#i have been thinking about this poem. for hours......

[yuuuhiii]

Hellloo! Here for your even! Can this match-up happen in JJK?

How about a reader who is very selective with their peers but hold those people very dear. They're also a big bookworm and astronomy nerd so do with what you can! They're also concious of being left behind and alone and wouldn't show it, thus would constantly do everything to help and be kind under a perfectionist but reassuring chatacter.

I hope this isn't too confusing! Thank you for reading this request!

I match you with KENTO NANAMI

Kento holds you to a high standard in his books. You’re wife material really, however, he thinks maybe he’ll talk about that another time.

You guys are alike in many ways but different as well. He values your self-proclaimed flaws even though he tells you you're perfect.

Both of your guy's groups are small, having been in that group for most of high school both of you grew and learned to keep it small. Losing people or just being careful with who to bring around was helpful for both of you.

Kento feeds your reading obsession. If you guys aren't home then you're in a cafe or library. He spoils you to the absolute max.

You mentioned a book sounded interesting? It's wrapped with a ribbon on your bed.

Do you stare at a ring for more than a couple seconds? It's your new promise ring.

You scold him about his tendencies but he always says the same thing. “I'm just pampering the woman who holds my heart.”

Now other than the libraries and cafes you guys are at observatories. Or even out where you have a full view of the night sky and shimmering stars.

More times than not, he falls asleep to your voice, explaining to him which constellation is which. Your fingers trace the structure onto his bare skin.

He thinks you're the prettiest like this. The moonlight illuminating your features enough that you resemble a star yourself.

He tells you all the time you'd be the sun. Since you've always seemed to brighten his day every waking moment.

When he misses you and he's away at work he knows where to look. While it's day, he treasures how bright it is. While it's night, he admires the stars.

Kento knows what it’s like to feel and be alone. He’s always enjoyed solitude, although meeting you has changed him. Now when you aren’t with him he finds himself counting down the hours until he’ll be with you again.

He wonders if when your wedding day arrives he’d be able to access a sample of the moon in your ring. Just so he can prove it when he tells you he loves you to the moon and back. He remembers a poem you wrote, you said it was of him.

“Like the moon. Everyone admires me. But I’m always alone.”

He thinks back to it and he brings it up to you now. He tells you that if he’s the moon then you’re the sun and that doesn't make him alone. Because his life revolves around you.

Without him there’d be no moonlight.

And without you, there’d be no gravity to ground him.

© yuuuhiii 24 : don’t plagiarize, translate, or post my work on other platforms

#—ai’s 1k event٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶ #kento x reader #kento x y/n #kento x you #kento fluff #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #nanami fluff #nanami imagine #nanami drabbles #nanami headcanons #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk imagines #jjk drabbles #jjk scenarios #jjk fluff

[looneyleyle]

the self-destructive habits of a hopeless romantic ~ j. hughes

synopsis: monetizing one's self-sabotaging habits, surprisingly, has its downfalls. one of them being leaving that one attractive hockey player that is an absolute gentleman who loves you with his whole entire heart.

warnings: self-sabotage, self-deprecation, angsty (but with happy ending)

word count: 3425 words

note: once again unedited but i wanted to get this one out there

???'s pov

time and time again, the world has seen the self destructive habits of humans. well, that makes it seem serious. the world has seen the countless missed opportunities due to a fear of another's reaction. the world has seen the blunders due to saving face. the world has seen the heartbreaks due to miscommunication. time and time again, the world has seen how people sabotage their own lives for the dumbest reasons.

esther graham was no different.

in fact, she capitalized on her ability to put herself into the worst emotional distress possible. every heartbreak produced a great work of literature that would nearly sell out in bookstores all over the northeast. she wasn't a new york times best seller by any means, but she was a small town writer from mont vernon, new hampshire. she made a name for herself during her time at hamilton college in their creative writing program. in her junior year of college, she published her first book, woes of a teenage failure, a novel following what could have been for a young college drop out named sophia. the book was a hit amongst her peers and professors, and by word of mouth, ended up selling 200 copies. the book, as ms. graham remarked, was her own "what-if" story, as she almost dropped out of college the beginning of her sophomore year.

and how do i know so much about ms. graham?

well, because i am ms. esther graham.

and i'm here to tell you all about the biggest blunder of my life.

after my first book, i hit major writing block. i would stare at my computer screen for hours just to delete the only three words that i could come up with. i would sit in coffee shops, pen in hand, ready for inspiration to strike, and yet, nothing. i was nearing the end of my college career, riding on the coattails of my first and only book's success, and couldn't figure out how to continue. my professors taught me plenty of ways to try and combat writer's block, but nothing worked.

until i met ryan. a devilishly handsome man all the way from the cheese state of wisconsin, who was meeting up with some college friends for the annual boston beanpot. we had our meet cute at a nearby pizza joint, in which i sat down and started chatting with him, thinking he was a publisher that i was supposed to meet with. after realizing my blunder when he had absolutely no idea what an anthology was, he asked if i wanted to join him and his friends at the beanpot, as one of their friends had cancelled, leaving them with an extra ticket.

ryan and i dated for four months. we would take turns traveling between my college in new york and his in wisconsin until eventually it became too much, or should i say, too little for him, and he broke it off. in my rage and complete depression from the breakup, i wrote my next hit, until the sun sets, a 142-page anthology of gut-wrenching poems, which was eventually integrated into hamilton college's curriculum for their young adult modern literature class. i was quite proud of that.

after that, i found myself yet again staring at blanks screens and empty notepads.

that is, until chloe. a beautiful new york native whom i had actually met while dating ryan. she was a hostess at a restaurant ryan and i would always go to. she was pursuing her masters in psychology, which gave me fascinating insights and tactics to use in my books. we were never officially together, but we had something for almost three months before she was whisked off by some californian named ella. i never saw her again, which prompted my next book, the ninth floor, a murder mystery following a closeted lesbian couple in 1940's hollywood (it was one of the girlfriends the whole time).

at this point, when i hit a creative block for the third time, i realized that i needed my heart or brain to be in absolute shambles in order to produce my best work. i needed to be at some sort of life crisis, and the easiest way to do so was to love another and let that love be ripped out of your life.

so, i began dating for the sake of my career. it was like i sought out the most manipulative, scummy people in the world who were able to get away with it just because they were attractive. over the course of a year, my first year out of college, i dated a total of three men and one woman, and poured my emotions out into a collection of short stories titled lavender.

and that was when i met jack.

i was in new jersey for a book signing at this little bookstore which, as it turns out, was right by the prudential center. as i left the bookstore, i was nearly run over by an overly excited man-child with a giant bag slung upon his shoulder.

"luke, watch out, you nearly killed that woman!" a voice yelled from where the man came from.

"i'm so sorry about that miss, my brother can get a bit overexcited sometimes." looking at the person talking to me, i found a young, very attractive brunet with the most adorable smile. i straightened myself up instinctively, wanting to appear presentable.

"no worries. if you don't mind me asking, what got him so riled up that he almost trampled me?" the man let out a laugh at my statement.

"of course, we owe you at least that much for your near-death experience. he just got nominated for the calder trophy." he explained, as if those words meant anything to me. seeing my blank stare, he clarified. "a rookie of the year award. we play for the new jersey devils." the boy in question came up and joined us, grinning ear to ear.

"ahhh, i see. i'm not a big hockey watcher, which i know is absolute blasphemy for someone who grew up in new hampshire." his jaw nearly dropped.

"you're from up here and don't like hockey? we have to change that." he exclaimed. in my peripheral vision, i could see his brother trying to hide his laughter at his brother's forwardness.

"ill have to come and watch a game sometime." i mused.

"we have a game coming up next week against the blue jackets. i could maybe snatch you a seat in exchange for your number." he proposed. his brother snorted at that, having to turn around to hide his obvious laughter. the man paid his brother no mind, just looking at me with a big smile on his face.

"trying to bribe me mister?"

"is it working?" i put my hand out and he immediately put his phone in my hand, adding my information into his contacts.

"esther? that's nice, you look like a esther." i quirked an eyebrow at him, but continued on anyways.

"and you? what should i call you?"

"call me yours. or jack, either works." the brother was doubled over on the floor at this point, jack finally acknowledging him by kicking him slightly, making him fall over.

"anyways, ms. esther, we have to get going, but ill see you next week at our game." he put out his hand for me to shake.

"you've got yourself a deal jack."

and just like that, jack and i started talking. his eagerness was cute, he texted me no more than ten minutes after meeting me. we talked every day, mainly on calls, asking each other questions and such to get to know each other.

and sure enough, the next week, i found myself back in new jersey watching the brothers play. i assumed jack was going to be some sort of benchwarmer or something, but that didn't seem to be the case. despite my lack of hockey knowledge, i could tell the boy was good, and he had quite a fan base if the amount of women wearing his jersey meant anything. and i felt severely out of place, simply wearing a grey sweater and jeans, unlike everyone else in the stands, decked out in red.

after that, i found myself going to a couple more hockey games, for no particular reason. jack would try to explain the game over video calls and our occasional coffee meet ups, but i couldn't for the life of me wrap my head around it. why do they all get off the ice every five seconds? and what the hell is offsides?? jack always laughed at my confusion, telling me that i'd get it one day.

we spent a couple months thriving off of video chats and once-in-a-blue-moon hangouts, until i got a job as an editor for a local paper. i was good at editing, always having good grammar and an eye for design, but it wasn't my dream. despite it not being my dream, i needed a stable income, and fast. my mind was devoid of ideas, and it didn't seem like that would change any time soon.

plus, it helped that this stable income happened to be in new york city, putting me a lot closer to a certain someone. and, with me being closer, that certain someone would pop on by a lot more than before. and eventually, chinese takeout dinners turned into staying the night, which turned into coming up for the weekend, which turned into the line of friendship being crossed into something more.

and then, i made the dumbest mistake of my life.

i let him go.

now, i know what you must be thinking. he must have done something wrong, he must have cheated or neglected me or done something so completely unforgivable that i would just throw away the most amazing thing in my life. and i wish i was here to tell you that was the truth.

but it wasn't.

jack was nothing but a gentleman, and i was just a broken girl doing the only thing i knew how to do: leave. i like to tell myself that it was for my career, that i needed to write another book, that i wasn't fulfilled in my job and that i was putting myself first by doing this, but i was perfectly content with my life. i was an editor for a major publishing company, i started writing little happy poems about my mundane life with jack, and wanted nothing more. i had no reason to run away. i just woke up in his bed one day and realized that i wanted to spend the rest of my life with him, and i couldn't accept that. i had gotten so used to leaving people that i assumed that they would leave me if i hadn't done so first, and i couldn't lose the one real thing i ever had.

so naturally, my self-destructive, self-sabotaging self let him go, the exact opposite of what i wanted.

and when i got back to my apartment after writing jack a confusing and half-assed letter, i cried. i cried and cried and cried, and i always wrote about characters crying until they couldn't anymore, but that day, i couldn't find the end to my tears. for hours tears would either slowly leak or violently pour from my eyes, and they never did end, not even when i passed out on my couch from exhaustion.

and after a week, i was expecting to pick myself up and start writing my next best seller, coping with my writing. but i sat there, and my florescent computer screen simply sat there, staring back at me. and when i left my apartment for a change of scenery, the blank pages of my notebook mocked me. i flipped through past works, all of them being little poems about jack, and the waterworks continued, right in the middle of a starbucks.

after a week and four days, i couldn't take it. i had to make things right, i had to at least see him. it always worked in the books, right? someone makes a huge mistake, they break up, they see each other again and realize they're both miserable without each other and then get back together and live happily ever after.

when i knocked on the door to jack's apartment, i was met with an unimpressed looking luke. at the sight of him, the waterworks started up again.

"you're an idiot, you know that?" i nodded furiously at this, sobs wrecking through my body. i couldn't see through the tears in my eyes, but i could tell the luke hadn't moved a muscle.

"he deserved better and you know that." i felt my soul being crushed. "i mean, a letter? seriously esther? and a half-assed one at that. i know damn well you don't have a degree in creative writing for that bullshit."

i opened my mouth to explain, but nothing came up. what would i say, that i was a broken person? cop out. that i did it to everyone? not much better. that i got scared? fucking coward.

"if you think that you deserve to see my brother, then i'll let you in." he told me, moving out of the way, door open wide. i just stood there, staring at him through teary eyes. my brain cheered, finally able to go in, but my feet wouldn't move.

my heart still clenched and ached, and with every thought of moving forward, into that apartment, it hurt more. jack didn't deserve this. after all the nights of him reading my poems about him and praising my work, after all the sweet things he'd say when i was down, after all the little acts of kindness he showed me, after all the love he poured into us, he didn't deserve to be broken by me. hurt people hurt people, the scholars had that right. he didn't deserve to be broken.

and so, i got ready to leave, again.

"i'm sorry." was all i said, turning around with heavy legs and a heavy heart. i heard luke let out a sigh as i walked away, closing the door behind him.

a couple of days went by and i found myself back at their apartment. i knew they wouldn't be there, they had an away game in anaheim the night before, and i knew from my time with jack that they would always spend the night in the city before coming back, especially after a win, a 5-0 win no less.

i stood there in front of their door, a small box in my hands, contemplating. jack didn't deserve this, but a selfish part of me needed this. i placed the box gingerly outside of their door and left the building. if the box was taken by some nosy neighbor, or thrown in the trash by some janitor, then it would be fate. it would be a sign to move on. but, there was a chance that jack and luke would come back to their apartment, and would pick up the box, and jack would recognize my handwriting. and, instead of throwing the box in the trash like any normal self-respecting person receiving a box from their shitty ex, he would take it to his room, and open it up to see my notebook, with a bookmark starting at the pages when i first started seeing him. and he would read the poems and maybe, just maybe, he'd see the note written on the bookmark to meet me at the park near his apartment, and maybe, just maybe, he'd be willing to hear me out.

i went to that park every single day for exactly one month and six days, always arriving by 1 pm, never late. and i would stay there until 4 pm, waiting.

on the 37th day, i was sitting there, editing, funnily enough, a sports column about the recent devils and islanders game. i watched it, absolutely terrible game it was, the islanders beating the devils for the first time in the season. our sports journalist, while passionate and very knowledgeable about seemingly every sport out there, had a knack for writing long, run-on sentences that reflected his rambling nature. as i sat there on the same park bench i had been sitting on for the previous 36 days, a figure stopped in front of me. i finished up the sentence i was working on before looking up.

and while i hate cliches, the wind was absolutely knocked out of my lungs.

