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yanderenightmare · 7 months

Note

How does Shiggy react to a darling who developed Stockholm Syndrome?

Shigaraki Tomura

TW: NSFW, captive darling, Stockholm Syndrome, ish benevolent sexism

fem reader

You kissed him a little while back.

It was strange, as though you’d forgotten yourself – lost yourself in the heat of the moment. But no, it had been deliberate and long-lasting – earnest and needy even. And had rendered him both speechless and in a panic.

He’d entered the room in a rigid mood and woken you up with a bite to your ass. Pulling your thighs snugly around him with his cock already swole between them – tugging your panties down your thighs while you were still rubbing the sleep from your eyes with a yawn.

You’d learned rather quickly never to fight him. He’d punish you with bitemarks and no food, and ultimately you grew too weak to reject him anyway. So your casual acceptance wasn’t anything new where you patiently awaited getting fucked – lying on your back while looking down at his fat member disappearing inside you with only a tiny moan slipping free from your lips.

You took him obediently as you’d done for a while – without protest. The only difference occurred after he’d twisted the two of you around so you could straddle and ride him. You’d pressed your naked breasts into his chest and taken his face in your hands – gently as you rolled your hips without guidance – and then, right before the kiss, you’d said, so very softly, “I missed you today… it’s boring here without you~”

Your voice was sultry, kissing him tender yet deeply – pouring sweet moans into his mouth while your hands tangled in his hair.

You’d traveled to his neck after, and he came as soon as your tongue licked the scars found there – digging his fingers into the plush of your hips, keeping you seated as he spluttered all his worth inside you.

He’d been in such a state of post-shock that he’d rushed out just after. Leaving you.

Kurogiri had pointed out his blush while he sat at the bar, mulling it over with a bottle of brown in his grip. He shuddered, recurring the feeling – your pillowy wet lips on his, those words leaving your tongue, your hands playing with his hair, pulling him close. His chest felt tight, just as tight as the furrow between his brows.

Dabi sat down a couple of stools away sometime later in the night. Often, Shigaraki would abstain from engaging in conversation with the guy, but really, at least in this case, he was the best choice of any to ask for input. After all, they weren’t all that different. Actually, when it came to basics, they were both pretty similar – same-aged, ugly, and ridden with family issues from scars to fractured memories.

Dabi gave him a dumb look, his brow raised as though to ask what he was staring at after noticing his side-eye.

“You still have the same girl?” He jumped straight to it.

Dabi’s dumb expression turned dumber. Confused, maybe not so much by the question itself but by why the boss was even talking to him. But most emotions are like matches for Dabi, and they burn out before they’re able to light any fires. Soon, the usual sense of disinterest washed over him, and his face eased up into that chronic jaded look.

Shigaraki nearly lost patience, reminded once again why he couldn’t stand the guy – rude as ever and so slow it made his skin itch. But then he gave his answer, “Yeah, I still have her.”

“She difficult?” Shigaraki followed up.

And Dabi took his time once again, hauling out the seconds before offering his answer in a drawl. “No, Stockholm Syndrome kicked in quickly.”

Shigaraki let it settle - Stockholm Syndrome – before looking back at his drink and repeating the thought once again. Stockholm Syndrome.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” He mumbled then.

Dabi sighed, taking a swig of his beer. It was already the third one, but he’d only been sitting there for about half an hour. “Not really…” He disagreed. “Most girls are better survivors.”

It was Shigaraki’s turn to look dumb, looking puzzled as he stared down the barrel to his bottle – in wait of an explanation – almost as though he was under the impression it was the drink who was speaking and not the patch-faced raven-head sitting beside him.

“They learn quickly to accept what will keep them safe, and then, they find solace in whatever they can to maintain their mental health as well…” Said raven-haired guy continued – then he scoffed. “Boys fight until they break. Leaving them a shell of what they once were. But girls don’t have the same pride.”

He swirled his bottle, stove-top blue eyes lazy, looking at the last of his drink storm with waves inside the green glass.

“They leave themselves behind and become someone new.” He offered a dry chuckle, and Shigaraki spotted the unsightly way his staples only barely held the split of his smile together. “It’s actually kind of scary.” He finished before downing the last gulp, setting the bottle down with a bang.

He swung off his stool, shoving his hands down his pockets, and walked away – his back turned.

“If I were you, I’d embrace it, boss. Despite what we try to believe, that shit feels best when it’s given willingly.”

Shigaraki sat there a moment longer. Long enough to get cut off by Kurogiri, who told him drinking anymore would be a bad idea.

When he got back to the room, you were sleeping again.

He stood and stared at you for a moment.

Was this a game you were playing? Was it a joke?

You’d pulled on one of his hoodies. And upon a closer look, you hadn’t showered either…

Strange of you to leave his cum inside you...

But thinking back about it, you hadn’t been so distant with him for a while already. You’d been trivial – conversational – even chirpy, if he could call it that.

Was it like Dabi said? Had you reached your breaking point for loneliness, leaving him to be your only resource? Or had you accepted the circumstances and willed yourself to play along?

He didn’t know, but the doubt stormed an upset in his mind as he lifted the covers and laid down next to you. But despite the exhaustion, the lure of sleep still wasn’t enough to make him close his eyes – he was stuck staring at you, mapping out all those qualities that make up your pretty face.

So deep in his studies, he nearly flinched when your eyes fluttered open.

A small smile graced your lips soon after. “You’re back…” You murmured, eyes softly blinking at him before you scooched closer – shimmying yourself over to him until you were all the way up against his chest, nuzzling your head against his collar with sleepy sounds of comfort. Resting there for a blissful moment before purring out a sweet “Good night~”

But he couldn’t sleep that night. Too busy listening to your soft snores – feeling the clingy way you clutched his cotton T-shirt.

He couldn’t bring himself to touch you either. For a long while – it was as though he was… scared almost. Freaked out by your doting – that way you’d hug him when he entered through the door – placing kisses on places he wasn’t used to – his cheek, his forehead, his neck, his knuckles.

Grabbing his sleeve. “Don’t go, Tomura…” You said once when he had his hand on the doorknob and the key halfway twisted in the lock. “Please… don’t leave.”

His throat went tight. It had been like that for a while – ever since that first kiss, actually, he’d been unable to talk to you – unsure what to say.

But you hadn’t the same issue.

“You haven't touched me in a while…” You continued, taking his hand away from the doorknob in both yours, playing with his fingers – bringing it up to your face – you cuddled it like he’d not threatened you with his touch many many many times before. “Are you bored with me?” You asked instead of the obvious, keeping him at a loss for words. “Or… have I scared you away?”

You? Scared him?

Your lips brushed his fingers as one of your hands made a slow descent – making him jerk with a gasp as it went straight to cup his groin – tender yet firm, giving it a squeeze.

“Is there anything I can do to make you stay?” You said coyly, eyes doe-like but kittenish all the same, with a pouty and small smirk playing on your lips before you bit into them – brows cinching, giving him a flirty pleading expression. “Please, Tomura?” You said his name as though it didn’t belong to him. “It gets so lonely here…” You kissed his palm. “Won’t you give me a proper goodbye, at least?”

#yandere shigaraki #yandere my hero academia #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere shigaraki tomura #yandere shiggy #yandere shigaraki x reader #yandere mha #yandere bnha #shigaraki smut #shigaraki thirst #yandere tomura shigaraki #yandere tomura #tomura smut #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki fanfiction #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki imagine #shigaraki x you #tomura x you

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rreids · 21 days

Text

PROGRESS • S. REID X READER

semi-specific spoilers for 2 x 15 and the aftermath (specifically 3 x 16), hurt-comfort, tiny bit of smut (a handjob), probably incorrect information (mention of arousal being different but similar to adrenaline, i have no idea if this is true and refuse to do research), mentions of marriage, ~1.5k

Spencer was strong. You knew that.

You’d been with him every stop of the way through rehabilitation: through the relapses; held his hand and kissed away his tears as he fought the urges and ideas that he was worthless; told him he was stronger than anything and more resilient and beautiful than anyone you’d ever known.

One of his personal choices in his journey to get clean made sex harder — he was trying to learn how to temper all desire and urges, filter through what he deemed wouldn’t hurt or threaten his sobriety before making any impulsive decisions.

You hadn’t minded, content with the soft kisses and tickle of his eyelashes and beard against your skin as he silently thanks you for your care.

You loved his beautiful mind that ran a million miles a minute far more than you loved the pleasure from his body, and you knew you’d wait forever if that’s what it took. You wouldn’t have even cared if it was off the table.

You just wanted Spencer.

It’d been a few months since he decided to get clean, and as much as seeing him sob and writhe as he convinced himself he wasn’t irredeemable for slipping up crushed you every time, you knew it wasn’t about you.

Today was a hard day for him.

“Spence, baby,” you whisper, wiping his tears as he tells you about a recent case — the victim used, and the amount of himself Spencer saw in her terrified him —, lip quivering. “You’re okay. You have that coin, right? The one John gave you?”

He nods, leaning into your palm. He presses a kiss to your wrist and closes his eyes.

“You’ll get there. But struggling is okay. You know that, don’t you?”

Shuddering sobs wrack his body, breaths catching in ways that twist your heart, and you know he’s trying his best to calm down. “But what if I can’t?”

“You will, Spence,” you promise. “It’s worth it. We both know it. And we both know you’re strong enough to make it through this and come out better on the other side,” you kiss his forehead. “Besides, I’m here right alongside you. I won’t ever leave,”

Spencer sobs again, breathing ragged.

“I promise.” You answer his silent question, and he nods.

“I love you,” Spencer whispers out, voice scratchy. “You know that?”

“Well, out of the two of us, I’m not the one with the eidetic memory…” you trail off playfully, just for a moment, not long enough to make him worry. “I could never forget, baby.”

“I miss you,”

“We live together,”

“Not like that,” Spencer sighs. “I miss touching you. Feeling you.”

“You can have me whenever you want,” you promise him, brushing his curls out of his eyes. He was due for a trim, but you thought it was cute. “I’m yours.”

Spencer sighs, pushing past your hands and dropping his head to your shoulder.

“We go at your pace.”

“And if I think I’m ready?”

“Then we do what you’re comfortable with, and if you tap out, we stop. Your pace.”

Spencer nods, almost determined. It’s cute, and you have to fight back a laugh.

You smile despite your efforts, and the first kiss is more you two grinning against each other than a kiss. He takes the lead and slowly deepens it, careful and awkward like the first time you two ever tried to do more than steal pecks and hold hands.

His muscles are tense under you as you ghost your hands to his shoulders, and you gently work them as you kiss him.

“Are you giving me a massage?” He asks, confused and a little breathless.

“If I have to.” You smile, kissing his nose. “Relax, sweetheart. The second you wanna stop, just tap me two times. Nothing you don’t want.”

“Am I that tense?” Spencer tries to focus on muscles and force them to relax, but he’s too tightly wound.

“Would it be better if I give a massage first?” You ask, leaning down and peppering kisses to the side of his neck down to his collarbone. “Let you chill and then I ask before anything progresses?”

Spencer looks down, cheeks burning, and nods.

You don’t comment. He’s embarrassed enough, and you’re just happy to see him opening back up.

Tobias had left scars beyond the dots — that look more like freckles than any lasting trauma now — on his elbow. Though you suppose that was Tobias’s way of saving him from the worse scars from Rafael and Charles. Semantics. None of it mattered when your pretty boy was aching and worried under you.

“Lay down,” you urge, “take off your shirt if you’re ready. I’ll get your lavender lotion,”

It’s his favorite, a gift from his mom. You don’t tell him that he used up the one she gave him, since you dutifully rebuy and refill sneakily enough he doesn’t notice the volume shifting.

When you come back from the bathroom, he’s shirtless, fingers locked together and bracing his head.

“Gonna sit right above your thighs, sweetheart. Lotion’ll be cold,” you warn, and wait until he nods.

Then you settle and gently work through cords and muscles, slowly, patiently, methodically, a whispered warning and praise with every big move or change in pressure.

He melts under you, soft moans falling from his lips as you release pain he didn’t even know he had.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” Spencer breathes. “Can you… can you kiss me? Before we do anything,”

He’s curled in on himself a little, and you murmur an “of course” as he sits up and tugs the blanket over his chest. You know he’s never liked the bruises from field-work, but this is something more.

“You know I always find you pretty, right, Spence?” He tilts his head at you. “I don’t care about the ugly moments. You’re my pretty boy. You don’t have to hide anything.”

You stress that last word, and you see it click for him, and he slowly lets the blanket fall.

You kiss a bruise on his shoulder.

“Kiss me, Spencer,” you urge, and he smiles, leaning in and softly melding to you, fingers curling on your waist with practiced movements.

His body remembers, and it makes your heart flutter.

He sighs into your mouth, sweet and gentle. You can feel his pulse racing, his movements getting more excited and clumsy as he kisses down your neck.

“You’re so good, make me feel so, so good.”

Spencer smiles against your skin. “You make me feel good too.”

You know he means it more than physically, but that’s what he needs right now.

And you want to give it to him.

“Can we take your boxers off, Spence?”

He nods eagerly, and you carefully slide his pants off with them, avoiding another bruise on his hip from a tackle on the recent case.

“So pretty,”

And he is. Lean muscle, freckles and moles, tan and pale skin in equal parts, wrinkles, bruises, everything.

His cock, too, weeping pre-cum and a pretty pink at the tip.

“Thank you,” he sighs, gasping as you grasp him and stroke, slow and wet. He sets the pace, fucking into your grip and kissing you sloppily to it.

He’s lost technique, having avoided more intimate touch for so long, but the eagerness and anxiety means more to you than it being perfect.

He tenses again as he gets close, and you know it’s the adrenaline, the high. It feels too much like what he’s been fighting.

“Okay?”

Spencer swallows. “I don’t know,”

“What’s the difference between sexual arousal and adrenaline, baby?”

It distracts him, and it also guides him exactly where you want — that the bodily response may be similar, but the centers it lights up are different; the cause is different; he hasn’t done anything to jeopardize himself, he’s okay. He can let go of some of the control he had to regain, can slowly ease back up.

He’s safe.

He cums, gasping breaths tearing through him. As soon as you work him through it, you pull off and clean him.

“You did so good,” you praise, brushing his curls with your clean hand and stroking the skin on the nape of his neck. “You’re okay,”

Spencer nods and kisses you, no urgency, just the depths of his feelings. “I missed you,”

“I missed you too, Spence,” you try not to let the tears prick your eyes, but you know you fail when he furrows his brow at you. “I’m happy,” you reassure.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You breathe out. “I just… I’m glad you feel safe enough to try. You know? It’s hard to watch you struggle.”

