff out a small laugh and mutter under your breath something about how good it was, and even though you couldn’t see him, you could practically hear Ghost’s self-satisfied smile.

“Another?” Ghost offered.

“How about I tell one?”

“Alright. Go ‘head.”

“How do ghosts stay in shape?” You asked, listening to Ghost’s amused huff on the other end of the line, like he knew where you were going with the joke but decided not to say the punch line for you.

“How?”

“They exorcize,” You responded, grinning, proud of yourself for thinking of that one.

“That’s not bad,” Ghost hummed, “Not bad at all.”

Ghost stayed quiet for another moment before asking, “Where do fish keep their money?”

“Where?”

“In a river bank,” Ghost said, his smile almost audible in his words.

“Nice one, L.t,” You breathed out, laughing quietly.

“We could do this all night,” Ghost mused, oddly happy at the sound of your quiet laughter, a little rustling audible on his end.

“Is that a challenge?” You asked in response to his musings, to which Ghost responds with a simple, affirmative hum. You think for a moment, before asking, “Why can’t a leopard hide?”

“Why?”

“Because he’s always spotted.”

Ghost hummed, mentally writing that one down before asking, “Why did the scarecrow get an award?”

“Why?”

“Because he was outstanding in his field,” Ghost delivered. With each joke you cringed more, and yet you kept responding with the same bullshit. The two of you went back and forth with the shitty jokes, eliciting responses from each other like, “That’s a good one,” or, “God, that’s awful.” It really had no in between, it was one or the other.

Eventually, and just in time because you were beginning to run out of jokes, Price’s voice crackled through over comms, letting you both know that everything was now under control and gave you both the coordinates for the rendezvous point. Before you get up from your spot, you can hear Ghost asking Price, “Wanna hear a joke?”, and Price’s quick response of, “I’m good”, the quick interaction making you laugh quietly.

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on,” You muttered, voice full of amusement.

“Damn right he doesn’t,” Ghost huffed out, chuckling quietly when Price groaned and muted himself.

—

KYLE “GAZ” GARRICK

➥ he just gives up and accepts his fate.

➥ i’m actually in full belief that he’ll just let you tell jokes and won’t even respond.

➥ if y’all are in the same spot, he’ll just stare at you in astonished silence, wondering how you know all of this and also wondering if he’ll make it out of this alive.

➥ i think he’s lovely, i also think that he would just let you do whatever.

➥ it’s like an older brother participating in his younger sibling’s tea party with their stuffed animals and bright pink plastic tea cups and fake tea.

➥ he considers taking out his earpiece but then realizes that that’s a bad idea so he just suffers through it.

➥ surprisingly, it’s easy to focus on his tasks even with your voice in the background.

➥ he’s only heard of ghost’s shitty jokes, and thinks that this might be worse, somehow.

➥ i mean, it’s not like he can’t ignore it, but he feels kind of bad that he does.

➥ he hums every now and then to remind you that he’s listening but he’s too caught up in pretending to listen to actually listen.

➥ when the mission’s over and you eventually stop telling your jokes he realizes how quiet it is without your voice in the background laughing at your own jokes.

—

“Why do bees have sticky hair?” You asked, this being about your twentieth joke of that evening. Gaz hummed in response, tone questioning, and you delivered the punch line, “Because they use a honeycomb.”

Gaz didn’t pay much attention to any of your punchlines, really just letting you get all of this out of your system, figuring that if you didn’t do it now it’d happen to some poor soul later. He accepted his fate early on, the moment you told your third dad joke, he knew it wouldn’t end. Call it a sixth sense of his, knowing when you’d be persistent in your quest to annoy every member of the 141, but he just knew.

“Where do surfers learn to surf?” You asked, giggling quietly at your own joke, despite the punchline being stupid. Gaz didn’t even respond, yet you still delivered, “At boarding school.”

Gaz considers taking his earpiece out for a moment, then thinks again and decides it’s probably better not to, knowing Price’s voice could crackle through into the earpiece and let you both know to head to the rendezvous point. Sighing quietly, he continued to look around him, scanning the area as he walked around, making sure no enemies were left alive. Your voice still hummed in the background, the sound becoming more normal to him and less distracting.