"h-hey jack." i started, immediately putting away my work, giving him my full attention.

"hey esther." a shiver ran down my spine from him just saying my name. it had been so long, and while it lost its loving tone, i welcomed it with open arms. jack moved, taking the spot next to me, looking out at the trees in front of us. when it became apparent he wasn't going to say anything, i started the conversation.

"i see you read the notebook."

"i finished it three weeks ago." he replied, voice lacking its usual emotion. tears welled up in my eyes. three weeks.

"oh."

"i came here immediately after finishing it." i felt my eyes bulge out of their sockets at that. he continued, "i went to that bench over there and watched as you fidgeted in your spot, looking frantically at everyone who passed by. i watched the next day as you sat in the pouring rain with no umbrella. i sat over on that bench every day that i was here since reading your notebook."

a silence fell upon us, my mind reeling, trying to figure out what he was trying to say, from his emotionless face to the fact that he came.

"do you know how much it hurt? waking up to empty sheets and some half-assed note with the lamest excuses on earth?" i hadn't really paid mind to the tears rolling down my cheeks until he brought that up, sending me back to that morning, quickly scribbling out some gibberish before leaving the best part of my life behind.

"i was going to wait another month, y'know. to see if you were still gonna come here every day."

"so why didn't you?" i asked, sniffling intensely, trying to calm down my sobs.

"luke said i was absolutely miserable without you. coach told me i wasn't focused. my teammates pointed out that i barely left my apartment. the icing on the cake was when my mom started asking if you would be coming over to the lakehouse this summer. i realized, as pathetic as it seems, that i can't live without you."

my attempts at stopping my crying were thrown out the window at that. i could probably fill the hudson river with the amount of tears i had shed over the past two months.

"how can i make it up to you. please, please let me make it up to you." i begged, fully facing him, my hands angrily playing with the sleeves of my shirt because if i didn't, i would be reaching out to the man in front of me.

"never pull that shit again." he bargained, looking me dead in the eyes for the first time in months. and in that moment, i saw just how bad he was doing. sunken eyes with heavy bags, his skin dull, hair slightly unkempt under his hat.

"never again." i promised, putting out my pinky to him, something he would always do when he promised me to not get hurt in games. he let out a hoarse laugh, looking away from me, and when he looked back, i saw the tears brewing in his eyes. he took my pinky in his and held it there, between us.

"now, i'm not gonna just take you right back after all that. that was really shitty and i need some time to get over that. but, as i've found out, i can't really function without you. so maybe you could start with coming to my games again, and i could take you out for coffee next week."

"sounds perfect."

i accepted my life as an editor for the local newspaper, accepted that i probably wouldn't write another page-turning sell-out book, accepted that i was completely content with whatever happened to me, so long as jack was there with me.

and with that, my self-destructive, soul-crushing, heart-breaking tendencies reached their end.

#jack hughes #jack hughes x oc #new jersey devils #fanfic

[hiemaldesirae]

theyre married :3

#its been 2 hours since i got dragged outside i just came across a poem about sucking dick i think im losign my mind #my neck hurts but now i have gay demons to look at so ig its worth it #six more minuit...... Pleasbe hurry im gough to die here #🌗 art tag #radiostatic #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin vox #hazbin alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel

[kohakhearts]

cons of going to a “good schoolTM”: insane workload, unbearable classmates, next to no support when you have any kind of extenuating circumstances Including literal hospitalization, etc

pros of going to a “good schoolTM”: the 9-5 lifestyle is genuinely a major improvement

#taylor.txt #the extenuating circumstances point was not me btw. i know someone who had his degree delayed an entire year because of two weeks in psych #we’re in a co-op program or else maybe it wouldve just been one semester but. lol #i hate it here…i hate it #but hey…at least i have the world’s shittiest health insurance! #some of my classmates say they dont feel like working full-time is easier than going to school full-time but it so is #for me. anyway. even when i fumbled my time management bad on the field and make no mistake i was incredibly busy plus i chose a field #notorious for Unpaid Overtime and Taking Your Work Home. even then. it was still easier than this #i would never do undergrad again. i loved everything i learned. i took interesting and awesome classes #but i would never ever do it again. miserable overworked spent most of it friendless until i got on the field #i have a friend who keeps being like idk how you did 4 physics classes this sem and im like girl we are education students…thats an average #semester for a physics major. how must THEY feel #also i have to say just you know. generally. ive worked full-time while living with my parents #AND while living alone. and 50 hours a week was incredibly manageable in the former arrangement. i even wrote and edited an entire novel #in the beginning stages of a pandemic while working 50 hours a week of retail and fast food hell. 40 hours full-time with weekends off #while living alone though? thats hard. i still managed to go to the gym almost every day #currently? i cant get out of bed in the morning. i am putting in 12 hour days and then goinng to bed unable to sleep because im so stressed #i have dreams about school. tangentially theres a really good marxist poem i read last year about this phenomenon in workers #ANYWAY. i have just 8 more days 4 exams 1 research paper and video project #i think i can pass and then thats it. my next semester is hell but just because scheduling the actual classes will be easy #and then i get to go back on the field and actually want to wake up every day. lol #and 8 days from now i will have my christmas shopping done and my apartment will be clean and i will be a fanfic writing machine #also my friends and i booked a demolition room so im sure that will be beneficial kfldjfldndks

[oatbugs]

found a bunch of old voice memos and this is the first time i've listened to my own voice and thought yeah it makes so much sense that people have loved this person . woah

#personal #i was singing a song under another song (saw my wings with the bodies in the gutter). there is someone else and i cant #recognise their voice . i think maybe i was drunk and maybe so were they . i have no idea who they are but their voice is so pretty. #i ask them if theyre ok and they ask if im sure im okay with this. and then they say see you soon and theres the sound of the door. #theres the voice of someone else after this too. they say listening to chase atlantic feels like sex . i have no idea who this person is. #this file is full of strings rising and falling. reverb of a massive space. some symphony inside interrupted by another symphony. #i remember laying on the floor of the orchestra hall to listen and to hide. i remember laying my hand on the floor and thinking i could #recognise this piece just by the way the ground vibrates. #i've been thinking a lot about mereology. sorry for not talking about nihilism the past week - everyone around me has been falling apart. #this month i have watched others be stricken by grief. the other side of the equation. one day i will create a poem about the way holes are #one whole part. the way disconnects are connected to the fabric of absence. (i saw your guts without the skin attached) #i could hear how in love i was when i asked the unknown voice if they would like some water. i blew out the candles and one stayed lit. #you don't need to tell me. forever and ever. strictly fall for academics and people with a passion. asked my mathematician about manifolds #and he asked me about his hair. i will wake up tomorrow if only it is to spend half an hour making tea. the concept of going to my country #is an oncoming train with a minute's delay. i told them i want to be their friend and they told me theyd like to meet up soon #and test how deep they can bite like good friends do. do you feel ashamed of my degree? do you feel ashamed of #your dry lips? skull fast-tracked to the floor. i have a jar of hand-picked dried damask roses for tea. ill tell you about k-theory until #you shut me up.

[peapod20001]

Haha don’t pay me any mind oho

#vent #ok. so #I was! fine for the most part today! but then! idk what happened! #I’m like sad now! depressed? like. I kinda don’t feel real #I think I was giving myself anxiety over thoughts. got really clammy. literally shoveled goldfish crackers into my face #now don’t judge me but #I’ve been looking at things that make me feel bad for like. at least 4 hours now haha.. #I dunno man it’s the adhd I got one thought about thing that made me upset and now I’m hours in and my emotions are fried #and. shh don’t tell anyone I feel things but I know have a fantasy of someone I can cry around #whehe how pathetic is that. scraping the bottom of the barrel here looking for another human just let me cry @ you #hmm. how did I go from thinking up poems for valentines only to. feel so cold and alone #I’m not crying. but. I definitely need to later haha maybe this all kickstarted from my two whole hours of sleep last night 😎 #mhm so uh. if your reading this with the most cold unfeeling monotone voice then you are exceptionally accurate!i am currently not all here #can’t sleep now tho gotta. do other shit I guess #I’m laying in bed for a second though. my legs were very cold to the touch. unfeeling unhuman #oh and I might be balding potentially but that’s still just a theory. my dad noticed and pointed it out #haha what would I be withought my hair? another germ just populating this Earth? #oho ahh. hm. I’m just a trying to say I don’t fell right now if that makes sense. anyways

[abyssaldyke]

Speaking of self-published poetry, pre-pandemic, a friend asked Ollie and me to go down to Ohio to do a reading he was putting on and we did it, for free, because he was our friend. Except when we got there, we learned he was actually having us open for another poet with an Amazon book, and after we did our sets, she went up and launched without warning into a graphic and very personal hour-long set about sexual violence and parental abuse.

#ya girl #assault tw #i think i deleted him off facebook after that? bc hello? #it wasnt necessarily the poet's fault bc she was an undergrad but maybe like. a brief aside at the beginning? perhaps? #we actually were having a lovely time up until that point bc morgan came and a bunch of old mag folks came! #and then we all sat there for an hour! listening to this kid who clearly needed to get it out of her system but not in this forum?? #i onstage decided not to read the poem about hitting my bad ex with my car bc it wasnt the vibe but clearly it couldve been

[taichouu]

#i have been thinking about this poem for hours. #tai talks #this is what got me emo abt my friends. its just so <333 #i have this poem framed in my house actually lol its very important to me

[hurkules]

Domestic Life Thoughts…

Jason likes that you need him. He goes weak in the knees when you ask him to open containers because “the top must be stuck.” He can’t help but smile and give a gentle “of course, baby.”

He likes how you drape yourself over him throughout the day. He’s always touch starved, and it gives him butterflies to think that you want him as much as he does you. He doesn’t care to have personal space when it comes to you.

Whenever he gets the chance, Jason cooks for you. He looks up recipes to try out and beams when you compliment him. Whenever you bake, he eats it all in like 48 hours or less. “Sorry, baby” he’ll say placing a kiss on your cheek. “It was too good. I couldn’t resist.”

Sometimes, he has nightmares but waking up next to you is a life saver. Once he was confused and grabbed you wrist a little too hard leaving a bruise. He begged for forgiveness and banished himself to living room for a couple of days. Occasionally, he thinks about it, plants gentle kisses there, and gives a soft “so sorry, baby. It’ll never happen again.”

Jason never yells. Even if you’re arguing, he never raises his voice at you. You yelling literally doesn’t phase him in the slightest, and, to be honest, angry you is super cute and attractive to him. Despite this, he doesn’t act with the intent to upset you. Sometimes, he’s just a dick.

He’s such a loverboy. The two of you have weekly dates and he’s always bring you back chocolate and flowers. He’ll write poems and love notes and leave them on the night stand for you to find when you get home or wake up. He blushes when he finds little love notes you left in his bag and makes a mental note to thank you for it later. You put a cat sticker on his bike, and it’s his favorite thing. He added a heart sticker next to it because “you love cats, coincidentally, you’re kinda cat like, and I love you. It works out perfectly.”

It had been years since he celebrated his birthday, so when you decided to dedicate the day to him, he nearly cried. At the end of the night, you gave him a locket with pictures of the two of you and your cats. You had Eternal Sunshine engraved on the front because “This time with you have been the brightest and warmest days of my life.” At that point, he actually did cry. “You mean the world to me, baby” he told you through tears with his head buried in your neck. “I’d do anything for you. My heart’s always been yours. I swear it.”

#my post #jason todd headcanon #jason todd imagine #jason todd fluff #jason todd x reader #jason todd #red hood

[inkskinned]

for a while i lived in an old house; the kind u.s americans don't often get to live in - living in a really old house here is super expensive. i found out right before i moved out that the house was actually so old that it features in a poem by emily dickinson.

i liked that there were footprints in front of the sink, worn into the hardwood. there were handprints on some of the handrails. we'd find secret marks from other tenants, little hints someone else had lived and died there. and yeah, there was a lot wrong with the house. there are a lot of DIY skills you learn when you are a grad student that cannot afford to pay someone else to do-it-for-ya. i shared the house with 8 others. the house always had this noise to it. sometimes that noise was really fucking awful.

in the mornings though, the sun would slant in thick amber skiens through the windows, and i'd be the first one up. i'd shuffle around, get showered in this tub that was trying to exit through the floor, get my clothes on. i would usually creep around in the kitchen until it was time to start waking everyone else up - some of them required multiple rounds of polite hey man we gotta go knocks. and it felt... outside of time. a loud kind of quiet.

the ghosts of the house always felt like they were humming in a melody just out of reach. i know people say that the witching hour happens in the dark, but i always felt like it occurred somewhere around 6:45 in the morning. like - for literal centuries, somebody stood here and did the dishes. for literal centuries, somebody else has been looking out the window to this tree in our garden. for literal centuries, people have been stubbing their toes and cracking their backs and complaining about the weather. something about that was so... strangely lovely.

i have to be honest. i'm not a history aficionado. i know, i know; it's tragic of me. i usually respond to "this thing is super old" by being like, wow! cool! and moving on. but this house was the first time i felt like the past was standing there. like it was breathing. like someone else was drying their hands with me. playing chess on the sofa. adding honey to their tea.

i grew up in an old town. like, literally, a few miles off of walden pond (as in of the walden). (also, relatedly, don't swim in walden, it's so unbelievably dirty). but my family didn't have "old house" kind of money. we had a barely-standing house from the 70's. history existed kind of... parallel to me. you had to go somewhere to be in history. your school would pack you up on a bus and take you to some "ye olden times" place and you'd see how they used to make glass or whatever, and then you'd go home to your LEDs. most museums were small and closed before 5. you knew history was, like, somewhere, but the only thing that was open was the mcdonalds and the mall.

i remember one of my seventh grade history teachers telling us - some day you'll see how long we've been human for and that thing has been puzzling me. i know the scientific number, technically.

the house had these little scars of use. my floors didn't actually touch the walls; i had to fill them with a stopgap to stop the wind. other people had shoved rags and pieces of newspaper. i know i've lost rings and earring backs down some of the floorboards. i think the raccoons that lived in our basement probably have collected a small fortune over the years. i complain out loud to myself about how awful the stairs are (uneven, steep, evil, turning, hard to get down while holding anything) and know - someone else has said this exact same thing.

when i was packing up to leave and doing a final deep cleaning, i found a note carved in the furthest corner in the narrow cave of my closet. a child's scrawled name, a faded paint handprint, the scrangly numbers: 1857.

we've been human for a long time. way back before we can remember.