“It’s hard for me too,” he laughs, kissing your tears, a reversal of just an hour ago. “But I know what you mean. I’m sorry if it makes it hard for you.”

“No. It doesn’t,” you’re quick and firm in your reassurance. “I mean it when I say I will always be here for you. Good and the bad. In sickness and in health — though, maybe I should keep that unofficial until you put a ring on me.”

He laughs, boyish and free. The happiest he’s been in months. “Soon,”

#my works #mdni #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid imagine #cm spoilers #requested

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peachsayshi · 1 month

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I have an a request!!! What about boy dad gojo taking care of his son while his s/o is sick? Maybe he takes him to work and face time her with his son when he has a break or between classes?? And his son misses her a lot cause it’s his first time seeing her sick🥹

➳ minors / ageless / blank blogs dni ➳ tags: fluff; dad gojo and son reader

"mama! wanna talk to mama!"

"easy, tiger," satoru consoles, using his long arm to pull the phone away from his son's grabbing fingers.

"dada, wanna talk to mama!" his son insists, inching his body forward which prompts satoru to adjust his legs so his boy doesn't climb off his thighs. using his other hand, the sorcerer lightly runs his fingers through his child's soft locks to calm down his excitement while and in the meantime taps away at the screen to video call you.

"there you go," he whispers as he brings the phone to his son's line of sight, his heart swelling when you finally answer the call.

"hi," you croak softly, your voice thick and hoarse while you rub your tired eyes. "what time is it?"

"it's lunch-"

"mama!" your son interrupts, his small hands curling over satoru's fingers as he holds both sides of the screen. "mama, miss you!"

"hey, cutie", you reply with a tiny smile, but satoru can see the exhaustion weighing heavy on your face. "miss you soo much,"

you've been sick for the last four days. a terrible cold that's kept you bedridden. satoru and your son have been isolating to make sure that they don't catch what you have, but your boys have been wallowing without you around. your son has been extra needy and keeps bringing up his "mama" every chance he can get. satoru is in the same position as well, hating that he can't cuddle up to you in the middle of the night, or that he can't wake up to your good morning kisses.

"mama sick," your son says with a furrow of his brows, moving his hand over the screen like he's trying to touch your face. "mama get better ok?"

he's still learning his words, trying to form whatever sentences he can with the vocabulary that he has.

you nod your head, "yeah, baby, I'll be better soon,"

your son smiles at the camera, his eyes twinkling with delight. "kisses!" he announces, before leaning forward and pressing his lips onto the phone screen.

you blow him back three kisses in return.

at this point satoru can't help but feel a little left out, so he arches forward to rest his chin on his son's shoulder, the two of them now centering the screen.

it's wild seeing them both together because they really do look like twins. your son's hair stands as a harsh contrast because it is identical to yours, but his eyes are a blend of your love. there's an icy blue that pierces through his natural color on the left side, a unique trait that distinguishes him entirely.

"can I get some kisses too?" satoru pouts at the camera, and your son obliges but placing one kiss on his cheek.

satoru can't help but grin, "thanks, rugrat, but I was hoping the kisses would come from your mama..."

"but mama sick," your son answers nonchalantly, twisting his body slightly so he was turning toward's his father's instead.

"she just blew you some kisses," he answers back with a raised brow. "I can't get any?"

your son blatantly shakes his head no.

satoru deadpans at the phone screen, and you have to use the blanket to cover your amused grin but you clear your throat as a cough escapes you, and satoru can't help but wince.

"how are you feeling? is the medicine helping at all?" he adds.

"yeah, it is. I'm feeling much better today actually."

"there's a pot of soup in the fridge " he continues, his cheeks tinting a slight shade of pink. "I made it last night"

satoru toiling away in the kitchen is a rare sight. the man grew up spoiled, and rarely ever had to take care of himself. you're the only person who knows that the first time he ever touched a stove was in his late teens, with shoko and suguru assisting in teaching him. he doesn't experiment much, but he was able to perfect a handful of recipes over time.

your eyes widen, glisten with absolute love. "thanks, handsome. I'll be sure to heat some up..."

"just want to see you back on your feet, angel," satoru murmurs, and presses his cheek against' the plush surface of his son's. "you've got us pining over here, isn't that right?"

your son nods his head, bringing one hand to hold his father's jaw. "sick bad, want mama t'get better now..." he acknowledges.

(meanwhile, you sneakily take a screenshot of the two of them in frame)

requests are open for dad gojo.

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo fluff #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk fluff

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dragonsholygrail · 5 months

Text

Without Much Spoken

Astarion x gn!Reader

a/n: My first attempt at posting for bg3 and Astarion. But I plan to continue posting many more fics for not only this lil guy, but for a lot of the party! So stick around!

summary: During one night of your groups travels together, Astarion enters the room to find you overwhelmed and crying. Acting before thinking it through, Astarion comforts you.

word count: 1.1k

Walking up the stairs of the Inn their group was staying in for the next couple of days, Astarion opens the door as he normally would, heading to bed after the exhausting day that had finally, at last, ended. He was more than ready to plop into bed and fall into a hopefully dreamless sleep. His only true escape that lasted far few hours.

But as soon as the door creaked open, a small sliver of light shining through, your sobs broke through the silence like a fierce screech. They stopped a moment after, the silence even more heavy and the tension growing thick the longer neither of you speak.

Astarion opens the door, only a bit further. Enough for the light from the hall to catch on your features. Your frozen, having fled to isolation in order to prevent this. To stop anyone from seeing you, to not bother anyone else with the weight of your intensely hyperactive feelings. Especially him. God, you didn’t want to bother him with this.

Astarion was always good for a light joke, a quick quip. He was good at that. At making things feel lighter, even unintentionally making you feel better at times. But that’s not what you wanted right now. You didn’t want to feel better in that way, you didn’t want to attempt to push aside your emotions for another, you didn’t want to just forget about what you felt. You needed to let out what was overwhelming you. What twisted your gut with anxiety, what made it hard to breathe, what sent your body into overdrive, what clouded your mind and made you feel like a complete mess.

You needed it out, and you knew Astarion wasn’t typically the one to go to with that sort of thing. You never held it against him, you cared for him, you may even love him. But you knew he had little to no experience in the ways of comforting someone. Knew he didn’t really know how to do that. So, in an action you convinced herself was selfless, you didn’t confide in him. Didn’t give him the chance to offer whatever type of comfort he possibly could provide.

And Astarion knew it all and more. With his past, he knew how to read people easily. Learning how others think was vital in his line of work, in his everyday life, in his survival… Reading you always seemed a little bit easier for him to do than it was with others. He could see what you were trying to do. The way your body stiffened on the bed, the tears both dried and fresh on your cheeks, the way your hands clenched as if you wished the ground would swallow you whole.

Astarion didn’t feel any particular way about this revelation. He could see your reasoning, your line of thinking and what brought you to the conclusions you ended up at. So he honestly couldn’t explain why he reacted the way he did.

His hand shuts the door, encompassing you both back into darkness without thought. His feet move toward you on their own. Though the darkness surrounds you both, both of your eyes end up adjusting again. You can see the way Astarion stops at the edge of the bed, his form hovering over your curled frame on the bed.

It’s without a word that he slides into bed behind you, his back resting comfortably against the headboard. His legs spread wide, giving you enough space to sit between them. His hands softly curl around you, not trying to overwhelm you even more. One hand around your stomach, feeling the erratic breaths you take as you attempts to hide your cries. The other hand over your heart, feeling its pounding rhythm, both from the mix of emotions that sent you to this state and from him finding you here. He didn’t need to do this, his hearing being able to pick it up well enough on its own. But for some reason he needed the reassurance. That it was all real.

He pulls you into his chest and you don’t hesitate to fall against him, putting your weight on him. He isn’t doing this to prove anything to you. To prove he can comfort you, if you needed him to. No, he isn’t going to make you come to him and he’s not going to make you hide. He doesn’t know why he’s done this. He just… did. Wanted to. It’s all he can grasp onto.

The feeling of him being there was enough, you realize. It had taken so much energy to try and remain still after Astarion found you, but now that he was here and he’s staying, you can’t hold it in any longer. It physically pained you beyond explanation. Sobs broke out of you, the action moving your body with its force. You couldn’t control it.

Astarion just sits there, not saying anything and not really doing anything either. But it’s more than enough. You didn’t realize how being alone had made everything so much worse. You thought that being alone, having nothing around that could possibly add to your array of emotions was what was best for you. But as you two laid together, you noticed the way Astarion didn’t add anything. The way he could actually help in ways everyone else just couldn’t seem to.

Eventually you begin to calm down, your body shaking but your emotions releasing and leaving you. That’s when you feel Astarion’s hand on the back of your head. You jump slightly, but besides that, you don’t dare acknowledge it. His hand gently starts combing through your hair. Then when he reaches the end, he brings it back to the top of your head. You sigh heavily, falling into him further. The peace of the empty silence, the darkness that covers everything, washes over you both. Neither of you seem to want to break it.

You tilt your head ever so slightly, hoping he doesn’t stop. The gesture was doing wonders to help calm you down further. You can barely make out Astarion through the darkness, but you can see enough to tell he’s simply staring ahead. It’s then you realize that he probably hadn’t even noticed what he’s doing to you. How he’s actually comforting you. It sends waves of pleasure through you, working both to overwhelm you a bit more and yet also calming you. You fall back, fully resting on him once again as he, in a way, pets you. Your eyes seemingly closed on their own.

It’s only after an unknown amount of time that he murmurs in your ear, “I’m here.”

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copper-16 · 2 months

Text

We Can't Figure Out What It Means

When Elena starts asking for something with a word that doesn't make any sense, Mapi and Ingrid enlist the help of their teammates to figure it out.

(a/n: I feel like so many of my stories are so angsty that getting to just sit here and write tooth ROTTING fluff is healing me a little inside. Anyways. Please enjoy :)

Ingrid and Mapi typically brought Elena to training one day a week with them. It wasn’t hard to have the baby at the training ground when everyone there wanted to hold her and say hello, but the two Barcelona players still worried that she would get in the way if she came too often.

Nevermind the fact that everyone's faces lit up the minute that Elena came in through the door, or that there was genuinely always someone ready to hold the little girl. All of the Barcelona girls absolutely adored Mapi and Ingrid’s daughter, and she was admittedly making the baby fever run rampant throughout the team, though nobody else had acted on that urge just yet.

Elena had missed the last few weeks at training due to various conflicts that had kept the little girl away, so when Mapi pulled her little Barcelona jersey that she always wore to the training ground out in the morning, the baby was immediately shrieking in excitement. Because as much as the Barcelona girls loved Elena, she loved them just as much.

They managed to get everyone dressed, fed, and out the door in a surprisingly easy fashion. Elena was a relatively simple and easygoing baby, and when she knew they were headed to the training ground she was always on her best behavior, excited about what was to come.

Ingrid turned the radio on a low setting as Mapi drove them toward the training center, with Elena babbling away in the back happily.

“Oh yeah? How about that!” Mapi hummed as Elena continued to talk away, none of her words really making sense but remaining insistent nonetheless. She was at the age where she was starting to say some actual words, but for the most part she was still just getting out sounds and hums without much rhyme or reason to them.

But Mapi encouraged it anyway, having read in a baby book that it was good for development either way. Ingrid looked back at their little girl with a soft smile, reaching back to brush some of her sandy blonde curls away from her face.

Elena giggled happily at her as they pulled into the parking lot, both women getting out as Mapi went to grab their daughter while Ingrid got their stuff.

The Spaniard had just hauled the little girl out of her car seat before Elena was twisting in her arms, gesturing to the ground.

“Mami, walk?” Elena asked, her voice light and hopeful. Mapi smiled as she nodded, letting her down and holding out her hand for Elena to grasp. She started to toddle forward, gripping the brunette’s hand with iron clad strength as she ventured forward on unsteady little legs.

Ingrid had two bags over her shoulders, one for her and her wife and one for Elena, but she watched the scene in front of her with thinly veiled horror. She knew that their daughter needed to learn to walk, knew that it was important for her to practice, but it still made her nervous. She didn’t want her to get hurt, or for something to happen to her.

“Ingrid, she needs to walk,” Mapi reminded the Norwegian softly, having looked back to see the anxiety painted across her wifes features. Ingrid softens slightly, swallowing thickly and nodding with uncertainty, as though she was trying to convince herself of the brunette’s words.

“Right, no I know, I just…I worry that something is going to happen to her,” Ingrid admits, watching as Elena stumbles slightly, but thanks to her connection with Mapi’s hand the Spaniard can keep her upright, looking back at her fellow defender with a look that reeked of ‘I told you so.’

“She is going to be fine, princesa, I promise. Plus, she is so close to the ground, how could she possibly hurt herself that badly!” The Spaniard argued, and Ingrid’s expression soured in the face of her wifes logic, and she held her hand up grumpily.

“You’re close to the ground,” Ingrid argued, and Mapi rolled her eyes with a smile, preparing to say something back when Elena piped up from below them.

“Le?” She asked, her eyes big and hopeful as she looked at her mothers. Both of them frowned, looking from the baby to one another.

“Do you know what ‘le’ is?” The Norwegian asked in a hushed tone, and Mapi could do nothing but shrug slightly, shaking her head.

“I have no idea what ‘le’ is,” she admitted, and upon hearing the word spoken again Elena said it a little louder this time, looking even more hopeful than before. Unable to find an answer, the three of them made their way into the facility anyways. With the chaos of everything, the center back was quick to pick her baby up, ignoring Elena’s protests that she could walk.

The little girl’s upset was forgotten the minute they made their way into the locker room, replaced with pure excitement at seeing everyone. The whole team was there, with the exception of a few of the injured players who were in the gym already, working on their rehab.

“Jay! Jay!” Elena half cheered-half shrieked as they approached Mapi’s locker, and the baby was promptly reaching for Jana as they arrived next to her.

“Hi Elena” The younger defender cheered, plucking the little girl from her fellow defenders arms and wrapping her in a hug. “Oh I missed you!”

Elena giggled into the defender's chest, making herself comfortable for a moment before she poked her head up, looking around at everyone. Most of the other girls were already changed, and Mapi and Ingrid were quick to do the same as everyone flocked to Jana to greet the little girl. They had missed seeing her the last few weeks, and she was equally thrilled to see everyone again.

The sandy blonde girl allowed for herself to be passed around to everyone, letting all of them press gentle kisses to her cheeks as she babbled and giggled with excitement.

It was when she ended up in Mariona’s arms that she looked around, a wrinkle appearing in her brow. When she doesn’t see the answer to her concern in the locker room, Elena turns to Mariona, her little eyebrows furrowed together.

“Le?” Elena asks again, and Mariona feels a wave of confusion settling over her as she looks toward Mapi and Ingrid. The Norwegian and Spaniard looked at their daughter and then back to each other again.