“Why did the tourists feel disappointed after seeing the Liberty Bell?” No response from Gaz. “Because it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.”

“What do rabbits need after getting caught in the rain?” A small, questioning hum. “A hare dryer.”

You continued to tell your jokes, and in the middle of one, Gaz interrupted.

“Y’know,” He started, “If you didn’t already have a call sign, we’d be calling you Jester.”

“I’d love to go by Jester,” You laughed quietly, lightly, “I feel like it’d be more fitting.”

“Probably, yeah,” Gaz chuckled quietly, about to say something else before Price’s voice came through over comms and let you both know to head over to the rendezvous point. After you stop telling your jokes and mute yourself, Gaz can’t help but notice how quiet it becomes.

He got a bit too used to your voice, it seems. He muted himself and sighed, pulling up the coordinates to the rendezvous point and heading over there.

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mickey708 · 2 months

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Heyyyy ik i said i cant draw but i csnt draw on my sketchbook so now im tryin to draw on my phone. This is now the weirdest thing ive ever drawn. Best 3 hours of my life ive ever spent.

Dw 3 found someone else.

Consider this my contribution to the crackship side of the smg4 fandom.

#fyp #fypシ #art #smg4 #smg3 #smg4 fanart #smg4 x dasani #smg3 x coffee #god i love being an artist #what am i even doing #hey tag readers #i know you reading these #mickey doodles

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unusuallysized-sfw · 2 years

Text

G/t July 2022 Day 17:

First Meet

Oh Lovely! Lore Time!

Alrighty, thats enough random fonts get ready for another

THE UNHINGED POLYVERSE LORE DUMP!

Just so everyones on the same page, the Polyverse is a WIP name for the many worlds i create or reference in my stuff, connected in a multiverse with mukple time continuities running in paralell.

None of thats important for Todays Subject though except the Multiverse bit which is weirdly popular these days...

Gem, the gorl in the pfp, was raised by tiny folk, the descendants of a disease which split one particular version of humanity's population in half eons prior, and resulted in humans favorite problematic pasttime, Othering.

In this universe, the smalk folk are seen as pests and non human...mutants, mistakes, there are very little protection laws for them, so shit gets really brutal

Anyway, one day tiny!Gem is tryna infiltrate the house of a particularly cruel older lady who keeps tempting her neighbours inside. And while doing so she runs into Mjax Majoran for the First Time, she quickly views them as either an idiot or a "Pet" due to his strange ignorance to how the world works, they offer her help but she turns it down, later on she runs into them again, but Mjax doesnt SEE her, when they head into a mysterious door Gem had never seen before she follows, despite the facts that

She shouldnt be able to see or percieve the door

Upon entering the otherside her true form should be revealed or maintained...she however grows to mjax's size (they had shrunk) thus implying she wasnt supposed to be small or wasnt born that way

Her atoms dont match mjax's readings of her universe or any he knows of.

She just entered The Flipway...a Transcendental Dimension Between Planes

SO SHIT DUDE THATS A HECCIN ORIGIN STORY INNIT!

#g/t #giant tiny #g/t related #g/t concept #giant/tiny #g/t community #g/t writing #g/t july 2022 #g/t july #gtjuly2022 #gtjuly #gt july 2022 #gt july #original content #original character #origins!!!#hey tag reader #the flipway is a reference to flipside

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synthe4u · 20 days

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masterlist

"Hey, love, how you doing?"

He moves behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, hugging you. You stopped what you were doing and focused on him.

You look back at him for a moment to see his slight eyebags.

He starts to sway you with him left and right, burying his face into your neck. His breath fanned your neck.

"Tired?"

He murmurs something that you didn't understand, but you can only guess that it was a yes. You knew he was tired, he almost always was when he came back from a mission. You used to tell him to get sleep before he comes back home, but he just doesn't listen. Rest is important, but he thinks you are which you sometimes don't understand.

You release a sigh before trying to move towards your bedroom, "Let's go to bed."

Kyle doesn't say anything, but he follows right behind you with his arms still holding you. There was a bit of struggle trying to get to the bedroom because of the position you two were in. Why does this sound sexual-

In the end, he was the little spoon. Not that he would admit to his friends.

(A/N: I told myself i would edit and look for grammar issues before posting but i'm too lazy for that. one day..)