#idk if it's still tradition but the kids at the local school next to walden when I went there #used to have a tradition where u had to pee in walden pond before u graduated or otherwise you'd fail one of your classes #as someone who did not do this im happy to report i did fail a class so maybe they had a point #they've torn the school down tho so who knows #i hope this makes sense #i think we've been human longer than we've been writing #ps this land was taken over by hostile combatants and colonialized . let us not forget that part of the reason #our 'history' is so short. is that we have systematically slaughtered the people who had history here before

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT ─── cillian murphy ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I am turned inside out by the ache in your voice, the taste of your tongue." — ‘Afternoon Masala: Poems’, Vandana Khanna

pairing. cillian murphy x actor!reader

summary. you and your co-star, cillian, are having a hard time performing a sex scene for your movie. they do say, however, practice makes perfect.

warnings. swearing, thigh-riding, creampie, p in v, unprotected sex, mentioned/implied age gap, probably inaccurate depictions of actor-life, mirror sex, slight breeding kink, kinda innocent reader(?), AU cillian murphy (not married/no kids), SMUT UNDER THE CUT! 

word count. 4.5k

a/n. this is not in any way meant to disrespect cillians wife😭 i js made this a not married AU to be convenient!

i.

“Cut - cut, cut!” The director repeated, his increasing irritation colouring his voice completely. “Now, I said it earlier, but—“

You scrubbed your face with a sigh, getting up off of Cillian and the desk, who was propping himself up by the elbows. “It’s not passionate enough,” you finished flatly for your director, who nodded earnestly. 

“I promise, this is as tiring for me as it is for you. Remember,” the director continued, the script half curled in his hands and making a thin flapping noise, “it’s the culmination of six months of pining. Six months of taboo, unrelenting, electric tension. Nothing more than stares in class and brief touches- you are supposed to be bordering feral for one another.”

You, and your co-star, Cillian, were currently filming the first sex scene of a movie portraying the forbidden, toxic love affair between a barely 18 teenage student and her much older teacher. Well, not exactly filming- you weren’t getting far with the scene, for the two of you just couldn’t get it right. Or, as the director liked to say, passionate enough. 

The role was already incredibly taxing, even without the added stress of the sex scene: it was 20 hour work days, living on set in a trailer far from home, having to devote at least half of those hours to filming this very sex scene, and had a perfectionist director like yours. 

The problem was that it was long, and the director wanted it done in one take. Brilliant man, he was, and had a love for this project you wished every director had for theirs, but he was adamant on it being done perfectly. He said it was intended to be the “primary and most iconic” scene of the entire film, for it was the crux of the story; the point of no return for the characters. 

“With all due respect, I’ve never imagined such a scenario, much less had experience. Just how can you expect me to portray a student-teacher romance accurately?“

“That’s your job: to imagine and perform.” The director demanded, obviously up to his ears in frustration.

Just before you retorted irately, Cillian cut in smoothly. “I think what she means,” he said, watching the veins in the director’s forehead nearly burst, “is that it’s hard to perform because it’s not common. S’easy to act in love because there’s love all around, yeah? We don’t have much to go off of, visually.”

The director’s gaze rapidly flitted between you and Cillian for a moment, before letting go of his anger and sighing wearily. “You’ve never even thought about a superior that way? Someone older than you?” he pressed, obviously joking and trying to lighten the set’s mood. 

You paused, and tried not to look at Cillian, your blatantly gorgeous forty-something co-star who was chosen for this role firstly, because of his stellar acting and secondly, because of how fucking attractive he was. 

His character was a total fucking creep, and you knew casting Cillian had been a calculated choice; all in the name of making the audience’s guard come down to be smacked in the face by his immorality later. He was meant to be charming, handsome, and terribly, totally, off-limits: the object of completely forbidden desire, the line your character was desperate to cross. 

It seemed the same in real life, too: the young inexperienced actress wanting to ignore those societal niceties and pine wholeheartedly over the middle-aged actor with decades of knowledge under his belt. 

You weren’t, like, in love or anything, but you certainly reveled in his presence: he was patient, kind, and completely understanding of your lack of experience, always guiding you through all the steps an actor takes during filming like when to take off hair and makeup, what best to say to family and friends prying for details- all the things, he said, he wished someone told him when he was first starting out. 

You were afraid you two had unknowingly fallen into a mentor-mentee dynamic, but there were always those spare moments, between hearty fits of laughter and silly conversation that you’d never expected to come from such an intimidating man as Cillian, where his rough hands would brush past your waist, gaze dragging up and down your body, sounding sensual and provocative despite nothing dirty leaving his mouth at all. 

He made your insides pulse, especially when your more intimate scenes came about, and you could only have a lusting woman’s pipedream that he felt the same. 

You still remember the first sequence you’d done with him: in the movie, your characters met after-class to make up for a missed exam, and it was the start of their corrupt attraction. Cillian had been pressed against your back, leaning over you to pressuringly peer at the test, large hand gripping your shoulder. The air felt steamy then, his body warm, low voice making you feel lightheaded as he recited his lines. 

You shivered at the remembrance of the moment, coming back to reality, and you answered the director’s question with a vehement shake of the head. 

The director let out a (strained) laugh, and smacked his palm lightly with the script, shoulders slumping. “Okay. Okay, we’ll - we’ll break for today. Take this extra time to imagine, research, anything- just practice the scene, alright? Practice makes perfect.” 

You and Cillian nodded simultaneously, giving eachother a look that just screamed “he’s ridiculous” before tearing away from each other's stare to return to your trailers. 

Later, you were getting ready to go to bed, peeling your freshly showered hair out of a small towel, when there was a knock at your trailer door. 

“One second,” you called out, pulling on your silk sleep shorts. You vaguely registered how awkward it might be to be seen in your pajamas if the director or one of your fellow actors came about, but you were way too tired to care. 

You did care, however, self-consciously crossing your arms and covering your thinly-clothed chest, when you opened the door and there on the steps stood your co-star, Cillian.

Before speaking, he looked you up and down, icy blue eyes gleaming behind an unfamiliar pair of tortoise shell frames. “You goin’ to bed?” he finally asked, tone husky. 

His gaze lingered on the bare skin of your legs for a few seconds longer and you shifted uncomfortably, crossing your ankles together in a poor attempt to hide yourself. 

“What do you need?” you asked briskly, more sharp than you meant it to be. 

“Sorry,” he corrected himself, shaking his head and finally looking you in the eye. “I meant’a come by earlier… got caught up. I know this, ah, sex scene is tripping us up, so…” he trailed off, lifting up the white script he’d been holding behind his back. “Y’up for some practice?”

You blinked rapidly at the simple, innocent request. Mere rehearsal, not some lecherous late-night escapade you’d been dreaming up in your mind. “Oh… yes, of course,” you nodded numbly, moving out of the way to let him step in. 

Only moments later, when he’d perched onto the edge of your vanity — looking uniquely casual in what you assumed was his version of pajamas: baggy gray sweatpants and a fitted, well-worn black t-shirt — did you realize the connotations of rehearsing your sex scene. 

Sure, it was all pre-determined, every word you’d say and every action you’d perform, but still. Saying- and doing, such suggestive things after-hours? That was beyond your dirtiest fantasies.

However, you shook yourself internally: Cillian had come to rehearse the scene with professional intentions. Honestly, he’d probably done so because he was tired of you messing up the scene. He could do his own part masterfully, and you knew that if it’d been a better, more experienced actress by his side, filming would’ve moved on ages ago. 

You took shaky, tentative steps near him, settling on your bed, watching him flip through the script— when he looked up and frowned. 

“What’re you doing? Come here,” he gestured for you to come closer, almost a command. “We don’t have a desk, so we can use your vanity.”

You nodded, biting your lip and nervously complying with his words. “So, we’ll start from the beginning?” you asked, your voice -- and legs -- suddenly feeling terribly weak.

His eyes were still trained on the paper as he answered. “Not necessarily. The sex part s’really the only thing we’re having trouble with, yeah?” 

You gulped, throat dry. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

With that, he chanced one last look at the script, before diving into the scene. His actions were ones you were extremely familiar with, having attempted this scene everyday for at least a week now. 

His body turned to yours, hands coming up to your jaw, and pressing your back onto the table slightly. He held you tightly, and made you look at him, while delivering his lines softly, memorable Irish accent replaced by his character’s generic American one.

Jiltedly, you did the same, poorly remembering what you needed to say and dragging through it like some amateur. “Fuck, sorry,” you cursed suddenly, tearing away from his touch and sighing. 

He gave you a small, careful smile, immediately breaking out of character and taking a step away from the vanity. “No need t’be nervous. Practice makes perfect, right?” 

You snorted at his quoting of the director. “I just… I don’t know what he means by passionate. I’m trying to be professional about this but - but I’ve seriously never been in some steamy love-affair.”

“Can’t really expect that of you, can we? You’re too young, too much’ve a good girl for that kinda ‘ting.” He said, hand coming up to your shoulder, the one where your silk tanktop’s spaghetti strap had slipped off, rubbing it soothingly. 

You practically melted into a puddle at both the pet name and how the rough pads of his fingers brushed against your sensitive skin. You were so entranced you almost whined when he stopped and pulled up your fallen strap, but instead you wordlessly snatched the script that was dropped onto the table and found one of the lines, inhaling sharply and readying yourself. 

Your hand came up to tug on the sleeve of Cillian’s shirt, as dictated by the script. “Sir, please,” you whispered out in your character’s high pitched voice, “I - I… want you to touch me.”

“This is -- wrong. I’m your teacher, and I…” Cillian responded, swiftly back in character, the back of his palm grazing your cheek. “I gotta break your heart, darling.”

You looked up at Cillian, summoning crocodile tears to fill your gaze. “Please. I need you.” Then, one of your clammy hands ran down Cillian’s chest as you spoke, like it did back on set. “I think of you, at night. I soaked through my shorts the day you scolded me.”

You heard Cillian’s breath hitch- his character, you reminded yourself. “Fucking hell… I think of you in class, sweetheart,” he growled out perfectly. 

So far, so good, you thought. It wasn’t awkward, and was already miles better than the lackluster performances you’d given previously. You continued by leaning into Cillian’s touch, making him sit on the vanity— the part of the scene you’d gotten to this morning, before the director called cut.

This time, however, Cillian’s actions differed from the ones he was supposed to perform: instead of petting the crown of your head, his fingers trailed down your hips, sending shivers down your spine.

“I’ll be good for you, sir,” you recited, face growing hot as his hand inched closer to the curve of your ass. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

Cillian’s gaze had darkened now, flitting over your features. He didn’t say his line - or, had at least missed the timing, and you removed your hands from his body worriedly. “Are you alright—“

Before you could finish your sentence, Cillian had grabbed you by the ass, switching your places and setting you down on the edge of the vanity. 

“Cillian!“ you squeaked out, the only thing you could really say as you processed what exactly just happened. Your mind was swimming with confusion — and anticipation — as he stood before you, legs pressing on either side of your knees and trapping you on the vanity. 

“Improv,” he promised quietly in his telltale Irish accent, a sly wink appearing on his sharp features. 

You bit your lip, nodded, and repeated your line. You trusted him to guide you — and the rehearsal — because, as mentioned before, he did these kinds of things often. If he thought you’d act better if you sat on the vanity, you’d sit on the vanity. 

His hand then pet your hair, the other hand coming up to your chin and making you look up at him. “Whatever I want?” he murmured, back on track with the script. 

You bat your lashes at him. “Everything. I’m yours.”

Now, this is where you thought Cillian would stop— because after your line came the kissing and the touching and the heavy petting: all things you thus far hadn’t filmed at all, because you couldn’t even get the dialogue out right. 

Instead, he leaned down and began to press hungry kisses down your neck, making you gasp.

“What are you—“

“Shh,” he demanded softly, “it's all part of the scene, remember?”

You blinked dumbly, mouth opening and closing, unable to register a coherent thought or word. He said it was part of the scene but you’d read that script, and his teeth nipping lightly at your skin was not written anywhere within it.

But, you gulped down your thoughts, and belted out several more of your lines in tandem to his own. With his other hand gripping your thigh so tight you thought it might bruise, you were starting to think that maybe this was one of those lecherous late-night escapades you were dreaming of. 

All you’d been doing was acting, like he’d asked, but still, you could see clear as day how that’d affect him— how easily it could be to succumb. After all, you were just barely restraining yourself from jumping his bones: how could you not, with his gorgeous face just inches away from yours?