“What’s ‘le’?” The forward asked, and Mapi shook her head once more.

“We can’t figure out what it means!” The brunette explained earnestly, more than a little lost on the meaning of what Elena kept asking for.

“Le? Like Leah? Or Lia?” Keira suggested, turning toward Mariona for an answer. But the forward immediately shook her head, bouncing the baby as she answered.

“She’s never met either of those people,” Mariona pointed out, and the midfielder deflated as she realized that the Spanish woman was right.

“Maybe she means…Frido? Le, as in like Fridolina?” Aitana suggested, and all of them looked at each other in agreement, considering that it is a good idea. “I believe she is on the pitch already, if we want to go out!”

The rest of the team made their way out toward the pitch for practice, with Ingrid carrying Elena as they walked. The baby played with her mothers thick, long ponytail as they walked, keeping herself as entertained as possible.

“Frido!” Ingrid called out as they came closer, and Elena perked up at the mention of her godmother.

“Fro-fro!” Elena clapped her hands together as Frido ran over, ignoring Ingrid entirely in favor of the baby in her arms.

“Elena!” The blonde cried as Ingrid rolled her eyes, her hands coming to rest on her hips.

“I’m right here too, don’t you know?” Ingrid pointed out, but her Swedish friend simply shrugged, settling Elena on her hip.

“I saw you yesterday. I haven’t seen my guddotter in weeks!” Frido exclaimed, bouncing Elena up and down as she tickled the little girl's belly. Elena doubled over in laughter, and everyone couldn’t help but look over, completely entranced with the happy little girl.

When she had finally caught her breath, Elena looked up at Frido with an expectant expression.

“Le?” She asked once more, and Ingrid dropped her head into her hands as everyone groaned. Frido looked around in confusion, asking what was going on.

“We can’t figure out for the life of us what ‘le’ is!” Keira explained as understanding washed over the Swedish forward. She looked down at the little girl, who was looking around as though she was trying to find whatever ‘le’ happened to be.

“She looks like she’s looking for something. Maybe whatever ‘le’ is, is out here?” Frido tries, and since nobody else can come up with a better answer, they decide to take that course of action.

So while the entire team warms up, they decide that the best course of action is to just show Elena everything that they’re working with, in the hopes of getting to the bottom of what ‘le’ is.

Patri shows her a medicine ball, and the little girl slaps her hands against it but is otherwise uninterested, allowing the midfielder to boop the top of her head before she leaves her alone.

Esme picks her up as she and Salma walk the little girl over to a pole that is stuck into the ground. Salma shakes it slightly, while Esme points to it, trying to capture Elena’s attention. But the baby is entirely uninterested, instead reaching for Salma in lieu of engaging with the pole. The young forward is quick to make an exit, more than a little scared at the prospect of being left alone with the baby, or having to hold her. It was a running joke that Elena loved Salma, but the young forward consistently panicked whenever the little girl was around, having never really done anything with babies before in her life.

Marta and Lucy tag team showing her first the big goal, and then the little ones they use in practice. Lucy sets her up with a ball and Marta holds both of her hands as Elena steps into the ball, trying to kick it and sending it rolling forward a coupon of centimeters into the goal.

The English woman immediately snatches the baby up, holding her up and running around in celebration with excitement until she receives a telling off in the form of Ingrid shouting Lucy! Put my baby down!

Mapi quickly collects Elena, and with Irene’s help she shows her the foam rollers and step up blocks, but nothing appears to catch the little one’s attention. She asks each person she is with “Le?” and none of them have a good enough answer for her in her little mind.

All of the girls have resigned themselves to the fact that they aren’t going to figure out what the baby is talking about, when they end up actually getting their answer.

The girls have just broken from their water break, and Elena was grabbed by Keira and taken away from her blanket and toys to go hang out with the team instead. The baby was settled on the grass, patting it happily as Mapi sat with her, doing the same. Ingrid smiled down at the two of them, unable not to see the qualities of her wife inside of their daughter in times like this as they both greeted the grass together with big smiles.

Mapi gets distracted looking back at Irene, who is asking her a question about something they’ve been doing, that she entirely misses the way that Elena’s face lights up as she gets to her feet, noticing something in the distance.

She can’t really run yet, but that doesn’t stop Elena from taking off at a fast toddle away from the group, her shriek of joy getting everyone’s attention.

“LE!” Elena exclaimed loudly, her feet moving fast in her quest as everyone turned to see what was going on.

“Elena!” Alexia ran toward the little girl, ignoring the slight protest of her knee as she bent down and scooped the baby up, holding her tightly to her chest. Elena practically melted into the blonde, wrapping her arms around her godmother's neck. The captain had been in the gym all day doing rehab for her knee discomfort, but she had decided to come out on a break to say hello to Elena and everyone else.

Everyone at the water cooler let out a collective ohhh as they all realized that Elena meant ‘le’ as in ‘Alexia.’ The Barcelona captain tilted her head to the side in confusion, still holding the little girl's body tightly to her own.

“What is going on?” Alexia asked, not understanding what all of her teammates seemed to be talking about.

“Elena has been asking for you all day, but all she’s been saying is ‘le,’ so none of us knew what she was talking about until you walked out here,” Mapi explained as Elena leaned back slightly, reaching up to gently poke at Alexia’s cheek.

“Le!” She babbled, looking from the captain to her Mami with a pleased expression. Everyone around them looked at the two with wide smiles, as Elena pressed herself into Alexia with a big smile spread across her cheeks.

“Did you miss your Tia Alexia?” Mapi asks, reaching forward to poke the little girl's belly. Elena nodded as twisted away from her Mami and further into the Spanish captain, and Alexia simply turned her body away from the defender before she started jogging away.

“Nope, nope, Elena is all mine!” Alexia yelled back at Mapi, Elena babbling away at her happily as Mapi chased after the two of them. The little girl clung tightly to the blonde, but she smiled back at the Spanish defender as she chased after the pair, calling out.

“Hey, wait a minute! Bring back my baby!”

#mapi leon #ingrid engen #ingrid x mapi x daughter #woso #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas #irene paredes #fridolina rolfö #mariona caldentey #keira walsh #salma paralluelo #lucy bronze #marta torrejon #patri guijarro

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lilac-5ky · 10 months

Text

Sex with a Ghost (TojixFem!Reader)

Chapter 1: Date with a ghost

Chapter 2 | Story Masterlist | Masterlist | Requests | AO3

Summary: Being at the bottom of the ladder in your class with a non-combat oriented technique, you are prompted by Gojo to summon a dead sorcerer as a learning experience. However, when none other than Fushiguro Toji appears in your room, you find yourself practicing more than just your cursed technique.

Tags: Student!reader, Ghost!Toji, Age Gap(reader 18, Toji early 30s), Oral Sex (both f. and m. receiving), Manipulation, Corruption Kink, Praise, Degradation, Pet Names (princess, baby, etc), Cowgirl, Toji being a horny asshole that gets redeemed at the end? Sort of.

Word Count: less than 6k.

“But, sensei, is this really necessary?”

You tilted the sphere between your fingers, sizing it up. It weighed no more than a baseball ball did, yet its price must be comparable to that of an entire stadium. A cursed item among cursed items given to a mere grade 3 sorcerer who barely stood out amidst the renowned prodigies of Tokyo Jujutsu High. This was a waste of both time and effort and yet the white-haired man before you begged to differ, eyes glinting a vibrant sky-blue hue from underneath his dark shades.

“Doubting your favorite teacher, Y/N?” he chuckled only to sulk a second later when you asked him what deluded him into thinking he was your favorite.

Undeterred, he continued “I feel like a broken record here, but do yourself a favor and have a bit more confidence. Graduation is two months away, don’t you wanna prove your worth till then? It’s not too late to climb a couple of steps up the ladder. You could easily shoot up to Grade 2. Look at the rest of your class—”

A firm albeit reassuring grip latched itself onto your shoulder, gently twisting you in the direction of your classmates.

The heatwave must have gotten to them for good, blood boiling under the vicious sun rays. Their sleeves and pants were rolled high above their elbows and knees respectively, foreheads glimmering with a thin sheen of sweat that dribbled down their necks.

Just looking at them made your skin crawl with uneasiness.

You didn’t understand why anyone in their right mind would willingly trade the shade of these blessed pine trees for the scorching furnace that the schoolyard was, but when you stopped paying attention to their clothes and took in their blissful expression, you felt a lump swell in your throat.

The two of them were practically beaming, giggling, and prancing around the water fountains without a care in the world— and why should they have anything to worry about when they were Grade 1 at seventeen? A Kamo and a distant cousin to the Zen’ins, both guaranteed to walk a path strewn with rose petals since birth. No trial or tribulation whatsoever.

Your teacher’s voice was muffled into white noise while you were busy shooting daggers at the duo, part of you wishing to join them in their harmless idiocy, and another silently praying that in your next life, you’d be lucky enough to be born into one of their clans. No one questioned the value of a Kamo. No one went against a Zen’in with an inherited technique.

“So, we good? Tell me I didn’t waste 15 minutes of my precious time for nothing.” His fingers squeezed at your shoulder, causing your attention to shift.

You had no idea what he’d been saying, though you’d sat through plenty of pep talks already to guess the gist of it. “You have potential, Y/N. Don’t bring yourself down like this. You can do it!” All empty words without real meaning. Worthless. Not everyone had what it takes to become the next Gojo Satoru. Some people were born to be stepping stones for others, and you were perfectly fine with it. No half-assed aspiration would spur you on.

“If I do this… will you leave me alone?”

A Cheshire cat grin spanned from one corner of his mouth to the other. If one didn’t know any better, they’d mistake Gojo for an overzealous teacher whose earnest goal was to see his students succeed. Not you. You’d spent enough time in his presence to know that his whole “Teacher of the Year” shtick hid an agenda of its own. It was a matter of time to find out what his true motive was.

“What’s the plan?”

“Now we are talking,” he sang in glee. “Very simple, really. You just hold this between your palms and channel as much cursed energy as possible to its center. The ball will absorb it like a magnet and continue drawing from you until you have a clear picture of your target. Then, assuming all goes well and you don’t pass out,” a quiet “What?!” was overwritten by his voice, “you’ll get your very own date with a spirit. Isn’t that exciting?”

Nothing about your expression screamed excitement, eyes squinting in slits and bottom lip quivering into a frown. “And who’s my target, exactly?”

“A Zen’in sorcerer,” he said.

“A Zen’in sorcerer you say,” your eyes wandered again to that soaked blockhead in the distance, the black mop he had for hair flapping left and right. “Ain’t the one over there good enough?”

Shaping a cone around his mouth, Gojo yelled at the top of his lungs for the kids to wait up so they could play together. The duo cheered excitedly, shouting some sort of inside joke you knew nothing about right back at him. Wasn’t the first time you were excluded, and it certainly wasn’t the first time you questioned how this man came to be the world’s most talented sorcerer, either.

“If he was, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” his smile softened as he lowered his voice. “The Zen’in I’m talking about has been dead for a little more than a hundred years now. Unfortunately, his name is erased from our logs,” of course it is “but that shouldn’t hinder you too much. He was an immensely powerful sorcerer with a great amount of cursed energy to back his technique up. An anomaly, if you like.”

“What kind of technique?” “The ten shadows technique,” he answered. “Out of all the Shikigami users, he is perhaps the strongest there’s ever been.”

“Stronger than you, sensei?”

The way his nose scrunched made you regret asking, knowing that a haughty declaration was dangling from the tip of his tongue, begging to be unleashed in a never-ending spiel of self-praise.

“And why should I invoke him in particular?” you quickly changed the subject. “I thought our goal was to hone my spirit-channeling technique and increase my cursed energy flow while we’re at it.”

“That we are doin’, but why not kill two birds with one stone? A new ten-shadow user has risen. I’m sure whatever trick that old dog has up his sleeve will be useful to our little Meg—” He feigned a smile of innocence at his slip. “All you gotta do is chit-chat him into giving you some info. Toss in a few compliments, butter him up. Shouldn’t take more than a few words to convince him, spirits are dying to be summoned— Oh well, unfortunate choice of words. What do you say? You’re in?”

Your groan was all the answer he required to beeline straight to the water fountains, his chirpy laugh echoing from afar. This guy, you huffed, examining the crystal ball anew. There was no way out of this. Either you did his bidding or you’d be forced to endure the obnoxious sound of his voice all summer long.

“Couldn’t you have chosen anything more cliche than a crystal ball?” you snarled, convinced he hadn’t heard you.

“Ouija board was already taken,” he warbled unexpectedly, voice meshing with that of your peers as they ran around in circles, dark-colored uniforms turning darker with every splash of water. “Besides, this has a bit of pink in it,” he referred to the rosy shaded base. “Much cuter than a bunch of rusty letters, right?”

You groaned as you shoved the item into your tote bag, making no mistake to talk out loud again as you turned on your heel. A pinch of jealousy punctured your chest, relieved by every step you took away from the scene and away from the fun the three of them were having.

“Looks like we’re having a date with a ghost tonight.”

It was a quarter past twelve when you decided to put that little experiment to work, the coast clear of overbearing parents and annoying little brothers who wanted nothing more than to disrupt your so-called “studying session”. As far as your family was concerned, Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College (Tokyo Jujutsu High for short) was your average educational institution that had somehow recognized the value of your mediocre grades and scouted you when you were still in middle school— no questions asked from either side.

You wouldn’t go as far as to call your own family a bunch of dimwits, but the signs were all there. A teacher merely four years older than you were, his odd sartorial decisions only second to his eccentric personality. A class made up of four students dramatically and suddenly decreasing to a party of three. An unknown man in a suit and tie driving you back and forth between “emergency study dates” in the dead of night. The lack of studying material in your backpack as opposed to the exams you constantly stressed over. Your unreasonable reaction when your mother stored a cursed tool in with the silver cutlery.

Even if you straight up walked to them with a banner that read “I exorcise curses”, you doubted they’d have anything more to say than a plain “Good for you”, not because they were stupid, but because they simply didn’t care at all.

They didn’t care enough to bat an eye when seven-year-old you tugged at daddy’s trousers, whimpering about a squid-like creature sneaking in your closet, and didn’t care enough to try and justify the stream of water flooding down the corridor. They didn’t care that your imaginary friends were more akin to monsters, and they didn’t care about you being away from home 350 days a year. It was convenient not to. That’s how they were able to drink their woes away at the local bar on a Thursday night with a clear conscience, having offloaded that pest of a brother at your grandparents’ for the fifth consecutive night.

Poor kid. If he wasn’t so despicable, your big sister instincts might have kicked in and raised an objection, though as things currently were suited you best. Rituals required focus, and you needed to make sure no one would bust through the door and interrupt your conversation with Mister Whatever-his-name-was.