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kichous · 8 months

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✧･ﾟ:* you could use me

summary. you're afraid that two weeks in a box is all that it takes to undo all of the progress you've made. series. a night of dark trees. bonus scene ! pairing. gojo satoru x gn!reader. warnings. none. word count. 1930.

Gojo’s different.

Ever since he emerged from the Prison Realm, he has been taciturn, morose, subdued. It’s disconcerting. He’s one of the liveliest people you know. It’s one of the things you love about him.

You’re still not sure how he says those little words so easily. Gojo Satoru’s world was torn asunder years ago, and he’d been dealt the same debilitating, staggering blow that still causes you to panic every time you hear the three syllables ‘I love you.’ Yet, somehow, some way, Gojo finds it in himself to voice that simple declaration to you. And he means it every time, with every fiber of his being.

It’s harder for you to speak it, your vocal cords uncooperative to an almost petulant degree, your subconscious locking the action away even in spite of your visceral protestations. You’re still searching on your hands and knees in the murky depths for the key. Only alcohol makes the search a little easier. But in your heart of hearts, you know it—it is a certainty that you love Gojo Satoru. A fact, as immutable as gravity (unless you were Kenjaku. Then you’d have to come up with another simile).

To that end, his absence hurt you. The moment you allowed yourself to fall for someone else, to finally move on from that one great loss, he was torn away from you. But it’s not his fault.

It must've been infinitely worse to be Gojo himself, stuck in what was essentially a cursed deprivation chamber for any duration of time from eternity to an instant. Not sure if eons had passed or but a second. Not knowing if the world burned his absence and those who remained rued his name, or if it had survived and everyone moved on without him. If anyone even bothered looking for a way to free him. You tried to put yourself in his place, imagining if he had gone and found a third love while you were trapped. You would’ve been happy for him, but you couldn’t deny that the simple idea of it broke your heart.

After he emerged, you stood by his side, your hand in his as he was informed of everything that had happened—everyone that had died—during his imprisonment. With every word, his shoulders sloped more and more, crushed by the weight of the world in each consonant and each vowel.

He won’t talk about it with you. When you kissed his temple and stroked his hair, uncaring of your audience in Shoko and Ino, he’d sighed and leaned a little closer. But he was silent as stone.

You wish you knew what to say to him. The way he and Geto bantered was so instinctual, an easy back-and-forth like a tennis match. You can hold your own with him, no doubt. But you’ve also got a history of deepthroating your foot where he’s concerned, so you can understand why Gojo’s a little hesitant to confide in you. He’s never had to before, why should he start now?

Oh, maybe because you love each other and that’s what supportive partners do—lean on each other? If only he’d stick around long enough for you to just tell him that.

Naturally, he refuses to make anything easy for you. Satoru’s hardly alone these days. You can’t even fault him for spending every waking moment training. If he’s going up against the King of Curses, he’ll need every advantage he can get, no matter how confident he is. You support him where you can in that regard, but you have no choice but to ambush him in between sparring with Okkotsu and sparring with Maki to actually get a word in.

“Hey, dumbass,” you call as you approach. Where it might’ve elicited an equally dry ‘What’s up, shitlips?’ once upon a time, it now earns a tired smile. Not the ideal reaction.

“I didn’t do anything,” protests Satoru, allowing you to soften the insult with a quick kiss. He’s sitting on a bench with his legs wide enough for you to step in the space between, and he wraps his arms loosely around your waist. “Why’re you being such a meanie?”

“Why are you overcompensating?” The verbal suckerpunch gets him in the solar plexus, causing Gojo to stare up at you wide-eyed with his mouth falling open defensively. You press a finger to his lips. Satoru goes a little cross-eyed trying to focus on it, and so you flick him on the nose to retrieve his attention. “I get it, if it’s for the kids. You’re their teacher. You’re everything they want to be when they grow up, they see you as a protector, blah, blah. But you don’t have to be strong with me. I know you. I know you. You don’t have to pretend, okay?”

“Don’t I?”