Well, acting or not, you’d enjoy every minute of this.

When one of his hands began playing with the waistband of your shorts as he suckled on your pulse, that just right spot on your neck, you couldn’t help the whimper that left your mouth. 

However, the noise seemed to startle him; jumpshock him back to reality, and your suspicions became completely confirmed when he pulled away from you roughly. 

“Fuck, I’m—“ a pained grimace washed over his features, looking you up and down like he just realized what he’d been doing. “I don’t know what came over me, I— shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have come here tonight.”

You stared at him, body disappointed at the lack of touch, watching him press his pink lips into a conflicted white line. “What - what d’you mean?”

His gaze coursed over your every feature, so intently you thought he was admiring your face. “I can’t— we can’t happen. Y’too young, you’re, you’re too…”

“Then we can stop. If that’s what you want,” you murmured coyly, hand coming up to pick a piece of thread off his thin shirt. “But only if you ask. C’mon, say it: I don’t want you and I want this to stop.”

He groaned, biting his lip. “Don’t do that. I can’t do that.”

“Do what?” You tilted your head to the side. 

“Tease. Because you know I won’t tell you to stop. ‘Cause I won’t be able to fucking control m’self,” he grumbled, before pressing a desperate, deep kiss to your lips, pulling you off the vanity and continuing down your chest.

“Then don’t. Take me for everything I have,” you whined, following his every move and manhandling touch. 

He breathed heavily between kisses. “Saying those kinds’a words with that pretty voice of yours… fuck, you’re doing things to me.” 

Your hands were trailing all over his body, and then you tugged his shirt off, desperate to feel him. He had similar thoughts, fingers dipping into your silk shorts and petting your hot mound. 

“Need you,” you panted, and, at your words, he suddenly tore off your silk shorts and panties in one clean go, making you shiver.

He then sat down on your vanity chair and roughly grabbed you by the hips to place yourself onto one of his thighs. The thick fabric of his sweatpants, taking in your wetness like a sponge, made you wince.

“Go on then,” he demanded darkly, “get y’self off on my fucking thigh. Show me how bad you need me.”

You bit your lip, face burning with shame at the order. But there was an aching need in your gut, and the way he crossed his arms, watching and waiting for you to get the hell on with it, had you clenching around his thigh.

Your hands gripped onto his shoulders, and you began slowly rutting against him, the soft fabric of his pants doing poor work for pleasuring your core. You pressed your face into his shoulder, screwed up at the lack of friction. 

“Can’t do it,” you whined, “Please.” 

He rolled his eyes. “You said you needed me. You’ve got me,” he gestured to his thigh, “so get to work.” Then, he suddenly flexed, making an unwarranted mewl leave your mouth.

You wanted nothing more than his fucking cock, but here you were, pathetically pleasuring yourself on his thigh until he allowed otherwise. You nodded resignedly, and dug your fingernails into his shoulders, starting to set a steady pace of grinding down on him, slowly building up the heat within your insides. 

You were moaning now, vigorously dragging your hips against him harder, needier, feeling the pressure in your cunt grow hotter and more rampant. 

“Y’hear that?” He asked, one of his fingers tilting your chin back up to face him. “D’you even realize how fucking delicious you sound, all needy f’me?”

You nodded, but weren’t really paying attention: you were closer than ever, just moments away from falling off the edge— when Cillian stopped you. 

“Stop,” he spoke, voice filled with sheer lust, and you whimpered at the abrupt loss of momentum. Then, he got up, holding you against him by the waist, looking down at his sweatpants. “You made such a mess… soaked all over m’pants.”

You didn’t — no, couldn’t respond to his musings, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to return friction to your needy pussy, biting down on your lip to muffle your breathy pants. 

He noticed this, however, smirking and quickly pressing you stomach down onto the vanity. You caught a glimpse of yourself for the first time since your shower, and you flushed with shame: your eyes were heavy-lidded and dilated, lips pink and slick with drool, your brows in a perpetual knit.

You looked fucking filthy, and when you felt Cillian press his thick head to your entrance, something you hadn’t noticed he’d pulled out, too enraptured in your dirty expression, you shut your eyes. 

You were suddenly so much more aware of the situation: you’d fucked yourself silly on your co-stars thigh, the co-star who was twice your age. He now knew you weren’t a talented aspiring actress, no, you were just a desperate little thing begging to be fucked. 

“Hey, hey,” He tutted in mock-disappointment, “open your eyes, and fucking watch yourself. It’ll be good for our scene.”

You whimpered helplessly, obeying him and fluttering your eyes open, as he pushed his cock past your dripping folds inch by inch. 

“Oh my god,” you cried out when he finally pressed all the way in. You felt so full, stretched to the brim with his hardened cock, so deep his balls touched your sticky clit.

“So fucking wet,” he commented, chuckling darkly behind you. You were totally slick, helping him enter you faster, but his cock was still a foreign intrusion to your inexperienced cunt: you were young, and had never been the type to “get around” — at least not with the intentions of getting fucked so much you could take any length of dick easily. 

You clenched around him, a groan leaving his mouth at the increased pressure around his cock, and he snapped into you, making you bounce forward as your lips parted with a sweet moan. 

You’d been focussed on his face, in the mirror, but Cillian’s hand suddenly tangled through your hair, grabbing a fistful of it and lifting your head to face yourself. “I told you to fucking watch yourself,” he spat, gripping your hair tightly. “you’re the reason we can’t wrap up, so do your job and fuckin’ practice.”

With that, Cillian started pounding into you, digging the rough pads of his fingers into your hip, and you would’ve protested such a fast progression — having been given barely any time to get used to his long cock — but your expression was even worse than before, if that was even possible. 

Your mouth was open, tongue out and panting like a fucking dog, your lustfully sticky spit spilling down your chin to your chest, and your eyes were rolling into the back of your head with each hearty thrust Cillian delivered you. The sounds you were making weren’t helping your embarrassment either, all unintelligible mewls and needy whines for his cock. 

“You’ve wanted me for so long, haven’t you? I always knew what a filthy desperate girl you were, pressing up against me during shooting… those naughty hands on my thighs,” he snickered. 

“Needed you in me so bad,” you whimpered, nodding enthusiastically, barely able to register what you were doing now with the pleasure washing over you and clouding your senses. Your back was arching into him, sucking in his cock and never wanting him to leave despite the mind-breaking ecstasy that was coming from his pounding. 

“Just look at your dirty fuckin’ face… so pathetic.” he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek; sweet and lovely, a stark juxtaposition to his unrelenting rutting and degrading words. 

You whined at his words, but you knew they were true: you’d never seen yourself get fucked, always too busy with, well, getting fucked, but seeing yourself in the mirror like this had you unexpectedly hotter than before. There was just something about it, your face unabashedly contorting around the pleasure, Cillian’s hands snaking up your body as he rammed into you in the background. 

Kind of like your own personal porno, you thought offhandedly, and you wondered how it’d affect you if you filmed yourself. Hopefully, with Cillian. 

His other hand then came up to your folds, spreading them apart so he could see himself disappear into your hole. “Fuck, your cunt’s so perfect,” he growled, his head falling back, losing himself in the pleasure. 

The orgasm building in your gut wasn’t like the one when you’d been grinding down on his thick thigh, no, it came faster, making you sweat and your knees shake. You wanted more, and you gasped out “faster,” and “harder,” to Cillian, needing him in the stick spongy spot deep in your cunt. 

“Please,” you begged without any expectation of a real answer or action, “please, Cillian, please.”

He did go faster, though, to your apparent shock, both hands coming to your thighs to steady himself. “So needy,” he grumbled, pushing himself deeper and more swiftly into you, feeling how deliciously your fleshy walls tightened around his new pace. 

With that, your high came just as quick, hitting you like a fucking freight train and making you scream out his name. Your orgasm wrecked you, made your vision go white and your thoughts stutter to a complete halt, and you vaguely made out Cillian’s proud hum, whispering “Good girl,” in your ear. 

When you came to, your head was hanging low, your eyes blown out, lips puffy. Cillian was still thrusting into your worn-out pussy, but it was more jilted, shaky and needy. 

“Come in me,” you pleaded suddenly, gripping the vanity to keep your trembling legs up, “fill me up, please, make your come spill out of me.”

“Good god, girl,” he groaned, pounding one last thrust into you before letting go, his cock pulsing around your wet core. He was pressed up to you so deep you could feel him shoot his load right into your cervix, and you grinned weakly, a sweet image of you: knocked up with his kid, your cunt so young and fertile you’d get pregnant from just about anything from him, entering your mind. 

After a moment, he slipped his softening cock out of your filthy cunt and picked you up by the waist to set you down on the vanity and keep you from falling onto the floor. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled, looking up at him through your lashes. You then bit your lip, feeling his thick load of creamy come ooze out of your used hole onto your vanity. 

He noticed too, letting out a satisfied groan, spreading your legs lightly, before collecting himself on his finger and pushing his come back into your cunt. “Such a good girl,” he reiterated, going back to being sweet and petting your hair, doting on your weak form, looking deep into your eyes. 

You swooned at his delicate actions. “Is this a good time to say I like you?” 

He laughed, all adoringly. “It’s as good a time as any. I like you, too, if it’s any consolation.” 

“But you, y’know… you said I was too young,” you reminded him, frowning slightly. 

He sighed, gaze drifting away nervously for a moment before coming back to you. “That I did, but, well… if you wanna take this old man for a ride before I keel over,” he shrugged.

You couldn’t help the laugh that belted out of you, his words so ridiculous and completely not based in reality. “Oh, sure,” you said, shaking your head, lips still in an amused tilt, “you’re mine, old man.”

Before he could speak, probably say another stupid joke, your hands wrapped around his neck and you pulled him toward you, pressing a soft kiss to his plump lips. 

“I like you like you, okay?” You whispered, sounding incredibly juvenile but twice as heartfelt, your tone wavering and self-conscious. You were bearing your heart on your sleeve here, okay, acknowledging feelings you thought should never come to light. 

His hands came up to your face, gently holding you. “Good thing I like you like you, too.”

ii.

“Cut!” The director called, and you swore you felt your heart drop to the floor. Fuck, you thought, mind racing, what went wrong this time? Was it the kissing, or the hands in the hair?

However, the director came up to you and Cillian and let out an uncharacteristic shriek of delight. “Perfection,” he said simply, bordering on catatonic with how content he was. 

Your shoulders slumped with relief, and you leaned into Cillian, who was subtly dancing his fingers across your thigh. “It’s finished?” you asked, breathless with excitement.

The director nodded. “That was electric, needy, tense, delicious, passionate, so, so passionate,” he continued with a gasp, hands clasping together tightly.  “You are two of the most amazing actors I have ever worked with— you are incredibly talented, so convincing I’d have thought you did sleep together.” 

You preened at his praise, but not without looking up at Cillian, meeting his gaze and barely keeping your expression happy and neutral and not at all warm at the thought of the other night's events. 

As the director went off rambling about the utter masterpiece the movie was to be, Cillian trailed behind you off the set, murmuring lowly in your ear, “I guess practice does make perfect.”

#cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy rpf #cillian murphy x reader smut

[meidiary]

( 📁 ) THINGS THEY DO TO MAKE IT UP TO YOU

synopsis: they can't apologize like normal human beings, so they do their quirky acts to make you forgive them

characters: sanji (shocker), zoro & luffy!

warnings: swearing, (unintentional) angst for luffy..

a/n: my new hobby is making cute character banners oops 🫢 banner inspired by @sixosix <3! happy ending for luffy here !!

☆ whenever you and SANJI have had a fight or disagreement of any sort, he folds first. he is always the first one to give the 'cold-shoulder' act up.

☆ usually, he wouldn't ever stop talking about how much he loves you and how absolutely drop-dead gorgeous you are, but the moment he should talk about all that, he doesn't.

☆ he knows he fucked up.. but he can't bring himself to charm you up like usual.. so- he decides to bake his way out of this problem!

☆ your favorite cake, fruits, drinks, chocolate, and anything you ever mentioned to enjoy will be made and presented to you by your truly apologetic sanji <3

☆ he'd be standing in the kitchen for hours on end. not taking a break because he feels like it's 'his responsibility' to make you forgive him the hard way.

☆ eventually, after being presented more than a month's worth of desserts.. you got worried about the state your charming blonde lover was in.

"not that i forgot our fight.. but you should take a break, sanji.. you've been overworking yourself since this morning!" you tell him, trying your hardest not to sound worried. he gives you an exhausted smile, dropping the cutlery he had in his one hand and the spatula he had in the other one. "you talked to me," he spoke, barely louder than a whisper, before he let out a sigh of relief.

you felt your heart ache, seeing him in his current condition; sweat dripping from his forehead, hands cramped up from all the work he had done, and his apron splattered with a mixture of flower and melted chocolate.

your eyes met his almost immediately, which resulted in him instinctively noticing your sorrowful eyes. "what's wrong, darling? you alright?" he dusts his hands off with the kitchen towel before making his way to you swiftly. "my love why are you giving me your sad puppy eyes right now?" he chuckles as he cups your face in his cold hands, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs.

"because you overworked yourself because of me.. your hands are all cramped up because i was too stubborn to forgive you right away! i don't deserve you sanji.." he gasps, almost offended. "now that is the bullest crap i've ever heard. darling, i've gone way longer with way more pressure on me to complete dishes for a full-house back at baratie." he chuckles yet again, this time more relaxed. "what i did today was a mere exercise to make sure i was still able to perform under some pressure," a big smile growing on his face.

"sweetheart, if anything i don't deserve you.. i'm sorry for upsetting you earlier.. i was deep in the wrong, yet i'm only apologizing now. forgive me, my love." sanji gives kisses your forehead while grabbing your hands, interlocking them with his. "then let's say we're even now.." you two make up and after forcing sanji to let you help clean up the kitchen, you do just that.