You’d taken care of all your basic needs —eating a reheated portion of lasagna, cleansing your body of the worldly filth that stained it, catching a rerun of your favorite show’s latest episode, and cursing Gojo for making you miss it in the first place— and were now seated on your room’s floor with the crystal ball nesting between your bare thighs, the cold sensation much welcome on this excruciatingly warm evening where sitting on the fuzzy carpet seemed like the greatest torture imaginable.

It was only March and you were already in your skimpiest outfit of all; a frilly pair of dusty-pink shorts and a matching low-cut tank top dressing your sweat-beaded body. Dark spots saturated the fabric, demanding your fingers fanned it every two seconds. The worst had yet to come. By the time summer arrived, the final thing for you to crawl out of would be your own skin.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you returned to the item at hand. It’d been fairly long since you’d last performed a seance. Your role in the recent assignments was to support your classmates from the sidelines, exorcising whatever lower-grade curse got in their way with the aid of various cursed tools.

The white-haired nuisance could claim your technique was useful all he wanted, but at the end of the day, yours were simply not meant for combat. Best case scenario, after graduation, the higher-ups would put you on a 9 to 5 job, where you could dig whatever intel they wanted from the comfort of your cramped-up desk; away from your haughty classmates, and away from Gojo Satoru.

You rolled your fingers around the globe’s surface, pads tingling with waves of cursed energy as they seeped into the crystal. Slowly, a dark purple aura came to distort its translucence with colors and shapes of various magnitudes. Shadow-like forms gathered at the seams, remnants of pent-up energy colliding and converging with one another at one focal point. All ready to go!

You began mentally chanting the surname of your target, over and over again until the slideshow of foggy faces diminished to that of a select few candidates from the same bloodline. Some, you would imagine had died when they were still in their prime, measly fledglings of sorcerers with eyes retaining that youthful glossiness, while others seemed to have lived enough to see themselves turn into dehydrated raisins with next to zero cursed energy left.

Once you’d gone through your classmate’s entire family tree at least three times, you caught yourself admitting that despite their faults and innate air of pretension, the Zen’ins weren’t particularly hard on the eyes. Especially that one guy whose mug kept reappearing at random intervals, the slanted scar of his lips lingering in your mind well after the next contender’s appearance. There was something about him, be it the lack of aura he emitted or the viridescent hue of his eyes that had you replaying the frame at the expense of your own energy.

You were drawn to him in an inexplicable way that, at the time, you attributed to fate. It had to be him, right? That must have been why the dope you had for a mentor insisted on calling this a date. Even if he didn’t know the sorcerer’s name, he must have known how insanely attractive the guy was, right?

And suddenly, you felt a sliver of gratitude overcome you, eyelids snapping shut with the Zen’in sorcerer’s face as clear as day behind them, while you chanted the incantation Gojo himself had taught you.

“From the murky shroud of oblivion, I invoke thou out the shadows and blight to bask in heavenly light. Through me gain life, and through life gain thine blessed power.”

No more than a few seconds had passed when you heard a thud, your gaze meeting with that of the very man you’d summoned.

The orb barely did him any justice. Not as if crystal balls were ideal measuring instruments, but you’d need about ten more of those to depict his height as he towered over you, the bulky frame of his shoulders casting a large shadow on the wall behind your head. He was dressed in a much more casual manner than one would expect of someone who’d been dead for over a century, with corded veins and taut muscles peaking underneath a black compression shirt, waist accentuated where his hips met with a pair of baggy pants. And once you got to his face— you must have lost track of time staring into the gem-like green orbs of his eyes, considering you didn’t notice the scowl his lips wore until his tone pointed it out.

“The hell is this?” He sounded just like he looked, the bass of his timbre ringing most pleasantly in your ears.

You wouldn’t know what being dead felt like, but if it was anything remotely close to sitting on a dead leg for hours on end, you guessed he’d rather take a moment to adjust over an answer.

His soles circled the tiny space, eyes dancing between the fairy lights on the wall, the moonless sky —and by extension the empty driveway outside your window—, the three Polaroids on your desk that depicted an old family trip to Seoul (your mother silently accusing him from the frame for the crime of wearing his shoes inside the house), and lastly, you. His gaze feasted on your body as if he’d been starved for ages and you were the first oasis in the desert, his expression gradually easing into a lopsided smile as he cocked his head to the side.

“Got a name, sweetheart?” he asked in a syrupy sweet tone, the nickname he’d come up with making you doubt he’d use your actual name even if you shared it.

You set the ball aside and hopped on your feet, standing on somewhat more equal ground, though not equal enough to completely diminish the difference in height. He was massive, and you were still processing the kind of person that possessed the power to end this man’s life.

“Name’s Y/N,” you extended your hand. “You must be master Zen’in, nice to meet you!”

He merely glanced at your gesture, leaving you to embarrass yourself without a single qualm. “No one’s called me that in some time,” he expressed wryly. “You know about me?”

You nodded, wiping your palm against your shorts. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen a spirit act all high and mighty, a Zen’in at that. “Who hasn’t heard of the greatest sorcerer there’s ever been?” you chuckled, Gojo’s bootlicking advice coming in for the clutch. “You are somewhat of a legend in the Jujutsu world. The one who mastered the ten shadows technique like no other.”

“Is that who I am now,” he pondered out loud, his index briefly scratching his jaw. “I guess I am,” he grinned with confidence. “That why you summoned me? Wanted to meet with great ol’ me in person?”

“Something like it,” you admitted, finding it hard not to smile back. “I just so happen to be acquainted with this idiot who’s a big fan of yours. Had me use my technique for a passing grade.”

A low hum prompted you to continue. “He’s a real pain in the ass,” you groaned. “Calls himself ‘the strongest’ and acts as if he’s ‘teacher of the year’ when he forces me to fish out intel like some lackey— Actually, you might have heard of his family name before, they’ve been around for ages. Gojo,” quickly adding “Satoru.”

At the sound of your teacher’s name, the man’s eyes widened, his darkened pupils blown with an emotion akin to rage. You weren’t sure what great calamity the Gojos had brought upon him in his previous life, but being familiar with their descendant you doubted they put much effort into it.

“The six eyes is your teacher?” he asked, not giving you enough time to question how on earth he knew that title before he pitched in another question. “So, ya just a kid, huh?”

“I’m not!” you objected. “Turned 18 a while ago.”

“A while, you say?” he arched a brow.

“I’m closer to 19 if anything,” you crossed your arms over your chest.

“19,” he mocked, his droopy eyelids incapable of hiding the way he sized your figure up.

You didn’t even think to put on a bra before the ritual started. Just like you could vividly picture what his pecs looked like under his clothes, your flimsy outfit left little to the imagination, the sweat that’d shimmered across your collarbones and cleavage working in your favor.

“Nah, you are right. No kid could ever have a body like that. Plump and ripe in all the right places,” his tongue lapped over his bottom lip, salacious stare prodding at what your arms kept hidden. “That’s a woman’s body, no doubt.”

Heat spread from your chest all the way to your cheeks, and for once, it wasn’t because of the room’s overbearing heat. Your toes sunk inside the carpet, thighs awkwardly rubbing together. You’d found yourself in such a position before, yet never with a boy like him— never with a man like him.

“Th-thank you,” you mumbled, your fingers hesitantly sliding down your elbows.

He took a step closer, lacking hesitation as he lifted your chin with two fingers, his thumb gently caressing it.

“Gonna let me look at the rest, baby?” his other hand encompassed your hip, the size of his palm alone making you feel oh-so small and fragile before him. “I’ll make ya a deal if you lemme. Tell ya anything you wanna know and more— heh, I’ll make sure ya pass with flying colors.”

“I don’t… I’m not-”

Depriving you of the chance to deny his advances, the man slotted his lips between yours and pulled back almost instantaneously, overjoyed to catch you leaning into his touch for more.

You weren’t sure why this was happening— why you were letting this happen. He was a stranger who barely qualified as being alive, and at the time of his death, he was closer to your father’s age than yours. But he was there, and he was paying you attention, and the way he spoke to you as if he already knew your answer ahead of your mouth had warmth spiraling to the lower parts of your body.

Rather than giving in to your pouty lips, the man whose name you didn’t even know cupped your breasts in both his hands, calloused thumbs making quick work of your nipples as they peaked below the drenched fabric, rolling the sensitive buds into full hardness.

“Such a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” he praised, kneading at your supple skin almost adoringly.

The straps of your top slid down your shoulders, and you felt the ghost of a smile press onto your neck, his warm mouth smearing wet kisses right to where your neck and shoulders connected. You bit back a sigh, your breath audibly strained.

“Bet you wanna be touched, hmm?” he continued, finding the sweet spot you didn’t know you had, and pressed on, his sharp teeth digging into your flesh coaxing a purr from deep within your throat. He chuckled, the vibrations making you shudder. “That why you’re dressed like a slut? Wanna be treated like one, mm?” his lips parted again, tongue lapping over the delicate bruise his teeth left as he pinched your nipples harshly. A moan was ripped from your slack jaw, the insult he carelessly threw adding to the slick between your thighs.

“Sounds about right,” he smirked. “Well, I’m not complaining. You’re a sight for sore eyes, kitten.”

He didn’t ask for permission before he tugged at your shirt, your breasts spilling out with a single bounce. You saw him wet his lips once more, fingers seizing your now-exposed nipples and lustful eyes admiring them up close. You hadn’t noticed how close he was standing until his hips bucked against yours, alerting you to how painfully hard he’d gotten underneath his pants. The six-year-long refractory period his body was subjected to was far too cruel— though you wouldn’t know about that until much later.

“Tell me,” he requested, pausing just so he could look you dead in the eye. “Have you ever done this before?”

His lips traversed the valley of your breasts, rough palms sliding languidly across your ribs and waist. You could see him hold you like that while being inches deep in you. Slamming your frail little set of bones against your desk’s wooden surface. Pounding your hole for your parents to return to their precious daughter bent in half by some stranger. Bruising Gojo’s star student until the smug smile was wiped from his obnoxious mouth for good.

All those reasons made you nod at his question, not caring that he’d be ten times rougher because of your white lie. If anything, you looked forward to that.

“Sure you’re not lying to me?” he read your mind like an open book, the elastic of your shorts being torn away from your body. “Won’t be mad if y’are. I love myself a sweet little virgin. Love how whiny their voices get. How,” he lowered himself onto his knees, palm pushing you to sit on your bed “cute their little tight cunts look all stretched around me.”

His hot breath fanned over your soaked panties, index lazily rubbing back and forth between your clothed slit, the added friction sending a pleasurable tingle up your spine.

“You really aren’t one, are ya?”

You shook your head repeatedly like a bobblehead doll, propping your weight onto your elbows as he lifted your legs on his shoulders, the reality of his choppy raven hair nuzzling to your thighs finally hitting you.

“You said all you wanted to do was look, right?” the finger that was hooked around your underwear stopped. “That was the deal…”

For a brief yet conscious second, his eyes bore into yours with such spite that you thought you’d completely messed up. Only a virgin would dare say something this stupid. If he wasn’t bound to you by the ritual, he’d be out the door the moment you spat those words, you knew it, but then his knuckles brushed over your abdomen to find the hand that clenched onto the sheets, and you realized that wasn’t the case.

“Deals get altered and terms renewed all the time,” he mumbled distractedly, deeply inhaling your scent on his nose, while your fingers unfolded between his lips. You gasped, the sight of him fucking them in and out his mouth —tongue slithering right in the middle and saliva dribbling down his chin as he popped them out— enough to hypnotize whatever sense out of your brain.

“I’ll make ya a new deal,” he hummed, gently directing them to your mouth as if he beckoned you to do the same. A smirk tugged at his scar as he watched your pink lips obediently part and round around your own fingers. He didn’t let go until he heard you choke, secretly plotting to replace them with something else—sooner, than later.

“My technique is what interests you, right? How about instead of telling you, I show you?”

You tried to remove your hand, but he shoved it back in, his true colors pouring into a devilish smile. “I’ve had enough of your voice. All you gotta do is sit back like the good little girl I know you are and keep your legs nice and spread for me. How’s that?”

The only thing your head could manage was pathetically bob up and down in agreement, your fingers stuck in your mouth like a damn pacifier, while your cunt pulsed at every single word he uttered; derogatory or not. Were it any other guy talking down to you like that, your knuckles would be leaving an impermanent imprint on his cheek. Were it any other guy treating you as if you had no volition of your own as if you were just a toy for him to break, and you—

There wouldn’t be any other guy for you ever again. He’d make sure of it.

He ripped the fabric into a single shred and tossed it over his shoulder without caring where it landed- your bedside lamp. He looked down at your pussy, debating to himself whether to start with his tongue or fingers first, calculating the time it’d take for him to prep you for his cock down to the last second. He might’ve been a lot less nice than he pretended to be, but he wasn’t about to go out of his way to hurt you. Not intentionally, at least.

“Let’s see,” he tipped forward, the way his forefinger slipped between your folds without any resistance whatsoever bringing you shame. It didn’t go unnoticed by him, his digit triumphantly pulling out and smearing your slick all over your puffy lips. “Is that all for me, sweetheart? So fucking wet just for me?”

Your hips bucked forward as an answer to his question and he thought he wouldn’t mind taking things slow for once— see how much you could take before you came completely undone.

“Girls like you make the best fuck,” he cooed, voice echoing right through your core. “Surrendering to the first sweet word they hear.” His thumb circled your clit, flicking at the little bundle of nerves. “Leaking at the slightest of touch.” His middle and ring fingers joined in the action, burying themselves as far inside walls as your tight hole let him push. “Breaking so easily.” He drooled, coating your entire pussy in his thick saliva before allowing himself a taste, tongue lapping at the mix of juices straight from the source.

Your thighs clenched around him, muffling the lewdness of a whimper as he looked up at you, his smirk loosening with every kitten lick across your flesh. You wanted to say something, to call out his name and moan for him, but it all felt so unpracticed— similarly to how unpracticed your cunt was when it came to the girth of his fingers; much bigger than yours, more experienced too. He reached depths you didn’t know existed, bringing your body such pleasure that had you writhing for more, hips slamming against his face.

He groaned, his own arousal throbbing against his lower abdomen, begging him to get this over with. “Wanna fuck my face, baby?”

You felt your cheeks ignite anew, the eyes you’d fallen for at first sight overflowing with lust, convincing you it felt as good for him as it felt for you.

“Can’t let ya do that,” he parted your folds, fingers spreading your thighs apart while his tongue darted between your lips, his nose intentionally nudging the pink nub with each deep stroke against your spongy spot. “Gotta earn it first.”