That stings, probably more than he meant it to. You don’t imagine Satoru ever intends to be cruel, because even at his worst, his sadism is meant for curses. But you’d thought he considered you an equal. Or as close as one could be without being a special grade, at least. It was foolish of you to think that the wall between you had crumbled any, at least as far as your skill level was concerned. It’s been years since anyone ever talked about how you could’ve become the fourth special grade if you ever managed to get a tighter rein on your technique. Okkotsu’s taken your place since then.

Your teeth sink into your lower lip as you move closer to tuck his head into your sternum. “No, you don’t. We’re partners, aren’t we?” you whisper, running your fingers through his hair. Something warm stirs in your chest as his eyes flutter shut and he hums a quiet, pleased purr. You’re a haven to him. “You love me and I—I love you. That means you don’t have to do this alone.”

He says nothing at first, simply nuzzling closer. There’s no sound but your shared breath, steady and even. His arms tighten around you. It’s a little uncomfortable having to crane your neck down to kiss the top of Satoru’s head, but the little sigh he gives is worth it. It’s the little things with Gojo. With such a bombastic person, large and grandiose efforts are commonplace, attention-grabbing gestures all Satoru knows. The strongest must be larger than life. So you end up treasuring the opposite—the way his long, spindly fingers fit in the slits between yours, the way his long lashes tickle your cheek when you kiss, how he loves to rest his elbow on your shoulder when you stand next to each other, the perfect roost. These tiny bits combine to make everything feel grounded, real.

After a moment, he pulls away, and light starts to creep back into his eyes. They look more like the sky again, rather than an iceberg field in the Arctic Circle. Good. “Does that mean I can tap you in during the fight?” Satoru asks cheekily.

You toss your head and give an exaggerated tsk. “I haven’t decayed from my Grade One rank, I’ll have you know! I may not be a spring chicken, but I can still pack a punch!” For emphasis, you smash your fist into your other palm.

“Not a spring chicken?” Satoru repeats incredulously. “We’re the same age! What does that make me?!”

You tug lightly on a few strands of his snowy hair. “A geriatric old man, duh.”

He raises a brow. “Oh yeah? Could an old man do this?”

Satoru’s up on his feet in an instant, one hand sliding up your back and the other wrapping just below your shoulders as he dips you in a kiss. He savors it, plying gently past your lips with his tongue. Satoru moans as you slip your fingers through his locks, a sound that makes your lips and extremities tingle. He steals the breath from your lungs, and you don’t hate it.

“Well.” Your voice is but a rasp when he finally pulls away. The man radiates smugness. Somehow, you find it endearing. “I’m sure Harrison Ford could.”

Satoru’s face breaks open with a full, hearty, genuine laugh. Pulling you upright to use as an anchor, he buries his face into your neck. His entire body vibrates in tandem with his giggles, the warmth of his breath a pleasant sensation on your skin compared to the wintry frost around you. Satoru blinks as you use your index finger to tip his face upwards. “What is it?” he asks, a little breathless.

“I love your smile,” you tell him honestly. “I love you.”

His cheeks grow pink. You doubt it’s because of the cold, your heart fluttering at the thought. You’ve managed to make Gojo shy. In lieu of a verbal response, he gently rests his forehead against yours. You’re aware you’re probably obstructing the walkway, and that if any of the students happened upon you, they would violently gag, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

Satoru is here, in the flesh. You thought you’d lost him when he got sealed away, and then again when he emerged sweeping the broken pieces of himself under the rug. That even if you could hold him, it wouldn’t be the Satoru you loved, nor the Satoru who loved you. Who saw something broken in you that was worth cherishing, worth putting back together piece by painstaking piece. Who never faulted you for giving up but encouraged you to try again, whose heartbreak echoed yours and stood as proof that there was a brighter tomorrow. The Satoru who taught you it was okay to be okay again. You’re sick and tired of lost chances, of what-ifs and what-could-have-beens. Maybe that’s why the words finally, finally slip so easily from your mouth—so you wouldn’t ever miss the opportunity to tell him again.

Gojo rubs his cheek gently against yours, sharing his heat. He’s always run a little warm. “I promise that I’ll share my burdens with you from now on. Even if I can’t promise you won’t hate me by the end of it.” A solemn vow, the seriousness of his tone unfamiliar to you. But not unpleasant.