☆ sanji tells you he won't 'bake his way out of a fight' anymore, but knowing him, you didn't believe that statement one bit. you told him to "just make sure you don't overwork yourself anymore.. wouldn't want your pretty hands to hurt.." ~ which ended with him teasing you the whole afternoon.. "you think i have pretty hands~? how very endearing, my love."

☆ now anytime you and ZORO fight, with him being in the wrong, his pride always gets in the way of him owning up to his shit and apologizing. that's all you need from him, an apology. you don't expect him to bake you desserts or write you a poem declaring his live for you, no you just want an apology that isn't forced out of zoro by sanji or nami, or even usopp!

☆ you ignore him because he messed up big time and won't even acknowledge it? ha, child's play, he ignores you. you don't even know how this petty fight escalated so far that both of you haven't talked for a good couple days.

☆ usopp is basically begging you two to make up. considering he had been forced given the role to communicate things between the two of you. zoro needed to clean his sword but didn't know which cleaning agent to use, because you always gave him the right cleaning agent? ⟶ usopp is sent to you asking you which cleaning agent is best to clean zoro's swords with. receiving the dirtiest glance from you, you tell him to tell zoro "he should pay attention more to what others say, instead of staring at his reflection off of his sword 24/7!" ⟶ usopp goes to zoro and delivers the message. zoro scoffs and chuckles lightly before angrily giving usopp yet another message to deliver to you. ⟶ after a while usopp started hiding from the both of you, not wanting to get sent to other anymore.

☆ nami is on your side, of course, sending dirty glances to zoro any chance she gets. she doesn't give him the silent treatment, but instead aggressively tries to let him acknowledge his faults so he could own up to his shit and just apologize!

"y'know zoro, i'm not even in this relationship, yet your ego still somehow found a way to suffocate me! fucking realize you've been acting like a child and just own up to the fact that you messed up, damn it." nami blurts out, all in one breath, before she walks off annoyed.

zoro let's out yet another scuff before sanji makes his way to the moss head. "don't you even start-" zoro sends him an angry glance which has sanji raising his hands in defense, chuckling slightly. "i just can't stand seeing my beloved y/n in distress like this. i don't know the details, i don't want to know the details. all i know is that if you don't want to lose her, i'd act fast if i were you.." he just as quickly turned away and resumed his kitchen activities.

out of all the things the crew told him, hoping to convince the stubborn moss head to apologize to you, this stuck with him for the rest of the day.

after having a rather silent diner with the crew, the same as the past few days, you finished first, leaving the table immediately. "thank you, sanji, the soup was delicious, as expected," you tried to smile at him which resulted in your lips becoming a wobbly line.

"anytime, darling, i'm glad you enjoyed.." sanji noticed your sorrowful expression, as did the rest of the crew. you sent him a forced smile again before leaving the kitchen, heading for your and nami's room.

zoro sighed before standing up from his spot, leaving the kitchen to follow you. reaching your room's door, he notices you locked it. "hey! open the door," zoro leans against the handle, his forehead against the door. "come on now, just open the door for me baby.." his voice softens, realizing how fucking stupid he's been acting, neglecting you in so many ways. "listen.. i'm sorry for being such an ass- you didn't deserve my shitty attitude, i shouldn't have acted so stubborn, i'm sorry. i- i just can't lose you okay? please open the door and talk to me, yell at me, scream your lungs out, just please let me see you baby.. " with that he balled his hand that was leaning on the door into a fist, remorse dripping out of his mouth as he finally realizes how wrong he has been acting, how bad he's been treating you, how much more you deserved.

what surprised him was that the moment you opened the door, you weren't carrying an annoyed expression. no, your eyes were teary, your upper lip was trembling, cheeks a red shade, and your eyebrows furrowed. "h-hey, don't cry now.." zoro wrapped his arms around you, whispering endearments into your ear whilst caressing your back.

you two ended up cuddling on you small framed bed, that barely kept the two of you on it. not a word communicated between the two of you. just you laying on his chest, playing with his fingers while his chin rests on top of your head, still caressing your back.

"i'll do better for you.." zoro breaks the silent, planting a kiss on your head. "i can't lose you, i won't lose you.." you look up at his last statement, putting your hand on his cheek. "you won't lose me.. you'll never lose me."

☆ yeah, fights with this man sure are extreme.. but you two make it work

☆ every once in a while, on a full moon, you and LUFFY experience a disagreement lead to a big fight. of course your relationship isn't always all rainbows and butterflies. but considering luffy's nature of not taking most things serious, lots of fights were prevented. you thought luffy was flirting with a waitress when you left? he laughed so hard, getting cramps in his stomach, because he thought it was the most stupid thing ever that you believed he would flirt with someone other than you. he made you feel ridiculous, thinking of such a thing! ⟶ fight prevented!

☆but sometimes, this very nature of his was what lead to some of the most dreadful moments of your life.

☆ anytime such an event would take place, luffy would be the furthest away from it, the furthest away from you.. it's not that he's angry at you, per se. he just needs his time alone to review all his actions leading up to the fight that may have caused for it to get this big. most of the time he'll be dozing off, too tired to look back on his actions. he doesn't even know himself why he always ends up avoiding you for a couple hours after a fight. all he knows is that he, somehow, always ends up understanding what went wrong between the two of you.

☆ but this routine action of his doesn't always receive a positive reaction from you..

there he went, yet again, neglecting his responsibility in this fight. it was petty, you knew it was, still you wanted him to own up to it! it wasn't fair that he'd leave you shaking, crying, screaming at the top of your lungs, out of nowhere. you were talking, well actually arguing, about how luffy had been avoiding you lately, how he'd turn around once he'd see you, sit at the other side of the table, leave the room the second he saw you enter it, but what hurt the most was that he'd shake off your touches..

you finally confronted him about this, not wanting to bottle up your emotions any longer. luffy reacted as usual, disregarding the issue jokingly, he assured, "it's not a big deal~ you're just seeing things." and then you snapped, everything you bottled up 'till this moment, unleashed. you were a sobbing mess. he had never seen you in this state, shit even you have never seen yourself like this.

you asked him what happened, what you did wrongfully. why was he ignoring you? why did he act like he was allergic to your touches, your voice, your conversations, to you? why all of a sudden? what changed between you? you wanted, no, needed him to answer; you hoped he would realize how stupid he was acting, how neglecting he had been. you needed him to take you in his arms and assure you he still loved you, that he still cared, that he always will..

as if all your sobs were disregarded. instead of talking to you, he stood up wordlessly and walked out of your room, gently closing the door behind him. which resulted in your cries escalating as you tried muffling your sounds with a pillow.

where did he go? why did he leave all of a sudden? does he not care about you? all of these thoughts were racing in your mind, overwhelming you to the point you were gasping for air. at this point, nami came sprinting to your shared room, worried about your condition. "what did that boy do?!" she questions with a mix of distress and anger.

all the while, luffy was sat on the figurehead of the going merry, the sheep. he was enjoying the cold breeze as he kept breathing in and out, trying to understand what had just happened. he soon realized he walked out on you the moment you needed him most. and oh how it should've hurt him, how his heart should be aching right now. instead, he feels nothing except the subtle chilly breeze flowing against his skin, through his hair, moving his flip-flops. he knows he should care, he knows he should run back to you, embrace you in his arms, and tell you he loves you. but he doesn't because as much as he wants you to feel loved and cared for, he can't be the one to make you feel that way. it's not fair to you, you deserve someone that means it when he tells you he loves you and always will be there for you.

he can't put on this facade anymore. he stopped caring a while back, but he believed it to be a decent thing to have you believe he was still the guy that would comfort you when you had a nightmare, the guy that would give you his last piece of meat to show you he cares, the guy that would cuddle you to sleep whenever it was too cold..

he thought it'd be easier for you. oh, how it turned out to be quite the opposite. because he faked your relationship this long, and it had come to an end like this; you didn't only lose your lover tonight, you lost your friend.

MEI'S NOTE: uhm.. yeah idk what happened at luffy's part- but I hope you enjoyed ☺️💓

#one piece #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader #luffy x reader #sanji x reader #zoro x reader #x reader #sanji x you #vinsmoke sanji #one piece sanji #sanji #luffy x you #one piece luffy #monkey d. luffy #luffy #straw hat pirates #straw hat luffy #zoro x you #one piece zoro #roronoa zoro #zoro #op x reader #op x you #op x y/n #fluff #angst

[spencereidluver]

A is for About Time

summary: You’re paired up with Spencer on a mostly physiological case… He’s impressed with how many of his obscure references you understand and how you’re able to carry on conversations with him unlike anyone else.

word count: 1.3k

warnings: details of a case: strangulation, blood writing

“y/n and Reid, I need you to stay here at the station while the rest of us go search the area.” Hotch said, handing you and Spencer each a file. “There’s information about the case in here. The PD thinks we’re dealing with someone who is able to outsmart that of the normal man. We need both of your heads on this. Got it?”

You and Spencer both nodded. You were smart, no denying it, but you know he knows everything you know times two.

You’ve only been in the BAU six months, but you’d only need to know Spencer two minutes to know just how intelligent he is. You don’t quite understand why Hotch wants you to stay back on this case with him, but who are you to deny the man.

You and Spencer take the Manila folders and make your ways to the conference room. He does a little jog to catch up with you. “You know, I’ve never had anyone else stay back with me on cases like these.” He says as he slows his step to match yours.

“Yeah, we’ll maybe you’ve never had anyone quite on your level Dr. Reid.” you joke as you pull the glass door open. There’s a bulletin board with photos from the case. You see Spencer grimace at them out of your peripheral. No matter how many cases you go on, this is one thing that will never be easy for anyone in this job.

Spencer sprawls out his folder on the half-circle-shaped wooden table in the center of the small office. The first image is a photo from the crime scene. It’s a white brick wall with blood writing, it reads:

“in this moment, she was mine, mine, fair, perfectly pure and good”

“It’s a poem.” He says. “Porphyria’s Lover.”

You interrupt him, “a mid 1800’s poem written by Robert Browning.”

“You’ve heard of it?”

“A poem in which a beautiful woman’s lover strangles her with her own hair? Yeah I’ve heard of it.”

He flips through a few more pages in the folder. They’re all just copies of what’s on the bulletin. You’re not too sure why you were each given folders containing the same pictures, but I guess consistency is key in this job.

“I never took you as an 1800s poem freak, y/n.” He says with a smile that you can’t quite tell the intention behind.

“Maybe you’re not as many levels ahead of me as you thought, Dr. Reid.”

_____

It’s only day two of the case, but between stupid jokes and bonding over old literature, there’s only one thing you cannot seem to pinpoint the reasoning for. And probably the only way you’ll be able to directly connect to the unsub.

He’s working off a dating app. He searches for women who meet his physical criteria, then stalks them until he’s able to pounce. Smart guy. Very smart guy.

“The one thing I just cannot understand is why if the poem he’s working off of is so keen on blonde hair, why have only half of our victims been blondes?” Spencer says, reading through a print-out of the original poem.

“Maybe the women with brown hair were just more available?” You say, not sure if you believe it.

Spencer takes a sip of his coffee. “No, a man like this would want blondes. He’s working of the exact motive of the poem.”

“And he must have a lot of time with his victims to be able to strangle them with their hair.”

You and Spencer spend hours reading over the poem and investigating that photos. Hotch comes back to the station to bring photos from yet another crime scene. Another blonde. If anything, that takes you further from figuring him out, messing up the blonde-brown-blonde-brown victim order.

“There’s no way he’s picking these victims at random. He’d have to spend far too long watching them to know their work schedule to be able to get into their apartments.” Hotch says. “I need you guys to further analyze the poem. It could have the key and hopefully we can find him before he strikes again.”

You and Spencer spend a further hour and a half looking over and annotating the poem. You’re both about to give up on the poem when you notice something: the rhyme scheme.

“A-B-A-B-B,” you think outloud.

“What?” Spencer is confused.

“The rhyme scheme, Spencer. It’s A-B-A-B-B. Auburn-Blonde-Auburn-Blonde-Blonde. That has to be it!”

“So he’ll go back to the beginning. He’s looking for his next victim with auburn hair, just like Julia Dempsey and Katie Flanagan. Nice catch, y/n. We’ve gotta call Hotch.”

He pulls out his phone and dials the eight digits quickly. He fills in Hotch on the info you find as you email over to Garcia. It’s only a matter of time before Morgan and Hotch move in on the man, Garcia finding him from a simple categorical search of dating profile preferences.

_____

You’re sat on the jet next to Spencer on your way home. You’re going on about old literature and artifacts pertaining to them. No one else understands a word either of you are saying, but they’re rather in awe of how the two of you are able to bounce off each other and carry on about, what to them, is utter nonsense.

It’s late. Early. Well, both. 2:47 AM. You’re leaned with your elbow on the table and your head in your hand looking and Spencer as he recites an old poem from memory. His voice is calm and warm. JJ and Emily are asleep in the booths next to you, Hotch minding his own in the back, and Rossi and Morgan make small talk a little closer to the front.

“y/n?” You hear your name being whispered.

You hum in response, opening your eyes to see a wide-eyed Spencer looking at you.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.” He says.

“It’s okay. I’m kinda glad you did, my neck would be sore when we land.”

“We’re still three hours from Virginia. Think you can make it that long?”

“Hell no, I’m exhausted.” You try cross your arms on the table, laying your head in them as you try to get comfortable.

“That position may feel better on your neck, but it’ll do a number on your back in record time.”

“Well, Spencer, there’s only so much room to work with on this jet.”

“I can move so you can lay in the seat if you’d like. But that could also hurt your neck considering you’ll be lying flat and have no incline.”

“Well then why don’t you tell me the most comfortable position and let me sleep in peace.”