You stared at him like an idiot, wondering to yourself if somewhere between his refusal to shake your hand and his eagerness to quench his thirst with your body you’d passed away because that was what heaven ought to feel like. That was what angels ought to look like.

“Got something to say, princess?” his eyes shot up and he gestured for you to unlatch your mouth.

“S-so pretty,” you whispered.

“What was that?” his ears perked up, not because he hadn’t heard you the first time, but because he could do with some affirmation himself.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this… f-fuck—” a yelp punched its way out of your lungs as he folded you in half, pinning your thighs onto your stomach, and crawling onto the bed right after them.

He’d had enough of this little game.

“Good girls shouldn’t cuss like that. Six eyes didn’t teach ya that?”

Holding you down with one hand, he dived back into your pussy, his fingers pumping in and out of you at a furious pace that had your upper body tossing and turning, the first unregulated moans ushering him to keep going. His tongue toyed with your swollen bud, the squelching of your cunt growing significantly louder from this angle, reverberating throughout the four walls of your bedroom. You were close, and so was he to getting his dick wet with all the mess he’d helped create.

His mouth watered just at the thought of his seed being the one to dribble down your thighs instead of his spit. He could picture you in one of those cute blue-navy skirts hanging from your closet and hoped you weren’t a tights person. He wanted to see you off to school every morning with your thighs sticking together so deliciously that anyone smart enough would understand how meticulously he’d fucked the brat out of you—

If only there was a mirror for you to see how stunning you looked. All fucked out and writhing, disheveled hair stuck on your tits and forehead while you nuzzled to the pillows, your shaky voice calling out to the surname he’d left behind. Would you still do that if you knew he played you like a fiddle? If you knew he was no esteemed Zen’in or sorcerer, for that matter, but a man hell-bent on ruining you for his own sick satisfaction?

Your body reciprocated his vile thoughts, your pussy fluttering around his digits. “Gonna cum for me?” he panted, forcing your legs to the side lest he missed a reaction.

Neither of you realized how his one hand had sneaked into his pants, stroking his veiny cock closer to the ecstasy he craved. Precum leaked hot out of the reddened tip, his thumb frantically swiping it over his length in sync with his thrusts. He’d stopped listening to your pleas and instructions. He fucked his fingers in you as he pleased, slowing down only when his balls began to dangerously tighten. Only then did he tear his fingers away ‘cause God forbid he busts his load in his palm like some fucking untouched teenager— regardless of how obscenely pretty you appeared for him or not.

Once he regained his composure, words made sense again. Harder. Faster. More. He hated being told what to do but absolutely loved how pliant you were. A people-pleaser, he bet. Going above and beyond what was asked of you, bending and breaking into whatever molds others force you to fit. He could work with that. Shape you into a mold only he could fit in.

“Cum for me, baby. Show me how much prettier y’ can get.”

His cock twitched as he felt your walls clamp down around his fingers, your sweet face contorting with pleasure, lips swollen with how hard they’d tried to contain the last bits of debouched decency.

How cute.

He set your legs down and moved up to meet your face with his, a wave of genuine softness rushing over him as he thought to kiss your lips tenderly, hushing whatever emotion had you spasming. You were so sensitive. Even if you’d been with another guy before him, he doubted they knew what they were doing— not like he did, anyway. He’d make you scream out his name for the neighbors to hear what a dirty slut lived just next door from them.

After a short while of his stroking your hair and whispering filth into your ears, he decided he’d been good enough to get his trick. He took your hand in his and guided it to his cock, grinning like a little kid as your smaller palm traced the outline over his pants, knowing full well both hands would do nothing to cover his girth.

He’d really missed this— so much that he didn’t mind letting a grunt out in appreciation, certain that more would follow.

Your eyes met, the spark in them telling him you understood what he expected you to do, and even if you didn’t, he’d teach you. He’d teach you everything, snatch you from that piece of shit and make you into his star student, so long as you kept touching him and let him do all the things he’d spent the last thirty minutes fantasizing about.

Everything and anything, all for you to take—

The thoughts that failed to reach your ears along with all traces of the man whose weight alone -up until a moment ago- threatened to crush your body into a fine powder evaporated, the smooth sound of his voice replaced by the crude breaks of your father’s car as he pulled into the driveway— your mother’s kitten heels soon clicking atop every step they climbed.

Shit.

A/N: I actually intended for this to be a one-shot, but I guess it sort of ended on a cliffhanger so, oops. Lemme know if I should write a second and final part, or if you have any Toji ideas/requests ♡

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ezdotjpg · 2 months

Note

do you have any directors commentary on the recent two updates? 👉👈 the color palette is absolutely lovely! and and and WOLF!! :DD

OH BOY DO I

In the original draft of this chapter, Wolf stays a, uh, wolf until like the 4th update. Instead of actually managing to get his teeth on the master sword, Loft threw him off immediately. The Deku Tree still said the line about all three of them being heroes and Slate is like. “Including the fucking dog????!” I thought it was very funny but a) it made some scenes later down the line a huge pain and b) I was tired of drawing wolves ALDKDKD

You may have noticed Wolf’s scowling in the bg of almost every panel. That’s kind of just his face, but also right now my guy is nursing the world’s biggest migraine from popping the shadow crystal out of his skull. He can stay wolfmode for a while, but it’s still technically a curse. It’s not consequence free, and there’s an upper limit for how long he can spend in that form. Anyway, cut him some slack if he’s a little prickly for a bit.

There were a lot of comments about Loft being strong enough to toss a wolf over his head lol. My hc is that he’s one of, if not the strongest Link sans any magic items like power bracelets or gauntlets. He’s actually not even as strong now as he was during his quest. Wolf maybe has him beat now, but he can still get tossed lolol

It might seem like Slate’s really taken everything that happened at the end of ch1 in stride, but don’t worry. He’s simmering. Loft is grateful for the opportunity to get distracted by something else. Maybe that’s why he was so willing to approach the wild animal he’s never seen before lol

This maybe goes without saying based on the events of the last two updates, but Slate never had wolf link with him during the events of botw. He doesn’t recognize Wolf.

I’m really glad ppl seem to be liking the colors bc I struggled with them so hard on both updates 🫠literally days of me turning to my roommate and going “I think I’ve never made anything worse” and them going “it looks good stop being dramatic” WKDJDK I have this thing where if I had an idea in my head for what an update should look like, and what I produce doesn’t meet it somehow, I start seeing in fucking. shrimp colors. Posting always gives me a confidence boost back lol.

these pages were cursed in general bc like. this doesn’t usually happen but I think I redrew every panel in this update at least 5 times each. that’s part of why it ended up being late SKDJF

I REALLY like the idea of being in the presence of the Triforce and having access to its power being this eldritch, divinely horrifying experience. The sort of thing that is impossible to explain to anyone and also haunts you forever. Loft spends a lot of time actively trying not to think about the Triforce. Just, like, remember that about him.

Like how tears in reality are shown through holes in the literal comic panels, I tried to show the concept of reality bending in the form of a panel stretching and twisting like a ribbon ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ I hope that came across. Triforce lore varies a bit from game to game, but I’ve come up with my own internal logic for bonus links that combines all the ideas I like lolol. We’ll learn more about it in due time!

I also really like this parallel :D I intentionally set up the panels so past and present loft would line up like this. i love getting to draw flashback links it’s so fun to think of ways to convey what they used to be like, and how their quests might have gone for them. Past Loft’s not having a great time by the time he reaches this point lol

I think that’s all I’ve got for now. Thanks for asking :D

#long post #askdotjpg #bonuslinksdotjpg #bonus links #bonuslinks #bonus loft #bonus wolf #bonus slate

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bunnysbrainrot · 4 months

Text

Our Little Secret

Relationship: dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

Content: EXPLICIT sexual scenes, unprotected sexual acts, daddy kink, cum kink (Joel leaves a lovely surprise in your underwear), degrading language, dirty talk. ANGST (for once), but a lil' treat at the end

Summary: Knowing your impatience between your intimate encounters, Joel gives you a sweet reminder of who belongs between those thighs of yours.

“He’s such a fucking asshole-“

Joel gives you a pleading look. You’d been pacing around his living room before you’d almost exhausted yourself. But of course, you added more fuel to your own fire, now talking in tireless circles, for both of you.

A hand splays on your lower back, “Honey, it’s only temporary. The summer is gonna be over soon-“

“Exactly!” Your voice is louder than expected - hot and angry. “The summer has been the only time I’m able to spend with you, and now I won’t be able to see you… at all.”

The way your voice fades breaks something in Joel’s chest. This was it. The end of this forbidden love affair.

Your father had enforced a strict curfew, without much explanation, either. It was set for 10 p.m.. When you demanded his reasoning at the time, it was because of an increase of crime, yet a twinge or paranoia remained. Maybe he found out.

Maybe he already knew.

But if he did, surely he would never let you within 5 feet of Joel on your own. He wouldn’t trust him as must as he did, even still. Joel had his own key, and your dad’s eyes crinkle when he smiles at his best friend.

Your tantrum could be your dead giveaway.

Joel wordlessly tugs you to his chest. A kiss presses against the crown of your head. Your anger twists your gut, but you know Joel is simply trying to relieve you of this stress.

You sigh deeply into his chest. Joel threads his fingers through your hair, “Let it out, baby girl.”

After all, Joel was easily to blame for this. He had been too affectionate with you, he cursed at himself. Made you fall for him with his doting. Made you lust after him from the first text. And here you were, torn apart with a guilt he could’ve prevented. You were off limits, but something in him broke when you looked his way.

Somehow, no tears form. A lesson you’d learned being with Joel is that there were risks, but also, you could work around the obstacles.

“Just tell me what you need, baby girl.”

In case this really was the end, you let your senses take over.

Your lips form a trail from his chest to his collarbone, skittering across the rugged, tanned skin. Joel groans when your tongue joins in, meandering up his neck. He leans into your touch to grant you further access. Neither of you need words. Not anymore.

It ached as a sickly reminder of how close you’d become.

“Baby, your curfew is soon.”

You pause to scowl at him. His expression softens, but a certain part of him is anything but.

He speaks slowly, “This is the first night. It wouldn’t help our chances if you went ahead and broke it.”

A brief standoff ends with tentative, hovering touches. You remind yourself to be grateful for every caress and grab, to go back through the memories of his hands. And oh, how they’ve wandered.

You nod, returning to his jaw, “What do we do, then?”

Joel lets out a gruff moan that thunders through your core. Despite the anger and anxieties, a familiar wetness works through your folds. It grows too much to keep to yourself.

A desperate move, but you grip Joel’s hand and tug it toward the waistband of your bottoms, plunging his fingers toward your needy cunt.

“Sweetheart-“ mutters Joel.

“Give me something to remember. Joel, please, don’t let me forget you.”

Warmth envelops his fingers quickly. That sweet wetness you always delivered could drive any man mad. A single touch has you mewling into his neck, but Joel is slow to take the lead.

Your saliva slicks his neck as you release a wanton moan; Joel takes it in - your shaky breaths, your trembling legs, your soaked cunt ready for his use. Even still, Joel knows the wiser, and swallows the bitter pill that this can't last long.

The exchanges are hurried, though justifiably so, but the pace increases your worry. Minutes have passed with hardly more than his thumb gliding across your needy clit. You buck your hips onto his hand, urging him to be a bit more engaged. He seems to be holding back now more than ever.

Usually you could spur things along, pull the right strings, and push the right buttons to have this man crumbling in minutes. But his averted gaze and hesitant lips spike worry in your gut.

"Joel?" you ask, grazing your lips over the shell of his ear, "Is this... not what you wanted?"

You voice is far away and sheepish. Even after all this time with Joel, you thought you'd matured since your... 'involvement', but here you were.

Scared. Needing approval.

Worried you'll disappoint him in your naivety.

Perhaps Joel was finally starting to see that this could never work. But your body craved his touch, and your mind craved his humor and conversation. Your heart longed for his presence, his attention, his love.

Just like now. Your hips grind onto his rough fingers, trailing them between your slick folds until they begin to glide with ease. Thoughts race a mile a minute despite your silence.

Silently, you hope that Joel is doing the same.

He slows his movements, and cranes his head back to see you fully. A dim lamp in the corner casts a golden halo around his salt-and-pepper hair. It cusps over his cheekbones and lead down to his gently bitten lips, much to your credit.

Time slows its movement, and for a split second you're contentedly frozen. A soft smile tugs at Joel's lips. Your breath hitches in your throat, like the first time you'd kissed. Fuck, you'd been so nervous.

You later found out that Joel had felt those same nerves. It helped to know that you weren't just some 'novice' because he was older.

Joel breaks the silence first, pulling you from your stupor, "You with me, babydoll?"

Meeting his eyes, you give him a sure nod. Joel's highest priority is to fulfill your request: To give you something to remember.

A knowing smirk pulls his mouth to the side, making you freeze in anticipation. Joel swiftly reaches toward his belt buckle, fiddling with the clinking metal until he unsheathes his leather belt, snaking it around his hips until he casts it to the ground.

Some freedom.

"What are you doing, Joel?" you prod.

His sharp stare stills you. The grip on your waist constricts you close to him.

"What's goin' on with this 'Joel' bullshit? Last I remember, you call me somethin' waaay different."

What's the point of that anymore, though? It's over. Right?

A beat passes. Joel raises an eyebrow, eyes never straying from your reddened face.

Ah, what the hell.

Warmth fills you again, your gaze is sickly sweet with adoration for the man you'd admired most. Your shift switches the gears for Joel - his gaze softens, though his grip is just as firm.

Joel warns you, "This ain't the last time you're seein' me, honey bunch, but I'm not leavin' you empty handed."

An eagerness swells in your chest at his words. You quickly reach for the top of his jeans, tugging away at the button and zipper. Joel rests his hand atop yours to bring your attention back. Like the sweet, submissive thing you were, with that intoxicating doe-eyed look.

"We don't got time to undress," he whispers. A twinge of regret is in his tone. "Not this time, baby. I'm sorry."

"Then, wha-" you cut off. Joel guides your hand past the elastic of his boxers through the shorts, and finally met with his cock. The length twitches at your gingerly touch as if in a silent greeting. One instructed movement has you moving in a frenzy.

Pump. Pump. Pump.

Joel's, previously occupied, fingers begin to stroke circles along your clit, and your soft cries return.

Each digit is calloused after years of projects, fix-ups, and good old hard labor. There was a roughness that most girls would avoid, but Joel's hands would have you unravelling in mere minutes.

You roll your hips with each swirl of his wrist, trying to hit the mark that would tighten the coil in your belly. Pressed against you, Joel's cock does not go ignored - your hand grips his shaft greedily; the pressure from your teasing hands brings a moan out of Joel.