“I already knew loving you was going to be rotten work,” you tease. “That’s never bothered me. What you can promise me is that you’ll come back to me. Otherwise, I’ll bring you back as a curse when you die. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Satoru chuckles. “Will you at least make sure I look prettier than Rika?”

“She heard that.” You have no idea how long Okkotsu’s been standing there—what he heard or saw, whether he’s going to blab to any of the other kids. There’s a small bemused grin on his face, but it’s eclipsed by the overall chagrin of his furrowed brows. He’s embarrassed for you. PDA at your old age? His generation probably thinks you look like two skeletons mashing their teeth together.

Breaking out of your frozen shock, you and Satoru share a glance. Then, after a moment, you break the silence with simultaneous cackling. It’s hard to tell whether it’s the situation or the looks on your faces that sparks such an interminable fit. You fall against each other in your laughter, using one another as a column. He’s sturdy and solid and he’s there for you. And that’s what you’ll be for Satoru too. Steady and strong and unmovable. Unbreakable. Everything he’s been for the world, you’ll be for him.

Whatever it takes.

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #anodt tag.#jjk fic.#we're pretending 236 doesn't happen #or at least we're believing every rebirth theory we lay our eyes on #hey at least he ended up in fewer pieces than reader's first fiancé!

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benevolentcalamity · 8 months

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I'm Quite Ten-tickled. [Mindflayer x Fem!Reader]

Cause I know a few people that would shout at me 'YOU NEED TO DO A MINDFLAYER' if they knew I existed. (That being about 1/4 of the Baldur's Gate fandom.)

Warning: This fic contains smut. I dunno if this equates to dubcon or what, but proceed with caution cause I have no idea what I'm doing.

There will be inaccuracies because I've only scanned a wiki and seen BG3 clips. Hopefully you guys still love me!

CURTAINS!

Come.

As though responding to the order tugging at your brain, the writhing tendrils part like a sentient curtain, before unwinding from around your arms. When the writhing prison at last gives way you're sent onto all fours, limbs limp from lack of use if only just to wriggle away from your tormentors. A cruel joke, this place, so wondrous and fascinating in its almost otherworldly structure... Yet, the moment you were pulled up by that grotesque tendril you regretted your brief study of them.

Was it a mistake, then? To push your brother out of the way even though he was the paladin? Surely he'd have laid waste to this ship by now - you simply doomed yourself to the fate he would have destroyed.

... It wasn't. At least this way he can go back to the church and mount a rescue. Not for you- alone, anyway. Everyone here that's still alive.

T'was the firelight outside that woke you to the siege. Buildings were being destroyed to kill the weak or scare the potential test subjects out into their range. You and your brother were two such folk - or to be more accurate he was the one. They always did look for the strong ones with 'potential', according to the horror stories of those that survived.

Did they know they were being researched? Or were they simply combing the continent for prey? ... Is this worth wondering if you're not sure whether tomorrow is what will be destroyed?

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!"

A scream, unholy and thick with suffering, pulls your hairs on end, your feet fusing to the floor for just a moment. Your heart leaps into your throat, hands growing so cold they could sustain ice-based sorcery. With a deep breath heat slowly creeps back into your fingertips, and a harsh swallow commands your legs to keep moving as though nothing's wrong.

Again, the order: "Come to me."

For the guided it isn't a long walk, any passing faces blurred or forgotten, the near and distant screams falling mute. In fact, as you get closer, only the order - and in turn the Mindflayer responsible - remaining. You hardly feel how your back straightens like a stiff beam as you prepare to be obedient.

To the rhythm of the squirming sound in your head, his elation pulses with the order in repeat. That he will rise above, and command the shared mind of his kindred...

How do you...?

A dizziness takes over, wavering your steps a moment, as the flesh doors open. The moment that his mind reaches you, you're again steady, as though his hands themselves guide you in this moment.

"There you are."

Tendrils flexing and curling, he stands, and for a moment they reach toward you. Before long they echo the movement of his hand, beckoning you with a roll of the fingers. Watching you cross the squishy floor he hums, voice digging into your mind fully as his innate power wraps around your mind.

A break from this is visible solely in how there's a momentary hesitation in your hand reaching for a tentacle. That disgust fades in a blink, however, as momentary as he'd allow. Only he can feel that, if anything at all, in the turmoil that is his kind's heart. They have one, beating in only the Queen of their collective consciousness. All else is simply them following nature's grand design.