“Studies show the best position for sleeping without a pillow is leaning against a wall or something of an upright nature. But there are no walls to lean up against, so you’re pretty much out of luck there y/n.”

He shifts in his seat, reaching for the blanket behind him. He tosses it at you and settles back down. He sips from his coffee. No wonder he’s not going to sleep, he drinks coffee 15 out of the 24 hours in a day.

You scoot a bit closer to him, wrapping the blanket around yourself. You tip your head forward, groaning. Tiredness overcomes you more than it already has, making it near impossible to even keep your eyes open.

“Hey, Spence…” You look up at him. His head tilts down to meet your gaze, flattening his lips in form of response. “Can I…” You let your sentence fade out, pushing yourself closer to him.

He softens his voice. “Hmm?”

Before he can even finish his hum your head has slumped on his shoulder and you’re already falling unconscious on him. You feel him reach his arm around you- pulling the blanket up- you assume. He does that, but his arm never leaves. His head flops gently on top of yours, his one unruly waft of hair falling over his face. You could stay like this forever.

“It’s about time those two realize how similar they are.” You hear Rossi’s gravely voice say.

And just like that, you’re asleep, in what is probably the most comfortable you’ve ever been in your life.

_____

next chapter: b is for Boy Genius

_____

a/n: hiii! i really hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Chapter 2 will be released tomorrow! Sorry if this one was a little boring, I promise the next chapter is more interesting. Im just trying to set up the story a little before we get into it!

#spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x bau!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader

[courtingchaos]

I’ve been thinking about eddie who’s in the early pre relationship stages with you. but in his mind he’s married to you he’s been pining after you for so long. he doesn’t want to scare you though so he’s pumping the breaks and trying to take things slow.

you’re spending the night at his and he’s managed to keep enough distance from you that he deems respectful in his courtship of you. but when he wakes it’s to your hand high on his thigh, and you’re out for the count. and he’s hard as a rock and needs to move you before you wake up and see what state he’s in.

not wanting to wake you and alert you to his issue he thinks on his feet and decides he has to become soft asap, then he can move you. then if you wake up it’s not going to be to him feeling like a complete pervert.

so he’s reciting his favourite passages from all of the books he’s read.

only it’s not doing much. the pretty girl in his bed is winning this round.

he starts reciting them backwards to increase the difficulty and hopefully distract the ache away. but in his ingenuity to up the anti he’s inadvertently made it so tough that he’s now whisper shouting the words out loud. waking you. eddie still hard as a rock reciting poetry in a wicked order that makes no sense to man nor beast, is stopped abruptly in his tracks, gasping at the feel of your palm squeezing the meat of his inner thigh. Mortified and yet. Still painfully erect with no hope of going down anytime soon

sorry to vomit this at you but it seemed like fate that you’d asked for a request (this is far too long and detailed I’m sorry) and I was thinking about this at the same time

1. Don’t apologize, you’ve struck gold. You have not dug too greedily nor too deep.

2. You’ve written this really well so I could just post this with a bunch of reactions under it but, if you’ll allow me to expand upon this.

Picture this with me okay? He’s reciting Jabberwocky to himself. It’s a nonsense poem. He had an English teacher once give out a project for them to learn and recite a poem and of course he chose this. It has fun words in it like vorpal and borogoves. It’s become one of his bits actually when he’s trying to command a room.

“Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:”

Everyone will sigh. Jeff and Gareth and Frank will drop their heads onto their desks or over the backs of their chairs in long groans. Dustin still thinks it’s fun, he hasn’t gotten tired of it yet, and Mike likes it he just won’t admit it. Eddie loves it though, likes the way slithy toves slides off his tongue when he puts on that creaking voice he uses for warlocks durning games.

Now though he mumbles it to himself in the dark, his ludicrous attempt at bringing down his mood. Something had woken him at the witching hour, 3:07 shining a bright green from across his room. He wasn’t cold, his window shut against the chill earlier when you’d come over. He wasn’t overheated, quite content with you softly cuddled up next to him. No itch or ill folded sheet causing him discomfort. He had seven solid minutes of waking, a few he spared to revel in the heat of you lying next to him. To feel your shoulder lying on his as you pressed your face into his pillow. Your knee bent up and almost over his own and your hand planted firmly on his thigh.

Oh. That.

Those fingers he liked to twirl around his own and lick salt off of when you were done with your fries? Those fingers were under the hem of his boxers and a very much pressing into the meat of his thigh. You don’t move except to breathe but all he can focus on is that hand literal inches from his dick. The dick he’d kept in check for weeks now in the hopes he wouldn’t chase you away with the absolute need he felt. Kind of like right now where it lays heavy and hot against his thigh just like your hand.

So Jabberwocky it is.

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

But in the dark with a hard on, slithy toves makes him chuckle. Almost full on giggle and he slaps a hand over his mouth to keep himself quiet. Slithy toves sounds like a euphemism for pussy and he can’t help the huffs of laughter pushed through his nose. He looks down in the hopes that this has distracted his dick but apparently laughter makes him harder and he files that away to look into at a later date. Borogoves floats through his brain and he immediately thinks about giving your boobs a new nickname and he has to put a foot down for himself.

Next verse.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

The frumious Bandersnatch!”

Bandersnatch has to be a euphemism, there’s no goddamn way, it has the word snatch in it. He rolls his eyes and before he can sigh you shift beside him in your sleep, closer with your nose in his curls on his pillow and that soft hand he’s thought about when his own is too boring in the shower scoots another inch closer to the problem.

Maybe if he whispers it out loud?

“He took his vorpal sword in hand;-”

Absolutely not. Nope. New plan when he feels your sleeping breath across the front of his throat. It ghosts over his adams apple and all he can think about is your lips on his neck last week and how he’d pulled at his hair after you’d left just because it drove him insane.

Maybe if he recited it backwards it would confuse him enough all the blood would need to race back up into his brain.

“Outgrabe…raths…the-no…mome the and…” He’s squinting hard in the dark, reading invisible words on the ceiling in this new attempt to circumvent disaster.

“Borogoves…ha. Damn it. Borogoves…the were…mimsy all.” A headache is all this is giving him but for a moment he’s forgotten your hand and where it was. He’s searching the next line in his head and trying to jumble it so it isn’t so halting in the early morning quiet.

“Wabe the in gimble and gyer did!” He almost claps his hands when he makes it through without pause but he stops himself for fear of waking you up. Instead he spends 20 minutes working his way backwards through his poem, whispering to the night about the Jabberwock.

O frabjous day indeed when he realizes his dick is half soft now, not such a nuisance and a terror after he’s distracted himself. He thinks about waking you gently, a hand brushing your hair away from your face or running lightly over your leg but then you move. You move of your own accord and hook your leg over his. Kneecap bumping your hand higher and if he breathed wrong right this second you’d be brushing fingertips over his balls.

“And, as in uffish thought he stood,

The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,”

He mutters without whisper. It’s not full volume speaking but he really doesn’t want you to wake up and find him hard and awake with your hand shoved up his shorts. As much as he would really love to feel your hands on him like that he’s been trying his best to be gentlemanly. Only necking on your timetable when you steal him away to a quiet corner. A little over the pants stuff, heavy petting but you’ve never pushed it and it won’t make you uncomfortable, no matter what his dick wants him to do.

“Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

And burbled as it came!”

Eddie sighs. “Jesus Christ.”

“Hm?” You hum at him. A high note in the back of your throat that has him whipping his head to see you stirring. Adjusting to your side and dra-a-agging that hand. He doesn’t know what to do as you come around and blink up at him in the dark. He can see the edges of your expression from the light filtering in from outside, smooth brow and faint smile until it isn’t.

“Di’ yousay sumthin’?” Slurred against his shoulder where your mouth is pressed.

“Uh, kind of.”

“You okay?” You press up against him, your pelvis into his hip and he’s about to be caught. There’s no way you aren’t going to notice the outline in his boxers or the way he’s gotta be sweating gallons just in nerves.

“I…yeah?”

“What’s the ma-” You shift to prop yourself up so you can sleepily inspect him and he wants to subsequently die and sigh happily when your hand meets trouble. “Oh.”

Oh. Oh? Oh yeah, no big deal, it’s just his dick showing up to ruin the party like the world’s worst frat guy. “Look, I was trying to make it go away and I-“

“Why?” Having just woken up your voice is soft in a deep way. Scratchy from dry air but it fits the mussed hair and the rucked up t-shirt you have on. His gaze falls on the sliver of stomach that you’re showing off between the covers and he’s having a hard time coming up with an answer.

“Why?”

“Is there an echo in here?” You laugh and slide your palm over his stomach that tenses. “Yeah, why.” Your pinky catches the hem of his thin shirt and pulls it up to reveal his own section of underbelly. “We’re alone right?”

“Y-yeah.” It comes out like a hiss though because your nails scratch across that newly revealed skin and right over the trail of hairs below his belly button. “We don’t have to do anything.”

“I know.”

“I just don’t uh, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

Your fingers move back and forth over his stomach before you let them dip back down to the waistband of his boxers, fingertip seeking under the elastic ever so slightly. “You’ve been very patient Eddie.” The rings on your hand are body warm but hold a child to them when they glide over skin. “I think we just had a little misunderstanding at first though.” Fingers comb through wiry hairs on their search for their prize. “I’ve been trying to do this since you asked me out, but I thought you wanted to wait.”

“Oh my god, no. I mean yes, because I thought that’s what you wanted but I read into things too much sometimes bec-ause fuck.” He was running his mouth but then you’d grabbed him. Wrapped that dreamy hand around his cock and sighed into his cheek like you were the one experiencing earth shattering euphoria.

“Eddie I’ve wanted to do this for months.” A slow tug to the tip and you do something with your fingers that makes his mouth hang open in a silent plea. Another twist before you run your thumb over his slit and he grabs your wrist.

“This is gonna be over so quick if you keep that up.”

“Well that’s not so bad, I was still a little tired.” Highlights pick up the line of your lips and that sleepy smile that’s all for him. Heavy lashes flutter when he lets you go and shoves his shorts down to give you room to work. “You can get me back when we wake up.”

He throbs in your grasp at the promised idea of getting you back and all that entails. He can’t help himself but think of wet and warm places while your hand moves in languid strokes. Hot puffs of air across his chest where you lay your head to watch and then he’s watching you watching yourself and falling into a vortex of horniness. He wants to weave his fingers into your hair for some reason. Wants to feel the softness between his fingers while you rub velvet skin through your own.

“Eddie?” You pant into his shirt, lips catching and dragging on the cotton.

“Yeah?”

“What were you reciting?”

It almost pulls him out of his pleasure it’s jars him so. Briefly he thinks about lying and saying Shakespeare but you’re already giving him a 3 am handjob so he thinks he might not have to fib. “Jabberwocky.”

“Alice in Wonderland?” Your hand leaves his cock suddenly but he doesn’t get to whine about it before he’s whining about you licking your palm and getting back to work. He nods above you like you could see him but it earns him a chuckle from you and a stray few fingers that tug at his balls.

“God damnit yes.” He does push his hand into your hair then, the other fisting into the sheets beside him. You make a passing remark about reciting it then but he honestly might not even know his own name. The way his legs move restlessly against the bed and his fingers grip into your scalp. The damp slide of your palm over the head of his cock, the twisting motion you keep doing, it’s all rocketing him towards his finish. The burn of it in his belly clouding his senses and making him buck his hips up into your touch. The air of your breath keeps breezing over his overheated skin and your panting laughs are shoving him closer and closer until he’s squeezing his eyes shut and going stiff.

Warm lines splash up his stomach and he knows in a minute or two he’ll feel shame unmatched by man heretofore known but right now he couldn’t care. Soft hands drag him through the aftershocks while you make praiseworthy noises into his chest. You coo at him for a job well done and he can feel the heat rise on his cheeks. Sitting up again to look back at him your drag a finger through the mess he made and when you take three seconds to inspect it he doesn’t expect you to bring it to your lips.

“I-“ He what? What can he say while he watches you suck on your index finger like he does? When a slick grin hooks the corner of your mouth up into something devilish and he has an awakening at almost 4 am.

“How was that, huh? Glad we got that over with?” You drop your cheek to your shoulder to give him a smolder but Eddie needs to taste your lips after you’ve tasted him. It’s a need not a want so he rushes you, pushes you back into the bed and gets his mess everywhere but it doesn’t matter. He kisses you deep until you both have to come up for air and then he’s peppering your neck in them until your giggling is too much.

He uses his shirt to wipe himself off, promising a shower in the morning, and pulls both of you under the covers to conspire in the afterglow.

“Do you think reading that poem is gonna Pavlov you now?”

“How so?”

“I mean,” your laugh cuts into your explanation, “slithy toves kind of sounds like a name for-“

“Pussy! I know!” He laughs with you. “And Bandersnatch!”

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson Fic #Eddie Munson Smut #Eddie Munson x Reader #My Fic

[kaicubus]

Distraction | Xavier T.

warnings ✩° : mutual pining, angry(?) confession, teasing, competition, cursing, rivals to lovers, both reader and xavier are 17-18 years old, fluff but also a tad spice.

pairing ✩° : xavier thorpe x fem!reader

premise ✩° :  on the day of the annual poe cup, you're put against your academic rival, xavier thorpe, and you don't want to lose. however, he has other plans of  getting the upper hand with you and knows exactly how to get his way. hes knocking out two birds with one stone, if you will.  

word count ✩° : 3.4k

authors note ✩° : this was done in literally a few hours bc i’m obsessed and it needs to be addressed.

The rules were simple.

They always have been. Follow what the people in charge told you and don't disappoint. If you disappoint them then you disappoint the whole community and what good are you if you're a disappointment. It was hard not to see school, ground zero for being the best, as a competition. In fact, you thrived working towards a goal of being superior than everyone else; maybe it was due to the fact that no matter what was put in front of you, you could understand it and write it off as done as soon as you wrote your name. However, there were some things you didn't get at times and that frustrated you.