"I'm gonna give you somethin' real nice this time. Okay, sugar?" His voice is slow, flowing honey, beckoning you to follow his word, for him to guide you like always.

A lilting moan falls past your lips and into Joel's neck; you feel his cheeks move with a knowing smile. He has you precisely where he wants you.

You strain, "Fuck... Daddy, you're gonna make- make me c-" A few quick flicks across your throbbing clit tears the words from you, replacing any words with a series of delicate, drawn-out whines.

It's the first time you said it this time. And fuck, Joel thought he would have to beg you to say it. It was then that he realized that just as much was at stake for him - that he could have everything you built together ripped away, and all because of a stupid fucking curfew. Seeing you, outside of the occasional dinner with your family, was going to be harshly limited.

Pretending that this doesn't affect him is the ultimate folly of Joel Miller. Despite his rugged personality, he put his heart into everything, and everyone.

It had been something Joel avoided. For him, Joel was able to lose himself in his daily life with the same expectation of seeing you. If the cycle continued, and if summer never ended, and if he did the same morning routine, maybe things wouldn't have to change.

Maybe you wouldn't have to leave.

A few swipes of Joel's thumb sends you over the edge of bliss. You close your eyes, met with flashes of color as the sensations wash over you. Joel winces at the dig of your fingernails in his shoulder.

You laugh, "Oh, come on. I've scratched you harder than that before, pussy."

"You really wanna waste your time snappin' at me?"

Joel's fingers work their way through your folds, toying absentmindedly with your aching hole and sore clit. Your cries fall on deaf ears. He has to give you what you asked for.

His hips buck on their own instinct, jutting into your hand, keeping his thick length occupied with fervor.

"Keep it up, sweetheart," coos Joel. His hands find the top of your pants, hooking his fingers in the waistband and tugging them downward, just above your knees. Another swift go discards your underwear, exposing your soaked cunt to the cold air.

Your panties are bound around the middle of your thighs, trembling together in the wake of your climax. Joel glances downward at your bare pussy, admiring the way your slick now covered every exposed inch of your soft skin.

A kiss presses against your temple, "Look at me, babydoll. Look at Daddy."

Like a moth to a flame, your eyes snap to his, and you witness him begin to crumble. Melting as easy as butter under your spell.

It's exactly what he needs to keep on. Joel joins a hand of his own with yours, working together along his length, until he eventually sets his own pace, leaving you in the dust.

Ever the slut for him, you slip a hand between your thighs, and place a finger on your neglected clit, tracing slow circles across your pearl. That alone is enough to sputter Joel's hips in his hand, eagerly fucking his fist at the sight of you.

Thick fingers grip into your hair, pressing you flush against Joel's cheek, where you could hear him perfectly when he uttered those last few words.

"Y'want somethin' to remember me by? I can show you what you'll be missin'," Joel breathes.

He forces a thigh between your legs, prying them apart to expose your panties, already soiled with a pool of your own slick. A wicked grin flashes on Joel's face, happy to add to the mess.

He takes in everything - your shaky breaths, the lewd sounds of you teasing your precious core, the way your fingers shine with your slick, your pure lust. It's enough to send him over the edge, though he swore in that moment, if he could redo this night, he would do it right next time.

Your name is barely past his lips when Joel grips the base of his cock, aiming himself at the middle of your tainted underwear. Ropes of warm, thick cum spurt across the fabric, on your thighs, on the outside of your needy pussy. A generous amount coats the fabric, surely enough to feel a bit uncomfortable, but it's your own way to keep Joel with you, your dirty little secret.

His teeth catch your earlobe, drawing out a soft whimper.

Joel mutters, "Is that good enough for ya, dirty girl?"

Heat pools between your thighs at his words, though you know they may be the last of the night. You give your best attempt of holding things together when Joel moves to work your panties back up your thighs.

Fitting them snugly to you, Joel brings a hand to your front, meandering down to your core, and presses a finger against your slit, mixing his own release into your folds.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders once again, erupting a low groan from your lover.

Reluctantly, Joel pulls his hand away and works on your bottoms, tugging them up your calves, to your thighs, and finally situating them at your waist. And finally, the silence falls. That same deafening sensation when something has to give, and no one wants to be the first to back down.

"I should probably go," you mutter, pressed against his heaving chest. Needless to say it was the last thing Joel needed to hear after his high.

He doesn't nod in agreement like you'd expected. He doesn't utter a word, let alone move from where he's holding you. If he moves, it's over, really over.

And if you move, he knows you're leaving.

"I love you."

The words were gentle, but wary, like a secret that had been tearing someone apart for a lifetime. As if they'd been held back as a means to stay protected.

You couldn't move. You didn't dare to breathe, just to make sure you'd heard it correctly.

But there wasn't much point in asking. Joel Miller was already a hard old bastard who couldn't open up, the odds of him repeating those words were slim to none.

And so, you smiled.

Even though tears prick your eyes, pool, and fall down your cheeks, you smile.

And through the voice cracks and shaky breath, you answer his call, "I love you, too."

Moments later, you're settled and ready to head home before your curfew, with a sinking feeling deep in the pit of your stomach. You face down the front door, as if silently begging yourself to leave it closed.

Things can... will change. This won't be our last time together. It can't be.

"Headin' out, honey bunch?" Joel's accent floods over you like an embrace. Somehow, his sweet voice delivers a fresh dose of pain.

You look over your shoulder to him, pushing yourself to give him a slight smile, and you nod.

It could've been for the better that you left without an official 'goodbye', and that Joel didn't hug you before you left, like he'd done on other nights. You knew his reasons. Hell, you would've probably done the same.

Pulling out your phone, you notice the feeling between your thighs as you walk, and a wicked smile spreads on your lips. You idly scroll through notifications while you reel over the encounter, of what you would do later this evening, using Joel's sweet parting gift for your own greed.

And you have every intention to tell Joel exactly what you'll do.

After all, less time fucking means more time teasing. And Joel Miller could be in for a world of trouble.

Hi everyone! I'm back to writing! I hope you enjoyed this lil fic, I'm sorry if it's not the best, I might have gotten a little rusty :')

thank you all for standing by me as i get back into the groove of things, i love you <3

#fanfiction #fanfic #writing #fic writing #bunny writes #tlou #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #tlou fanfiction #smut #smut writing #dbf!joel

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heavenlyhischier · 3 months

Text

𝐄𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 | 𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐨 𝐇𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐫 (𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞)

word count: 6k

summary: from the moment you met nico hischier, you were enchanted by him.

warnings: platonic!jack x reader, unrequited love (?), sorts angsty, drinking, slight jealous nico, trevor x reader implied but for like literally a second, unedited

note: this is very prologue-esque and more of a background to the actual story so yeah. questions, comments, concerns are always welcome

Being five years old and one of the only kids on your street wasn’t exactly fun, but when the Hughes family bought the neighboring house and your mom told you that they had three sons, you were over the moon. You didn’t care that they were all boys, you were just glad to have potential friends that you could play with, even if it meant learning how to play a sport. However, no one ever expected you to become attached to the hip of Jack Hughes, and him to yours.

From the moment you met, he was your best friend. He included you in everything, taught you how to play street hockey, and he even yelled at his brothers if they were being a little mean to you. People often told the two of you that you were destined to get married, but neither of you agreed. You both knew you were always going to be by each other’s side, just as best friends, for as long as you lived. Even years later, and a few relocations, the two of you were never far from each other.

OCT 2019

“Jack, are you sure they don’t mind me coming,” You asked for what seemed like the hundredth time that night, “I don’t want to intrude on your team thing.”

You leaned forward over the center console so you could look at Jack, ignoring Ty’s quiet chuckles as he drove to his teammates house. Nerves crawled across your skin as the thought of meeting his teammates slowly inched closer to reality. This was different from meeting his friends from World Juniors; these were professional hockey players making more money than you could ever dream of. Your eyes were wide and swimming with worry as Jack turned to look at you, his lips turned up in a smile as he shook his head.

“It’s fine,” He said your name through a breathy laugh, “I promise. Besides, they all really want to meet you.”

“And see if he’s lying about you not being his girlfriend,” Ty added, casting you a playful wink before turning back to the road.

“Yeah, that too,” Jack feigned annoyance as you rolled your eyes, “But mostly they just want to meet the person I talk to all the time.”

With Jack’s reassurance, you leaned back in the seat and closed your eyes, trying to bring your heart rate back to a normal speed. The sounds of the city faded into a hum as you relaxed into the cool leather of the Range Rover, trying to clear your mind of the anxious thoughts that plagued you any time you were to meet new people. Jack being by your side brought comfort, but that unfortunately didn’t stop the knots from twisting in your stomach.

What if they didn’t like you? What if you embarrassed yourself in front of them? What if Jack stopped talking to you because you didn’t fit in? That thought alone made you want to hurl in the backseat of the car, but the feeling of the car stopping followed by seatbelts unbuckling tore you away from the insecurities and back to reality.

Ty and Jack shared a look with each other as you stared at the house, gripping the edge of the seat like you were about to fall out of it. Ty hops out of the car and makes a beeline straight for the house, while Jack opens your door and gently grabs your wrist, tugging your body out of the car. He’s known you long enough to know that you would talk your way out of going inside if he gave you the opportunity, so he didn’t.

“C’mon, they’re gonna like you, I promise,” He tried as the two of you walked towards the door, “Plus, they probably want to ask you how you’ve put up with me for so long.”

You swallowed the growing lump in your throat, pushing back the feeling of being a foreigner amongst hockey stars and their girlfriends. You didn’t want to ruin your only chance at a first impression because you were nervous, so you put up the best facade you could as Jack pushed the door open. He glanced at you one last night, jerking his head as a signal for you to go before him, and you did.

People you’ve only seen in pictures were scattered across the house, only a few of them breaking conversations to glance at you. Those who did, were instantly on their feet and making their way towards you with beaming smiles and a teasing glint to their eyes. You forced yourself to let go of the fabric of your dress that you had been crumbling between your fists, extending your hand to meet who you knew to be Andy, thanks to what you’ve seen on twitter.

“Hey guys! You must be Y/N,” He greeted, carefully shaking your hand, “It’s nice to finally meet you! I’m Andy and this is my wife, Rachel.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” You grinned as you swapped his hand with his wife’s, hoping that your own wasn’t damp with sweat, “Thank you so much for including me.”

“Any friend of Jack’s is a friend of ours,” Andy stressed the word, brows slightly lifting as he glanced between the two of you.

“Well, I truly appreciate it,” You laughed, “Jack’s more like an annoying brother, so it’ll be nice to know other people in the city.”

Jack stayed close enough to your side as some of his teammates slowly filtered towards him, greeting them in their own ways before they moved to introduce themselves to you. You slowly felt the weight lift from your shoulders as they treated you with nothing but kindness and like you were no different than them. You’d barely been able to move from the door since your arrival, too busy making introductions and brushing off comments about Jack being your boyfriend.

Then, you watched as a guy who was easily the most attractive person you’d ever seen in your life approached you with kind eyes and a gentle smile. He had his hair tucked underneath a backwards cap, his body clad with dark jeans and a tan shirt that hung loosely over his frame. You forced yourself to look away, eyes darting to the floor as you, once again, grasped at the fabric of your dress. Jack takes notice to the way your body language shifts, and a coy smile toys at his lips, but he knows now isn’t the time to tease you.

“Hi, I’m Nico,” He reaches his hand out to you once he’s standing right in front of you.

His eyes were brown; the kind of brown that reminded you of fresh soil in a blooming garden. His voice was deep and accented in a way that enveloped you like a warm and comforting blanket. His touch made your heart race and nerves bubble in your chest as you take his hand in your own. It was weird how quickly you felt yourself become attracted to someone you quite literally just met, but you were going to keep it to yourself for as long as you could.

“Hi,” You shyly introduce yourself, the hair on your arm raising, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” He smiled, dimples denting his cheeks in a way that almost sent you to your knees.

You dropped his hand, your own falling to your side, and you swear you saw Nico drag his eyes up and down the length of your body. Suddenly regretting your outfit choice, you cleared your throat and turned away from him and towards Jack, who had been watching the interaction with an amused smile. You narrowed your eyes at him, earning a laugh as he shook his head.

Your head snapped towards the large group of people when you heard your name being called, “Why don’t you come tell us how you’ve managed to put up with Jack for so long?”

NOV 2020

Going back home for American thanksgiving was thrown off the table the second Toronto had one of its biggest storms in years. The airport, and many surrounding others, were shut down with an undetermined date of reopening due to so much damage. With your mom being American, your family celebrated both Canadian and American thanksgiving, but your school schedule only allowed you time to go back home in November, and you’d been looking forward to it for months. The second your mom called you with the news, you couldn’t help but deflate in disappointment.

When Jack found out you were missing the holiday with your family, he immediately extended an invite for his team party to you. It wasn’t going to be much, he had said, just some of the wives and their girlfriends, including his own, having dinner. You initially declined the offer, telling him you didn’t want to third wheel, but it wasn’t until Jack’s girlfriend showed up at your apartment door to get ready with you that you truly realized how badly you wanted to go.

“Thank you,” You said for the hundredth time, smoothing out the wrinkles in your shirt before following her out the door.

“Stop thanking me,” She playfully rolled her eyes, “No one should have to be alone on Thanksgiving, and Jack agreed when I suggested I come over and “make” you come with us.”

Knowing that she came on her own accord made tears line your eyes, and it made you feel welcome. Out of all of his previous relationships, none of them ever made you feel comfortable like she did. They all tried to force you out of his life because they were convinced you were in love with him or vice versa, but not Ava. Ava was gentle and she was kind, and you had no idea how Jack managed to pull her.

You followed her out of your apartment building and to the parking spot Jack’s car was occupying. You slid into the backseat, responding to Jack’s greeting with one of your own as Ava put all of her stuff in the trunk. Once everyone was buckled in and ready to go, Jack set off to whoever’s house the dinner was being hosted at and the three of you fell into natural conversation, making the drive there fly by.

You helped them carry the food they brought inside, poking fun at Jack because you knew he didn’t cook any of it. He insisted he was actually a phenomenal chef, but you were quick to remind him of the undercooked chicken from the week prior, and he went silent. When you walked inside, you were shocked to see so many of the guys and their significant others spread throughout the house. Most of them weren’t from the states, and you fully expected them to be home, but you supposed they couldn’t pass up the bonding opportunity.

You followed the couple into the kitchen, listening to Ashlee’s instruction of where to set the tray of desserts in your arms. When you turned to follow after Jack and Ava to go mingle with some of the others, you ran straight into the chest of the one person you didn’t want to be alone with.