Impatient, a tentacle reaches and wraps around your neck, cueing you to simply shed your clothes. Without hesitation you follow the order, some stray tentacles wandering about your body as they pull you yet closer. Further imprisoning your mind where it should be, the rest of them wrap about your head, loosing your hair from the ribbons as his hand guides your legs apart.

Curiosity is shared between you two, the tadpole shivering in fervor as his cold gaze pierces your own.

"If yours is the body I require..." You're turned around and guided onto his lap, legs split and held up in the air. "Then through you, I'll hold the key to my ascension. So, rejoice now, for I will become the Absolute, and your womb will bear Illithid that will see my will enacted."

Clouded, you swallow. "... I will be... of service," You breathe. "My Emperor..." A thrall, yet your form hasn't changed - it's simply too sad to see tentacles spring from your flesh. Well and, you're appetizing simply in more ways than satisfying one's hunger.

Guided by his desires, your head tilts back with the opening of your mouth. Pleased, he allows a tentacle to slip inside, which you suck on as another wraps around your hand and holds it up so it can be caressed. In the meanwhile his mind engulfs your body, the very will to pleasure you seeing your insides squirm and pool warmly. Without complaint or hesitance he watches, amused, as your skin flushes and your every muscle bends to his will.

"A-aah!"

Slipping through his pants with unceremonious mucus, his cock slips inside of you with the help of a tentacle or two. It's big enough, lumpy and undulating, slipping in and out as though with a mind of its own. His powerful hands keep your legs high up, another tentacle pushing into your mouth as it throbs, swirls, and churns inside of you. With each thrust it hammers in his dominion over you, the voices of the other Illithid fading out as his own mind worms its way from the collection.

Merciful he tugs the tendrils from your mouth, save for one at the tip of your tongue, and lets you breathe. As the engorging and pulsating cock pounds all the way to your cervix, your mind grows foggier until he's all you can even feel.

I... I can see it now...!

From your body, eggs the size of your fist, squishing and squirming with new life ready to form. They'll grow into an army, nay, a legion, that will serve the new Absolute. Never will you die, for only you are worthy of this blessing - and thus the only one that should be seated upon the blessed cock of the Emperor.

Sucking that tentacle back into your mouth, your moans are silenced once again, thumb rubbing the tentacle guiding your arm around his neck.

Undulating further, his cock squirms and engorges until it settles in for what feels like eternity. He lowers your legs to hang them over the arms of the throne, familiar tendrils wrapping around your ankles. Anticipation sees your body arch, his arms wrapping around your waist as the rest of his tentacles tighten around your head. Not in hunger or malice, but an overwhelming possessiveness that will never see you be rescued or taken from him by another.

Lowering to grab your hips, his own snap up into them, and you squeal, mouth gaping open as he mercilessly pounds into you. Pleasured cries and pleas for him to never stop reverberate through the ship, him not interested in silencing them. Encouraged by your pleasure he continues his powerful claiming of your womb, his own arousal and satisfaction stoked by your flaming hunger for more.

"Yes-! YES!" You cry. "Ohhh, my Emperor! Oh, my Emperor!" Your one hand caresses his slimy head, one of his hands coming up to hold yours. "Aaah! Aa-aaah! Aaaah! Gh- fuck! Ahhh!!!"

Your back arches, and light flashes in your eyes. After too short a time he shoots a load into you, neverending, until your stomach expands and then hangs. The hand holding your precious head falls to hold your belly. In what feels like no time it feels lumpy, already hard at work in proving he made a good decision keeping you alive after you'd robbed him of the paladin.

"There. Now, you will bear the trueborn, and with me rule this world and all beyond. May our bodies never age or fall to mortal malady, for we will be the architects of a world befitting only our ilk."

He reaches beneath your body, cock sliding back into its slit, and an egg slides into his palm.

"Until time itself withers."

#egg laying #monster story #mind flayer #i'm not tagging bg3 because this isn't bg3 #my writing #monster x reader #mind flayer x you #mind flayer x human #help #monster x human #monster x you #writers of tumblr #i will never be okay :D #dnd fanfiction #hey i can tag that #ok thanks imma go now

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