Over the time you’ve known him, it’s been test after test, assignment after assignment, obscure experiment after obscure experiment to prove to this seemingly effortlessly perfect creature that you’re better than him, only for you to miss his mark by one. point.

“Maybe you should think less about being better than me and more about the material, Y/n.” Xavier would say, “But don’t worry, you ALMOST got the same score as me.”

It wasn't his snarky comments or obviously stronger memory than you that made you over the top angry, no, it was the fact that you couldn't understand how he was doing it. Nothing made sense and the feeling of not knowing made looking into his stupid hazel eyes, gazing at his sharp and defined side profile, and wispy long hair all the more annoying. Everything has to have answers. So why did he make your throat tighten every time you spoke to him? Or your face flush with dark shades of pink and red? It had to be anger. There was no other explanation.

All of the rivalry would eventually lead you both up to the annual Poe Cup. A boat race amongst four teams, five members from each house all stuck together on their respective hand crafted boats each representing a different Edgar Allen Poe poem.

You're on The Black Cat team while Xavier’s on The Amontillado team. For a whole week you spend with your team, preparing for the race and to utterly destroy Xavier because this will finally prove to yourself that you’re good at him at something.

“You ready to beat the shit out of Xavier, Y/n?” Your friend who knows your rivalry with the guy smiles at you, “Once WE have that cup he has to realize that all he is to you, is dirt.” She was right.

“Relax, F/n, why ruin my chances with excitement when I can take all of that and shove it in his face at the very end.”

Your other team mate taps you both on your shoulders, “You guys ready? It’s almost time.” With that, you watch everyone file into their boats, Xavier included, and so you and your friend make your way into your own seats. However, just before you adjust your headband on your head, you decide to catch a glimpse of the destined losers on each side of you. Though no one else is important right now other than seeing him, so you give a side eyed glance in Xavier’s direction.

To your surprise, not only is he already looking at you, but, “Is he laughing at me?”

Your friend looks towards Xavier as well and scoffs, “Yeah,” She confirms, “Looks like they all are. Fucking clowns.”

As you chew on the inside of your cheek out of anger, a sudden whistle blows from Ms. Weems accompanied by a large megaphone that amplifies her voice as she speaks.

You can tell out of the corner of your eye that ever since your friend had rudely thrusted her middle finger into the sky for all the jesters to see, Xavier hadn't stopped looking at you. His eyes, laser focused, burned into the side of your head and it only made you more anxious for the race. You bite your lip ever so slightly and fight back the urge to look at him too.

Thankfully, you're saved by a gunshot that explodes into the air and suddenly your team gets pushed into the water.

Of all things, why should you be thinking about Xavier Thorpe and what he has to say or look at you for? All this time, you've convinced yourself that you could care less what he thinks of you. After all, the reason you're trying so hard to be better than him is the very reason that motivates you every day to get up and face him. Otherwise, you'd be locked away in your dorm with nothing to do but attend class and repeat the cycle. In a way, he was your reason to wake up.

“Y/N! Duck!” Your friend suddenly snaps you out of your mechanical like motions of rowing as hard as possible. Wasting no time, you dodge the flying axe coming your way by a hair. “What the hell?! Y/n, focus!”

“I am focused, F/n.”

“No, you're not. You got that lost look in your eyes. Stop thinking about Xavier and maybe pay attention to all the objects being thrown around at us? So you don't die, and most importantly, so we can win this for our hall?”

For the rest of the distance from the starting line to the other end of the lake, you try not to look behind you as looking behind you would only distract you from the prize. All of your team puts in their all in rowing as fast as they can together in sync, each arm pushing at the exact same second as everyone else to really glide through the water. Despite nets being tossed, siren students diving under boats and tipping them over, and very small fire crackers being thrown into other boats, three teams are left remaining to the next stage of the race. Getting the flag.

“Go go go!” F/n pushes you up, “Get the black flag. We’ll be waiting here to look out for anybody.”

Not wanting to waste anymore time, you nod and start sprinting directly into the old, creaky forest. Dry leaves crunch under your feet in threes, making their crinkles the only noise in the entire forest. That’s good, you think, that means no one else came yet. Quickly jumping over logs and rocks, you make your way to the flag destination, only to see that your black flag is missing.

“What the—”

“Hey,” a voice calls out from behind you, “Looking for something?”

The cheesy line doesn't go without an eye roll as you turn around, “Xavier.”

“You don't seem too happy to see me.” Your rival stands with a shit eating grin on his face, comically extenuated with crimson, drippy paint.

You're quick to reply, “I'm not. You took my flag which I need to win this. So hand it over, Thorpe.”

He raises his hands and allows you to charge up to him just close enough so that you're barely touching the tips of his pointed shoes with your jet black boots. “What? Who says I have your flag? I JUST got here in case you hadn't noticed.”

“I actually haven't noticed. Because why would I stop to care about where you are?”

“You seemed to care when we first started.” Xavier leans down and twists his head slightly, just enough for you to be caught off guard and step back, “I saw you looking at me.” His tone makes you shrink back.

Heat rushes to your face in a fleeting panic and almost immediately, your chest twists your rib cage hard enough to squeak out, “I WASN'T LOOKING AT YOU! YOU were looking at ME!”

Xavier raises his brows and chuckles, “I remember differently.”

Of course he has to be cocky now. “Look, Xavier. Just forget this and let me go. Your gross sweat is getting all over me.”

“Oh is that so?”

“YESNOWLETGO.”

He snickers at your flustered nature but decides to go the extra mile and tease you further, “You do realize that we all have to get back, Y/n, its kinda the whole reason why we made it here. Though it looks like its just the two of us.” He turns to both of his sides and then directs his attention back to you, “I’d say we have a little time.”

Again, you emphasize, “WE don't have time. Unlike you, I actually WANT to win. Xavier, I don't know what your deal is or why you're so obsessed with me and making me look like a complete and utter fool, but once I win this for my team, it ends. Do you understand me?”

Xavier exhales deeply, “You know, for someone who’s so high strung and smart, you're really dumb, aren't you?”

“What?”

He steps forward, causing you to back into a tree. You can feel the roughness of the tree bark as it etches its way across the backside of your suit, causing a mildly discomforting feeling that shivers throughout your skin. Before you can move forward, Xavier steps closer, basically eliminating any means of escaping.

“Why am I so obsessed with you? Is that what you think this is? Obsession?”

You look up at him to find his naturally tall stature hunched over to be at eye level with you. Surely, if anyone to walk into the scene, they’d think you two were stopping the competition just to make out. Even though Xavier’s hand is firmly pressed just between your ear and shoulder and he was just over an inch close to you so that your noses are barley touching, it’s not like that at all. Yet, at least.

“That’s what I just asked.” Your eyebrows stitch together bitterly, “Can you not hear, clown? You don’t understand how hard it is for me to watch my reputation die because of you and your perfect grades and your perfect art. What makes you think you can just parade yourself around to be better than me?!” The questions leave a burning sensation in your throat.

“Reputation? Grades? Is that what this is about?”

“YES! Are you DENSE?!”

Instead of matching your violent glower, you watch as the clown leans his head to the side in laughter. His lips parting just enough so you can see his sharp teeth laugh at you too, “Y/n, did you just call me dense? What is that? An insult? At least I’m not the one who always scores lower than me.”

Embarrassment? Anger? Nervousness? Why was his laugh the thing to make you feel weak now? Maybe the first two are theories, but the third is a definite fact. Your eyes are quickly drawn in by his hazel pupils, curious and dilated as they stare back at you. For a moment, the silence between you two isnt filled with hate or rivalry, but peace. That is until he lets out a breathy laugh after getting a good look at your calm face for once.

“Y/n, cat got your tongue? Or do you just not have anything else to say to me other than ‘I hate you’ and ‘stop being better than me’?” He points a finger to your feline head accessory.

"Shut up.” You bark, “Dumb isn’t really a good insult either. You are so full of shit—"

Xavier moves closer, now toe to toe with you and just a breath away from your face.

“God, Y/n, cant you see that I like you? All this time I thought it was so obvious. I mean, how are you going to tell people you're the smartest person in the room when you cant even pick up on subtle hints that basically spell it out for you?” He says, “Or are you too busy to notice anyone other than yourself?”

His words cause your heart to pound once, twice, and before you know it you can’t hear anything but the thumping in your chest and the soft winds surrounding you both. Xavier parts his lips again, determined to give you the answers you've been so desperately searching for. 

“Do you know how fucking exhausting it is to pretend I hate you back, just to have the opportunity to talk to you?” His tone is exasperated and shallow, but he doesn't break eye contact with you, “You seriously thought all those times we got close was because I wanted to be ‘better’ than you in some subject?” Almost like he doesn't believe you, Xavier shakes his head in disapproval, “The only time Ive wanted to prove to you I'm worth something is now.”

His confession only fills your head with more questions, “That doesn't even make any sense! How can you say you didn't actually want to be better than me when that's all you did?” You feel the heat saturate into a dark pink that settles into your cheeks, “And why are you telling me all this now? Why are you so adamant on telling me that you—”

Xavier doesn't even acknowledge your questions, he just continues to hold a burning tension between you and him, focusing only on one thing.

Fuck.

Maybe its the fact hes so close, or that he told you hes liked you all this time, but right now it feels like nothings stopping you from telling him too. It just feels so right.

Before you know it, your mouth opens on its own, your bottom lip trembling for just a second. Xavier’s eyes trail down to your lips, then back into your eyes, and a small smirk pulls the corner of his ivory painted skin up.

Without another second to lose, Xavier tilts even closer than he thought he’d ever be to you and cups your cheek, finding the courage you both need to pull you into an unexpected kiss.

The pastiness of your rival’s white face paint rubs against your dewy skin as the taste of him spreads across your pallet, rough, warm, and agonizingly slow. With a gentle hand, you bunch the back of Xavier’s thin yet airy suit and fall into him, curving just enough so he can extend his hold on you.

Xavier knew that he wanted to touch you. It’s basically been his dream ever since he got close to you and seemingly hurdled himself into being your rival. But he’d never admit that. Or maybe, now he would. Gently, Xavier clasps onto your hips more carefully, securely rubbing his fingers against the skin tight latex uniform you were forced to wear which gives him enough grip to hook his desperate palms onto your body.

You break away for a second, just long enough to look at his face and how mesmerized he is by you and just how fucked you are in this downward spiral of messy feelings and requited love. Love you are much too afraid to commit to. But, Xavier pulls you back into his lips and makes you forget all of your worries, even the one you're supposed to be most worried about. 

The kiss practically captures you for what seems like an eternity, erasing all memory of the Poe Cup and time spent hating Xavier's guts only to now realize that that hate may have been fueled by a painfully simple crush. But you wouldn't admit that either. Though, now there’s no other explanation to the methods behind your madness.

Soon enough, your hands find their rightful place in his long, messy hair, scooting his jester cap off easily. Had you known his hair was this soft before? You always told yourself you didn't care but now it was too hypnotizing not to twirl your fingers in. In fact, it’s practically asking you to grab it and play with it, screaming at you to touch it, touch him.

Xavier’s hips press into yours, giving you the go ahead to adjust your position so that your thigh is comfortably resting atop his hip. The stance feels too natural to be normal, and you're both caught off guard by it. Yet, you continue to taste him and feel him up close without another thought.

Nipping at your bottom lip, you can feel Xavier let out a sigh of relief, as if kissing you has been something on his mind for years. Only half of that could be true. Still, his victory cheer makes you do your own version with a quieter huff.

You give the roots of his hair a tight squeeze before your shoulders relax and another sigh escapes from your now open mouth. The force of his lips smashing against yours pushes you back successfully, leaving each part of your body to surrender to his. For once, you let it and as much as you hate to admit it, whatever he was doing was working.

When he finally pulls away, your breath is harsh and so is his. No matter how hard you could try, looking away from his hazy eyes was not an option. Just like the fog around you both, his gaze is inescapable and suffocating. You knew kissing your rival was a bad idea, but neither one of you want to move your hands from their proper places on each other.

Just then, a distant voice calls out to Xavier that snaps you out of your absentmindedness. “Shit,” Xavier curses softly against your lips, “Thanks for that Y/n,” he pulls away, much to your hidden displeasure, “But...I have a cup to win.”

Suddenly, it all comes hurdling back.

“FUCK! THE RACE!” You tear yourself away from Xavier, breaking the warmth between you both, and scramble to find your flag, “YOU CONNIVING SON OF A BITCH. YOU DISTRACTED ME!”

“I hope you don't mind but I actually sort of hid it.” He grins slyly at you, straightening his suit with a swift rub on his chest, “No rules, remember?” He pulls out a flag from behind him and snickers. Has he had that this entire time?

A flash of surging anger fumes inside of your chest, but Xavier just smiles. In his mind, it’s almost laughable how you fell for his devious yet successful confession slash plan. It was too good to pass up. And judging by the sour pout on your face, it worked!

“Y/n,” He chirps, “Was I a good distraction?” He can’t help but ask.

You avoid his gaze and turn your head to other possible directions your flag can be in, “You're the worst, Xavier.”

He runs a hand through his brown hair and smooths it down, “Right, right. You hate me. But I got you pretty good, didn’t I?” He picks up his jester cap and lazily smashes it onto the top of his head, “I'm gonna go, but, you should totally meet me in my dorm tonight? At 8?”

He makes his hasty exit before you can reply, leaving you breathless and weak in the knees—mostly tight fisted and furious, but still, weak in the knees.

“So, Y/n. Do you want to explain why you...left for so long..?” Your teammate asks, kind of scared to ask in the first place but confusion was eating her alive. How fitting.