Nico’s hands carefully grasped your biceps to keep you steady as your hands instinctively flew to his chest. The feeling of his calm heartbeat underneath your palms was a stark contrast to your own as it slammed into your ribcage and your thoughts became hazy underneath his heavy stare. You swallowed thickly, slowly craning your neck to meet his eyes. He had a smile plastered on his face, his facial hair reduced to nothing but stubble now, as his dark eyes gazed into your own.

“Careful, ” He teased as his thumbs rubbed subtle circles against you, making your skin light on fire.

“I didn’t know you were right there,” You mumbled, your cheeks growing warm at the unfamiliar nickname as your fingers slightly scrunched the fabric of his shirt.

“I could tell,” He laughed, “I didn’t know you were coming today. I figured you would go back to your family.”

You couldn’t help but let your shoulders slump at the mention of your family, your eyes falling to the ground as you dropped your hands and pinched at the hem of your shirt, “I was supposed to, but the weather is too bad for planes right now. So, I stayed here instead.”

Nico, noticing the shift in your demeanor, dropped his hands down to your elbows, squeezing them gently as he spoke, “I’m sorry. Being away from family is not easy, but helps to focus on the people around you. That’s what I do when I miss home.”

You tried to cover your pathetic sniffle by clearing your throat, but he picked up on it anyway. Nico was quick to pull you into his chest, his arms wrapping around your upper body as you instinctively wrapped your own around his waist. His embrace was warm and it was safe as silent tears slid down your cheeks, your hold tightening ever so slightly.

While you wouldn’t say you were the closest with Nico, he had grown to be someone you considered a friend during your time in Jersey. He always treated you with nothing short of kindness and respect, and that didn’t help the ever growing crush you had on him. You occasionally let yourself believe that his lingering touches and flirty comments meant something, but you were always quick to slap yourself out of it. You knew better, or you thought that you did.

“Let’s go out there and enjoy the dinner,” Nico suggested as he pulled away from you, voice soft and gentle, “You can sit with some of us at the “singles table”.”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” You shyly smiled as you wiped at your cheeks to get rid of the any evidence of your sadness.

You sit with Nico and a few others at what he dubbed the “singles table”, which was really the couch closest to the door, mingling and laughing as they talked about whatever came to mind. Though, it was a little hard for you to focus with Nico’s thigh pressed against your own and his arm slung across the back cushion behind you. To make matters worse, every time he leaned forward to grab his drink, he would delicately place his hand on your knee, and it made your body light on fire.

Jack noticed the two of you walk out of the kitchen together, subtly elbowing his girlfriend as he watched you sit on the couch. She watched with wide, adoring eyes as gushing whispers of how cute the two of you would be filled Jack’s ears. When he met your gaze, he passed you a teasing wink, laughing when your face flushed and shook your head, forcing your eyes away from his own.

When it was time to eat, everyone filtered over to the multiple plastic tables that had been pushed together to make one long one. You made sure to take the seat next to Ava before anyone else could, and Nico took the spot on the other side of you. You ignored her stifled giggles and the way Jack raised his eyebrows, choosing to keep yourself occupied with passing along the various items being handed across the group of people.

Loud voices filled the room as a few of the guys brought the food out, setting the large turkey in the middle of the table with sides surrounding it. You fawned over the mashed potatoes with Ava, but Nico pulled your attention away when he pointed at the green bean casserole with his face twisted in disgust and asked what it was. She subtly elbowed you in the side, silently teasing you as your face flushed and your eyes brightened the moment you looked at him.

“It looks,” He paused, his eyes flitting down to you, “Unappealing.”

“Don’t worry,” You laughed, as you smoothed the napkin in your lap, “I don’t like it either, but it’s unfortunately a staple for the holiday. You should try it. It might surprise you.”

“Maybe. That’s happening a lot lately,” His voice trailed into a whisper, his eyes darting to his plate in front of him as he shifted in his seat.

You tried not to read too much into what he said or his actions following, choosing to instead fall into conversation with the others around you. Everyone ate, joked, and told stories of their life before Jersey, and it made the time fly by. Before you could really grasp it, everyone was packing up their things and helping clean the house before they departed for the evening. You and Ava assisted a few of the wives and girlfriends with the dishes, wanting to get them done so Ashlee didn’t have to worry about them tomorrow.

Once the house was cleaner than it was when everyone arrived, people started to filter out the front door after bidding those still present a goodbye. A few still stood off in corners and mingled with each other, waving at those who called their names as they slipped out of the door. You held a small container in your hand as you followed Ava out of the kitchen, passing everyone smiles and side hugs as you went. Jack’s hovering near the door with a few of the guys, Nico included, waiting for the two of you.

“Ready,” Jack asks as he slings his arm across Ava’s shoulders, “We’re going to go back to mine and Ty’s place and hang out if you guys want to come.”

You watched the way Nico’s body stiffened, his eyes avoiding your own as he nervously cleared his throat, “I already have plans, but maybe next time.

“Yeah, he’s meeting up with Mia,” Miles dragged out her name, clapping Nico on the back as he teased his friend, “I’ll swing by though. I’m not doing anything.”

Ava and Jack didn’t miss the way your entire body sunk, your gaze falling to the floor as your hands tightly grasped at the container. You felt stupid for being so upset by the news, but you should’ve known better than to let yourself think that Nico’s flirting meant anything. You’d been surrounded by hockey players almost your whole life, you know that it was all fun and meaningless for them, and he was no exception.

“Alright,” Jack spoke, trying to shove some of the newfound anger towards his teammate down his throat, “We’ll meet you there. See you later, Nico.”

Nico couldn’t help but let his eyes land on you again, and it wasn’t hard to notice the way your demeanor had changed. The brightness in your eyes and smile were faint now as you waved goodbye to everyone behind you. Jack and his girlfriend didn’t bother to spare a second glance at him as they walked out of the house and out into the frigid New Jersey air, and neither did you.

SEPT 2021

With Jack finally moving out of Ty’s apartment and into his own this season, he decided to have his own version of a house warming party. He and Ava had broken up before the summer, neither of them wanting to do long distance since she was moving across the country for her new job. That left the decorating and most of the party planning to you, which you preferred anyways. If it was up to Jack, he’d slap a keg in the middle of his apartment, buy one bag of chips for everyone, and call it good.

The two of you spent the better part of the day cleaning his apartment and getting what little furniture and decorations he had put up around his place. He did, however, listen to your advice a lot better than you thought he would’ve, but you knew it was only because he was nervous about having everyone over in what was his first place to himself. He even went out and bought a few random decorative pictures to hang on the wall because he felt like it was too bland, but you replaced them with pictures he had of his family and friends, and of the team.

Hours later, Jack’s apartment was littered with people he’d met during his time in Jersey. Most you knew, some you didn’t, and others you didn’t want to thanks to their nasty sneers when you would talk to him. Being ridiculed by Jack’s relationships, a term you used very loosely, seemed to increase tenfold now that his fame consistently grew. For the most part, it didn’t bother you, but you did have to delete your original instagram account and start a whole new, private account to keep yourself a little sane.

You were in the kitchen getting yourself a new drink when you felt a presence weigh on your chest, and you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Ever since Thanksgiving last year, you avoided interacting with Nico unless you had to. It was over dramatic on your part, a fact Jack often reminded you of, but you were trying to shake off the feelings you had for him. You wanted to be able to act normal around him, and every time Nico even spoke to you, you were thrown back to square one.

“Hey,” His voice was right behind you, “How was your break?”

You spun on your heels, your shoulder brushing against his chest because he was that close to you, and nearly stopped breathing the moment you met his stare. He’d cut his hair over the summer and let his beard grow up more than usual, and the sight made you want to melt. Guilt pitted in your stomach as you reminded yourself that you shouldn’t think about him like that anymore. It wasn’t fair.

“It was nice,” You mumbled, internally pleading with yourself to step away from him, “How was yours?”

“Yeah, mine was nice, too,” He lightly chuckled as his danced across your face, “So, I was wondering if you—”

“There you are,” Jack shouted as he pushed into the kitchen, stopping in his tracks as his eyes darted between the two of you, his eyebrows raising, “Matt just got here. He’s looking for you.”

Your mouth dropped open to respond, but Nico’s voice smothered your own, “Who’s Matt?”

The air in the kitchen thickened with an unknown tension, Nico’s stare returning to you as he watched your chest rapidly rise and fall. Your eyes were wide, pleading with Jack who looked just as lost as you were after he walked in on his best friend and now captain only centimeters apart. Swallowing thickly, you close your eyes and side step away from Nico before letting out a deep sigh.

“He’s my boyfriend,” You mutter, quickly walking away from the two men to go find the aforementioned boyfriend.

“What was that about,” You heard Jack ask, his tone slightly accusatory and clipped.

“Nothing.”

The rest of the night, you stayed glued to Matt’s side, letting him gush about how he was surrounded by his hometown hockey team. You found yourself searching for Nico more often than you cared to admit, but what was shocking to you was that he was already looking at you every. single. time. The moment your eyes would meet his, you willed yourself to look away from him and focus on the guy whose arm you were tucked under, but you couldn’t. He had you locked in.

To make matters worse, when the two of you managed to finally end up in the same circle of people that Nico was in, he was anything but nice to Matt. His usual gentle tone was replaced with short, harsh cords anytime he spoke to your boyfriend. It shocked you enough that you wanted to leave the party entirely, but Matt didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just didn’t care.

“Thanks for having me, man,” Matt expressed, his face bright with excitement, “Hopefully I’ll see you guys again sometime soon!”

You broke up with him a week later.

DEC 2022

This last year was eventful, to say the least. You were in the hardest year of college, spending more time stuck in the library with a new group of friends as you all studied until your brains were fried to even pass junior year. When summer came, you went to Michigan with Jack like you always did, and you even had a very short and meaningless fling with Trevor. Though if Jack were to ask, nothing happened.

When you returned to school that September, you had an entirely new outlook on life. You were tired of trying to have a plan for everything, you were tired of holding on to things that weren’t good for you. You were going to lead your life with the intention of taking care of yourself, building yourself up instead of tearing yourself down because of others.

The moment Jack had called you to ask if you would be interested in tagging along with a few of his teammates for New Years Eve, you instantly agreed. The semester was a little stressful, yet still nothing compared to last year, and you hadn’t had much time to see Jack let alone go out. So when the opportunity presented itself to you, you were more than happy to oblige.

The bar was loud, the air sticky and damp as bodies pressed against each other and alcohol spilled onto the floor. You held on to Charlie’s hand as you shoved your way through until you could see the group of boys that were shoved in the same corner they always were. They were huddled in a circle, some of their bodies shielding you from seeing who all was there, but you knew you’d find out who was there soon enough.

“Hey guys,” You yelled over the mixture of loud music and voices, earning the attention from those in the group.

Jack was immediately pulling you into his chest as everyone called out your name in a greeting, tipsy smiles and slightly glazed over eyes already adorning their faces. When you finally escaped the arms of your best friend, a few of the others replaced him and tugged you into their side as you introduced Charlie, who looked slightly overwhelmed, to everyone. You were relaxed and carefree as you fell into conversation with the others, and then you saw him.

You hadn’t really spoken to Nico over the last year, only really speaking to him in formal pleasantries and passing comments about Jack. After his treatment towards your boyfriend ultimately led to you breaking up with him, you withdrew your affections and excessive kindness towards him. You treated him the same way you treated all of Jack’s other teammates, maybe even a little less kinder if you were being honest, and he didn’t even seem to notice.

His lips turned upwards into a careful smile as he tipped his drink towards you in greeting. You gave him a small smile in return before you forced your attention back to Charlie, but you still felt his gaze on you. You could always tell when it was him because it made the hairs on your arms raise; it made your heart rapidly beat inside of your chest even before you even knew it was him.

He didn’t try and approach you at all during the duration of the night, but you hadn’t expected him to. You stuck by Charlie’s side most of the night, not letting her too far out of your sight, and one of the guys was never too far behind either of you. Jack made sure that either himself or his teammates had an eye on you at all times, knowing that the holiday caused people to act out, and he didn’t want anything to happen to you.

It was five minutes till the clock would hit midnight, and you were huddled in the corner with everyone after dancing for what seemed like hours. You had a new drink in your hand, Dawson’s arm slung around your shoulders, and a tipsy smile on your face as everyone mingled with each other. Jack had snuck off with Charlie somewhere a while ago, and you were not naive enough to go searching for them, so you stuck by the group of hockey players and their partners.

Despite Nico not uttering a single word to you the entire night, you felt the burn from his stare almost the whole time. You avoided looking in his direction, knowing that you would fall back into the enchantment that was Nico Hischier after working so hard to break free from it. You were focusing on things that brought you peace, and Nico brought you anything but.

“Guys, a minute left til midnight,” Shara shouted over the music, “Where is Jack?”

“Occupied,” You and Dawson called out at the same time before falling into laughter.

Those with partners pulled them closer to them, smiles on their faces and giggles falling from their lips as the music cut out and a countdown started. You accidentally met Nico’s eyes as your gaze wandered, and the way he was white knuckling his drink made confusion settle in your chest. Though, you didn’t have much time to dwell on it when you heard Dawson’s soft voice call your name.

“What do you say,” He raised his eyebrows, asking the question bouncing through his brain without outright saying it, “Just as friends, of course.”

With the crowds of people counting down from ten around you, you playfully rolled your eyes, but turned your body more towards him anyways. Kissing Dawson was not going to mean or change anything between the two of you, so you figured there was no harm in doing it. The moment the clock hit one second, you stood on your toes and pressed your lips against his until an eruption of cheers filled the bar.

It was short and simple, both of you pulled away from each other when laughter escaped through your lips. You let him pull you back into his side while everyone was pulling each other into hugs or clapping each other on the back. However, you were so focused on everyone else around you, that you missed the way Nico was glaring daggers into his younger teammates skull.

A few days later, you’re sitting at the counter of Jack’s apartment after his practice earlier that day. He was rambling on about their upcoming game against the Red Wings, shuffling through his fridge in search of food. He pulled out a small container of what looked like leftover pasta, his hands flying around him as he spoke.

“You want to know what’s weird, though,” He called over his shoulder as he opened the microwave, “Nico’s been kind of a dick to Dawson since New Years, and no one can figure out why. It’s kind of messing with Mercs, too.”

You nearly choked on your coffee with the new information, your eyes widening as you attempted to catch your breath. Jack’s brows shot up as he watched you stumble over your words, your hands clawing at the counter top as you coughed. You tried to not let yourself get too hung up on the possibility that Nico didn’t like the fact that you kissed Dawson, that maybe he was jealous. You couldn’t let yourself dance back into that dangerous territory again.

“You good,” Jack asked, leaning forward to give you a curious look, “You know something I don’t?”