Instead of answering, you reply with strong and swift robotic motions that quickly thunk your boat along the shore line, taking a good chunk out of the grass and soil. Unfortunately, half way through your synchronized rowing, some water kicked up into the boat and soaked your costume. You didn't care though. All you wanted was Xavier.

And his head on a stick.

Sounds of congratulatory cheers erupt from the crowd as Xavier and the rest of his jester-like teammates hold up the Poe Cup trophy together.

“Bitch.” Is all you can say when all your other teammates wash up next to you, sad, defeated, and soaked with murky lake water.

“Well get them next time, Y/n. Don’t be so hard on yourself!” Your friend smiles happily.

Yeah. Tonight.

#wednesday #wednesday addams #wednesday fanfic #wednesday series #wednesday fic #wednesday xavier #xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe x y/n #xavier thorpe fanfic #wednesday netflix #kaicubus

[thebadboyfanclub]

Together As One (Daemon x Reader)

So this is more a twisted love type of hype, I hope you guys like the way I portrayed this request cause I wanted to give it more of a dark edge since Daemon is definitely a gray character. Hope you enjoy!

Mothers love their children, everyone could agree upon the unconditional love mothers held for their kind with no doubt in their hearts, songs, poems, plays, and any type of art one can think of have attempted to portray such devotion. None, however, could predict that some mothers have a certain type of fear for their child, like some whisper in the back of their heads warning them about the little glimpse in their eyes that was not like the stars but more of a scorching fire threading to burn everything.

That was the exact feeling Rhaenys had for her beloved daughter, the twin sister of Laenor, it would often baffle her how her husband could not see what was clearly there, (y/n) was always in competition with everyone about everything, the finest clothes belonged to her, she had to ride a dragon first, learn Valyrian faster.

Whilst Rhaenys prayed for her daughter's thirst to settle, the others praised her for her bravery, her determination, and her intellect, something that made (y/n) yearn for more.

“I would like to raise a toast to my dear brother, a married man to our future queen, may your wedlock be blessed with numerous children and a road paved with nothing but joy and success, Prince Daemon, hopefully you are next”

(Y/n) stood with a smile of triumph dancing on her lips before she raised her cup to gently take a sip, as she sat down Daemon's eyes followed her, he was well aware of her game, though he seemed unfazed and almost amused by her comment the truth laid somewhere deeper than the surface, not a single soul in this room would have been able to guess that the delighted twin of now future king consort was playing a game of cat and mouse with none other than prince daemon behind closed doors.

(Y/n) had been relentless in her ways to seduce Daemon, sneaking out at all hours of the night, sending people after him so she could know his whereabouts just so she could magically appear, the combination of sweet wine and her alluring voice was enough for Daemon to stumble and fall right on top of her, taking her for a ride to the addictive roads of lust.

She was stunning, flawless, a true Targaryen that screamed opulence and elegance with a face sculpted by the gods, the common folk would gush over the “oceans Angel” a nickname given by the realm for her angelic features, how would they know how dark her mind could get in order to make everyone yield before her?

-

“Mother”

“Dearest, how are you on this fine morrow?”

“I am well, the little one finally decided to let me get some rest”

“When I was pregnant with you I remember thinking you would kick your way out of my belly, the Apple does not fall far from the tree”

(Y/n)s daughter, Leora, leaned as much as she could to kiss her mother's cheek before she sat down next to her to break her fast, queen Alicent had already taken her seat along with her daughter Heleana and (y/n)s other son Elion, Alicent and (y/n) enjoyed each others presence, a mutual bond based on respect had been build over the years that was sealed by marrying Leora with Aegon and Elion with Heleana.

“The maester said you should drink more orange juice, it will help with the fatigue”

“As well as eat more meat, pregnancy is no easy task, you must be as strong as ever”

Alicent chimed, the birth of her second grandchild was one of the most important events, Alicent adored her first grandchild, beautiful Hael, a strong boy who was just now starting to learn how to walk, still, he had everyone wrapped around his finger.

“I appreciate your concerns but I am fine, healthy as a horse”

“It wouldn’t hurt, let us not risk it dearest”

“I thought once I get older I wouldn’t have to listen to my mother”

“Well I am sorry but that will never happen, drink”

(Y/n) had stepped up and appeared as the perfect mother, loving, kind, and caring, she did love her children, however, what she loved most was the things they could do for her, her firstborn daughter was now the wife of the king first born son, and her son was a strong, skill full knight that served the realm and came back in triumph, how could she not adore her perfect creations?

“How is the king?”

“I am afraid his health is decreasing, the maesters advise him to remain abed for the day”

“Rhaenyra will be questioned, he won’t sit this one out I am afraid”

“Ugh the precious Rhaenyra, I wish I could stay in my chambers until those god-forsaken days pass”

(Y/n)s smile was wiped from her face and in an instant it was replaced with an angry scowl, in a split second her hand had grasped her daughter, Leoras' eyes went wide with fear when they met the angry hues of her mothers.

“You mustn’t speak in such a way, I’ve taught you better”

Leora only nodded frantically, (y/n) had her own opinions over Rhaenyra, she however, knew better than to voice them, not even in such a secluded area of the palace, (y/n)s hold turned from forceful to a caress before she directed her eyes back to her friend and queen Alicent.

“Besides, the king will do as he wishes and if the gods bless him with the strength to stand he should be there, isn’t it right Alicent?”

“I couldn’t have phrased it better, my dear”

-

(Y/n) and Alicent were each other's shadows, one compelled the other and in the end one way or the other the result was one of their favor, (y/n) was disciplined and had mastered the act of a gracious and lovely princess, Alicent was strict and slipped under everyone’s nose as she cloaked herself with the act of a pious queen, the two of them had years up on the horse of being able to maneuver their way around the kingdom so the men would not suspect a damn thing.

Viserys had seemed to get worst which made him unable to attend even when Daemon and (y/n) went to his room to assist him, the king could not even sit up let alone walk, Daemon was disheartened, thankfully for him his dutiful and beautiful wife let him rest on her shoulder and like a soothing salve her encouraging words went over his wound of his beloved older brother nearing his end.

“My Love”

“(Y/n)? What- what has happened?”

“I apologize for waking you up my dear, it is your brother”

“Viserys? What about- no”

“My dear husband, you must be strong, I am so sorry”

(Y/n) grasped Daemon's hands tightly before she brought them up to her lips to kiss his knuckles, of course, she was one of the first to know, Alicent had rushed to her chamber and delivered the news herself, she had waited patiently as the king took his last breath, Alicent told no one, not even the maester, (y/n) had to know before anyone.

“Viserys”

Daemon had been taken over by his thoughts, they’ve always had their differences but at the end of the day, they shared the same mother and father, a bond that could never be broken, no matter how many times Daemon has run off he always ended up by Viserys side.

“My love, I understand that this is too much for you, however, we must prepare our daughter”

“What does Elora have to do with this?”

“She is to be queen, she needs her father”

“Queen? Have you gone mad?”

(Y/n) bit her bottom lip in combination with her head tilting to the side, as if nothing but a mere candle lit her face Daemon could still identify the features that he so adored but now he could not wrap his head around what was his wife suggesting.

“My lord husband, King Viserys has left us, it is only natural for his son to succeed him”

“It is expected for his firstborn, Rhaenyra, to do so, not Aegon”

“Where is the princess? But in a place where she could have visited if she wished, when has she even attempted to come and visit her beloved father who was in agony all these years? She only came when her privilege was at risk and then blamed Alicent who has served by the king's side for his illness”

“This is not a matter to discuss”

“But it is, the gods know I loved Viserys and he had been good to me, but let us not forget he killed his first wife in his desperate attempt for a male heir, he remarried and Alicent gave him an heir and a spare and still it was not good enough, he passed by you and his sons to bury his guilt by calling Rhaenyra the heir, it wasn’t because he trusted her or because he saw something in her, he passed the title on to her because he did not trust you and then because he wanted to wash the blood of queen Aemmas from his hands”

Silence fell upon them, (y/n) pulled away from her husband and headed towards the door, as his hand rested upon the handle she turned her head back to lord husband who was visibly shaken, (y/n) might appear disheartened but she could detect that her monologue had started to creep on to Daemons heart.

“I love you with all my heart, that is why I shall leave you to grieve, if you wish to run to her I will…. Understand, it is not like I ever doubted the unconditional love you have for the realm delight, now might be your chance to pursue it”

Her tone was drowning in sorrow leaving Daemon with an unwavering sense of guilt in a dark room as his wife had disappeared to place her hand over a war of fire and blood, (y/n) was correct, Daemon did love Rhaenyra, still, he did not place his flame for her over what he had built with his wife over the years.

(Y/n) walked away with a smile of triumph, she had done her part flawlessly and now she was certain that Daemon would be by her side before the crown was placed on Aegons head, however, she did not have time to waste, Alicent and (y/n) were the ones to wake the new king and queen, preparing them for what they had destined to be.

“You may enter”

“Prince Daemon is asking to see his daughter and wife, alone”

(Y/n) stopped brushing her daughter's head, carefully placing the golden brush down before she looked down at her daughter who nodded in approval.

“Let him in, do not allow anyone to disturb us”

“Right away”

The girl curtsied as quickly as possible before she disappeared only to be replaced by none other than Daemon. (Y/n) took a sharp inhale through her nose once he entered the room, preparing herself for a mental battle, surprisingly when her eyes scanned for his she was met with a certain lightness, an ease to him that caught her by a pleasant surprise.

Instinctively a small smile played on her lips, her Daemon was dressed in his black attire, leather suited him, and his hair was pulled away from his face the way she always told him to do it.

(Y/n) was not made of stone, she might play like she is though her heart skipped a beat every time she was near her lord husband, Daemon was one of the very few people that (y/n) would throw herself in the fire, even though their love felt like the flames licked her back, that sweet pain of admiration and devotion that the poets would sing and the common folk would go mad.

“My dearest loves”

Daemon declared, that their daughter rose from her chair and ran to her father, she was always the one known to succumb to emotions and this time (y/n) could not scold her over it, Leora was her father's daughter, (y/n) might not have spoken over the matter only to allow the young girl the solidarity of her feelings, inside Leora was always waiting for her father to walk through this door.

“You look beautiful, a perfect gown for the queen”

“Father I-“

“Before I handed you over to Aegon I made you a promise, do you remember it?”

“I will do anything to see you happy”

“I will put myself through war if you tell me that this is what you want, all you have to do is say it”

Daemon was no fool, he was certain that the second that crown graced his daughter's head a war would nip their heels, Rhaenyra would not go down without a fight and that meant that Daemon would have to face her in battle, a battle he was willing to put for his lovely Leora.

“I want to be queen, I want Aegon to be our king”

“Very well, I wish you a fruitful reign, may the Gods smile down upon you”

‘May the Gods have mercy on us’ he thought, with a smile he brushed away those dark thoughts only to place a kiss on his daughter's forehead, a small part of him screamed that this was the right thing, his brother never thought he was good enough, now his brother was on the ground and his daughter was crowned queen and would carry on the legacy of the Targaryen name.

“Go on now, I want to have a word with your mother”

“I will be waiting for you”

Leora informed them before she gave them the privacy Daemon desired. (Y/n) stood as still as a statue, her heart pounding on her chest as her throat grew dry and scratchy, she was the master of composure up until now, faced with the only person who could make her waver.

“My beautiful, sweet lady wife, you spoke harshly last night”

“I spoke nothing but the truth”

She threw back in a cold tone. Daemon only smirked as he started to approach her, she did not dare to move, (y/n) was comforted by his light-hearted manner though there was an underlying mischief, Daemon was playing something, and (y/n) was left trying to catch up before it is too late.

Daemon stood before her, his arm finding her forearms and giving them a gentle squeeze, his eyes gazing back at hers with a glimmer that (y/n) had grown to yearn for, she despised the fact that she had to manipulate him like this, she was left with no other choice but to do this, a side of hers cursed the day Rhaenyras and Daemons fates met, this would have been so much easier had (y/n) been the only women Daemon loved.

“You are so bright, I am almost disappointed that you didn’t foresee this”

“The war?”

“No, me, you think I have not caught wind of all the scheming against Rhaenyra? The upbringing of my daughter to become the wife of my brother's firstborn son, putting our son on the sea the minute he was born to have better knowledge of anything driftmark related to gain the favor of your father, every step you so amazingly calculated with Alicent so you can get our family here”

“You have gone mad”

“I saw behind the facade and that makes you nervous, I was there with you every step of the way you mustn’t be frightened, I let you do all this for only one reason”

“Alright, let us entertain this absurd claim of yours, what is the reason?”

“Because I love you”

(Y/n) mouth slightly parted in shock, Daemon had professed his love for her on multiple occasions but the weight on this one was different, he had pulled what she thought was the perfect cover, leaving her bare in front of him, uncovering her thirst that she had kept away from everyone.

“I love you so much that I will let my daughter become the target on Rhaenyras mind, I will go against the woman that you think threatens your position in my heart, I will put myself in the sword before I let her even get one strand of your hair because you and our daughter want this”

“And you don’t? You always held a grudge over the fact that Viserys never declared you as his heir”

“My brother is dead now and because of you our child wishes to be a queen, I picked you as my second wife because I saw your strength, your determination, you need to come on top, that is the Targaryen fire through and through”

“You truly mean all this?”

“You are my lady wife, you gave me a home, now it is time to show the realm that we are the rightful heirs of the throne, together as one”

(Y/n) reached daemons lips for a passionate kiss, his hands slid down to her waist and pulled her as close as humanly possible, sharing this moment meant everything to (y/n), she had him devotedly by her side, he saw her true nature and walked straight into her fire, surrendering in her and even shielding her and her family.

“Let us find out daughter, I want us to be the ones to place the crown on her head”

“I wouldn’t dare let anyone else have that honor”

Requests are open!

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