“No,” You rushed out, shaking your head, “No. I mean, I don’t think this would matter to him, but I did kiss Dawson that night at the bar.” The second the words left your mouth, Jack doubles over in laughter as if he knew something you didn’t

APRIL 2023

The air was calm and cool as you sat outside some coffee shop, waiting for Jack and Nico to come back with the drinks. You were scrolling through your phone, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you read through your twitter feed. You were so far deep into a thread that you hadn’t even heard the two guys take their seats at the table, or the way they snickered to each other when you didn’t budge as your name was called.

It took a careful kick to your shin from presumably Jack to break you away from your trance, your head snapping up as the device clattered on the table. They were looking at you with raised brows and small smiles as you awkwardly cleared your throat and straightened your back, grabbing your drink from Nico as he slid it across the table.

“Took you guys long enough,” You playfully mumbled, bringing the cup to your lips.

“I’m surprised you even noticed we were gone with how invested you were,” Nico teased, his voice light and airy as his eyes stayed trained on your face.

Over the last few months, you had grown closer with him yet again, but this time it was on the premise of you only treating him as a friend. He had approached you one evening after a night out, apologizing for his distance and lack of effort in conversation, nearly whining when he asked if you two could start over. While your crush was still very much present, you agreed on the reset and opted to treat him the same way you treated everyone else as a way to protect your own heart.

“Shut up,” You rolled your eyes as a light blush decorated your cheeks.

Jack calls your name as he glances up from his own phone, setting it down in front of him as he leans forward, “You’re coming to the lake house right? I know you’ve got most of the summer off from work.”

“Eventually,” You tear your eyes away from Nico, “Charlie’s wanting to go travel somewhere in Europe this summer for a little over a week, we just haven’t decided where.”

“Summer is in like, a month,” Jack points out, shaking his head in amusement.

“Yeah, trust me I know,” You groaned, throwing you head back in slight frustration, “I keep telling her we need to choose soon but she’s not sure where to go. She just knows she wants to go.”

“Come to Switzerland,” The words leave Nico’s mouth before he really registers he said it, though he doesn’t regret it either way, “I can show you around.”

Your eyes widen, snapping over to him as your jaw goes slack and your heart rate increases. You’re searching his face for any sign that what he said was a joke, that he wasn’t being serious, but all you were met with was his soft eyes and small smile that he always had. The fact that he appeared genuine in his suggestion made you nervous, it made your mind hazy and cloudy with mangled thoughts.

“Oh that’s a good idea,” Jack’s voice raised, a bright smile on his face, “I think you should do that. I know you’ll be safe with Nico, and I won’t freak out if you don’t text me back after ten minutes.”

“You still will,” You lightly laughed, “I mean, it sounds fun, but only if you’re sure? And I’ll have to ask Charlie, but I don’t think she’ll mind.”

“I’m sure. I’d love to show you around my home,” He beams, his leg slightly shifting so his calf brushes against your own.

Jack’s immediately rushing on about how he’ll call Charlie, and typically you’d tease him about that, but you were too focused on the man in front of you. The sun was hitting his face in a way that made his dark eyes shine brighter than anything around him, bringing you nothing but a warm blanket of comfort that overshadowed the rays of sun by a million miles. The effect Nico had on you slightly terrified you because you’d never felt this way towards anyone, but you were determined to keep that a secret for as long as you could. All you could do was hope and pray you could keep that up on a week long trip in his home country, the one place he truly felt relaxed and like himself.

stay tuned for pt two…

#nico hischier #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier fic #nico hischier fanfic #nhl imagine #hockey imagine

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dulcewrites · 1 year

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Fool Me Once (pt 2)

Pairing: Aemond targaryen x reader (wc: 3.6k)

Summary: Despite learning about Aemond cheating on you, life has never been sweeter. Who knew being so bad could be so good.

Warnings: manipulation, mentions/allusions to pregnancy issues, mentions of self harm

A/N: first, I just have to say thank you for the response to part 1. I truly had no idea it would get the reception it would. Thank you to everyone who followed me as well. I hope I can continue to produce stuff y’all like. I’m hoping to write more hotd stuff, Aemond and non Aemond related. I plan on taking a small hiatus but will be back around thanksgiving weekend. I will be writing on/off during that time but just away for a trip/the holiday. If you have any hotd requests my inbox is always open. I would try to get them out either before my hiatus next week (11/16) or after it ends (11/26). I’m pretty open to writing any character, though I will warn you I’m way more fascinated by the greens so they just come easier to me. Anyway please reblog, like, and follow if you read anything you enjoy 🫶🏽🫶🏽. And some housekeeping: in this Aegon is not r*pist who enjoys watching children fight (the hotd are truly…. not right for the cartoonishly evil way they wrote Aegon). He’s just petty and neglected. Also the timing of this is different from the books bc Aemond meets Alys pre dance.

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A bastard Strong. The irony is not lost on you. Your straight-laced husband fucking someone who is the complete opposite you. Older, no kids, no title, and no duty to uphold. At this point, it doesn’t hurt anymore. Instead, it makes your blood boil in the most delicious way. Aemond’s betrayal made you realize how you’ve been going through the motions; endlessly sleepwalking, hoping one day Aemond would come around. It woke you up to how much he’s taken advantage of you. He sees your kindness, and aversion to standing out as a weakness. Something he can manipulate and twist like one of his daggers.

The both of you must have forgetten where you came from. A rich, well respected house. The only daughter of smart, albeit conniving, family that knows how to get what they want. Your family didn’t have dragons or absurd ideas of exceptionalism to help you gain power. You’ve learned that inflated egos and prideful indulges can cloud Targaryen judgment. A trait you hope skips your children.

Shame on you for thinking Aemond would be different. Shame on him for the carefully curated facade.

All you do after Larys Strong comes to you the first time is think. You can’t remember the last time you’ve had this many options in front of you. Your mother’s words about patience run through your head. Keeping your wits is key. Play your hand too quickly, and you lose all leverage. You have Daella and the babe in your belly to think about. You stood pat in the beginning; Lord Strong simply relaying messages to you. You make sure Alys gets the letter Aemond wrote, and the ones after that. Lord Larys makes sure you get the details of each letter exchanged.

When the days grew lonely, and your body aches because of the babe in your stomach, you think about the letters. The declarations of love and recounts of lust filled meetups simmer in your head, but it’s the mentions of you that makes the anger sizzle and crackle. It makes the guilt you feel wash away.

You question if the rumor is true. That his Alys is a witch. Does her magic allow her to see the way Helaena can? Fuzzy premonitions and dreams that only make sense after they happen; a gift and a curse. A part of you wishes it to be true. You hope while your stomach stirs with untold truths, hers stirs with regret. Maybe the pain that runs through you leaves an unfamiliar taste in her mouth. That she can’t quite put her finger on it, but she feels you.

You wonder if when Aemond prays, he asks the Father to protect him… to protect her. The same way when you pray, you ask the Warrior to help you find the courage to destroy him.

It started with a bruise. A bruise that you don’t even remember how you got. Maybe one of those things you just wake up with. But it’s there, on the inside part of your left arm. It’s starting to fade but an otherwise noticeable bruise that stands out when you wear something with shorter sleeves.

The idea doesn’t come to you till you see the curiosity in Alicent’s eyes when you absentmindedly rub the bruise while asking if she’s seen Aemond. It’s only you two in the walkway; an unusually quiet day at the Red Keep. Her eyes go from it to the far away look in your eyes. It makes her tilt her head in thought.

“No dear, I haven’t,” her eyes go back to the scratch. “Are you doing alright? I know for some, the second babe can be even harder than the first.”

You look down at your arm, and something just clicks.

“I’m fine,” you start, then you make your voice tremble a bit. “I will be fine. I think I’m just tired.”

You give her a strained smile, and she returns one that tells you she doesn’t believe you. You can feel her big brown eyes burning into your back when you walk past her towards your chambers. There could be two thoughts in her head: you did this yourself or someone else did it to you. Either way, her son’s sweet pregnant lady wife is not doing well, and her son is nowhere to be found. Queen Alicent is one of the smartest, if not the smartest, person you know. She sees the change in her son; the change in the dynamic between Aemond and you.

It hits you. It would be too easy to physically harm Aemond. Though the idea of taking the blade that hangs from his hips and putting it to his throat has crossed your mind more times than you’re proud of. It would be too easy to get Larys to kill Alys. You don’t want to give Aemond the satisfaction of having his whore’s blood on your hands.

Where’s the fun in killing when your rage could be channeled into something more… methodical.

Under all that false bravado is the little boy who got picked on for not having a dragon. To break the man means bringing out that little boy. A truly broken man can’t love anyone. Isolation, and self hatred. What a gorgeous combination for your dear husband.

If this is going to work you need to up the ante.

So, you write. If Aemond and Alys can document their love, you can document your pain. You sent your lady in waiting out to get a blank book from one of the maesters. The color dyed cow skin feels smooth under your hands. There needs to be a slow build. Each day you grow closer and closer to shattering. Whoever reads it needs to know Aemond brought you to this place. He is the villain in the story of the poor, innocent wife that did nothing but carry his children and try to love him.

It will read like a diary, but to you it is a creation. A mixture of truth and imagination. A manifestation of pent up feelings. Purging and revenge all rolled up into one. You make sure to mention how terrified you are for your safety, and for you children’s safety. How an angry or disenchanted Aemond is nothing to toy with, especially if he has a bastard witch on his side. How maybe life would be better for Aemond if you just weren’t around.

But this fading bruise isn’t enough. Neither is just having a diary that will be discovered in due time. A deep cut, a dark bruise, half hazardously placed hand prints.. now that could work.

There’s something cathartic about the pain you feel when the dagger slices through your skin. The blood is so red and warm. It smears so smoothly on the page. Blood on your dress, cloth pressed to the wound, and wandering the halls is how Ser Criston finds you. You notice the worried, confused look in his eyes when you stutter out an ‘I don’t know’ when he asks what happened.

As the maester tends to your wound, you notice how Alicent and Criston stand in the corner of Alicent’s quarters. They occasionally glance at you while they whisper to each other. You recognize the familiar crinkle she gets in her forehead when she’s upset. All her children do it too.

“Sweetling, we both think it might be a good idea to give you your own knight of the kingsguard,” she sits next you. “Just to help you and… keep an eye on you during this vulnerable time.”

You blink. Not one mention of her son. But it’s clear to see how Ser Criston is with his queen. Submissive, and utterly devoted. Having someone like that is an asset. So, you smile weakly and nod. The more people who see you in this way, the better.

Ser Quinton Throne was quiet in the beginning. As if he was scared to be in your space. A far cry from the rambunctious knight his brother, Rickard, is. Moving past the initial shyness, he is attentive and even indulges Daella’s fascination with him. Despite you telling her not to, she would always run up to him, tugging on his white cloak to get his attention. She likes having someone around just as much as you.

The distance between Aemond and you had started to carry over into his relationship with Daella. Kids are more intuitive than adults give them credit for. Your throat felt tight when you daughter finally asks where father goes. You lie; it comes easy to you, easier than you thought it would. It makes you think if this is how easy it is for Aemond to lie to you. Or for everyone to not gloss over the clear problems in your life.

You would lying if you said it wasn’t nice having a man around, even if it was his job. It was Aemond’s job to do right by you, and he couldn’t do that. A man carrying out his orders with a warm smile was welcomed. The comfort of having someone who sweared his allegiances to you, and only you, and intended on keeping them.

You look from your embroidery loop to see Daella and Ser Quinton sword fighting with wooden swords. It’s an uncharacteristically sunny day. Perfect to get much needed fresh air, and apparently going to battle.

“She’s gotten quite good.”

Like a storm rolling in to ruin a sunny day, your husband’s tone is ever cold and distant. You hate the uncomfortable energy that radiates when he sits next to you.

“Yes, she has,” you stare at the Lysene lilac flower starting to come to life on your loop. “He’s good with her as well.”

You know he won’t like you saying that. He hates Quinton being around, and he especially hates how Daella taken a liking to him. Aemond scoffs and mumbles something under his breath you can’t make out.

“It’s just lovely having real protector around,” you continue to push your luck. “Someone so attentive and… strong.“

You look at with his a sickening sweet smile. He opens his mouth to say something, a complaint or rude comment since those seem to be the only reasons he talks to you, but he is interrupted by Daella yelling out for him.

“We’ll talk about this later,” he mutters to you, getting up.

“Oh you’ll actually be here long enough for that?”

The words slip out your mouth and it makes him turn to glare at you. It reminds you of the gossip you heard about him when you first arrived at court. How cold the king’s second son can be. It should’ve been a warning to you.

Quinton takes it as his cue to leave them be; you know he can sense how much Aemond doesn’t appreciate his presence. You watch as Daella clings to her father. As selfish as it sounds, you patiently wait for the day she too realizes he can’t be depended on.

“My mother used to make me embroider,” your knight’s voice breaks you out of looking on. “Something about being dangerous with a needle is just as great as being dangerous with a sword.”

You take a good look at him. If Aemond is the moon - ethereal, mysterious, and always changing, then Quinton is the sun. Bright, forward facing, and shines brighter with time. His choppy black hair, beard, and warm standing in contrast to your husband’s Targaryen features.

“Sounds like a smart woman,” you smile as he sits next to you.

His eyes linger on your embroidery work before traveling to you right arm. The blade wound was just starting to scab and scar over. His first day on duty was marked by seeing your husband give a long lecture on safety and ‘using your brain’ after Aemond saw your wound. The blade cut wasn’t under pure circumstances, but the look of resentment on your face was real. He saw that. He’s never asked what really happened to your arm.

“How are you my lady,” he whispers. You told him he can address you by your name, but he still insist on the formal names especially around others. “Is the babe giving you trouble.”

Ser Quinton, Helaena, and Alicent are the only people that seem to care about your well being, on top of the babe’s. Aemond concern went making sure the babe was fine to just not asking all together. It’s better that way, you think. You don’t think you’d be able to take fake concern about your little ‘mistake’.

“My bladder is being pushed on, I’m finding clumps of my hair on my pillow, and Maester Oliver told me this baby will weigh more than Daella did,” you reply lightly. “But other than that I’m doing fine.”

This pregnancy had knocked you on your ass. You’re sure the stress and thoughts that consume you don’t help. You know how it feels to come into a fracture family; it makes you feel awful for the babe in your stomach. Your parents tried hard, frankly too hard, to pretend things were good between them. Trying to prove their union was more than a duty for their houses. Till this day, you don’t know what’s worse: knowing they didn’t share that love or the years you watched them fake everything. They had ambitions, and to carry them out there needed to be an appearance of an united front. You took your father’s lead, knowing he always tried to have your best interest. The relationship you have with your mother often ebbing and flowing, especially since your marriage.

When you ravened your mother about your pregnancy troubles, she tells you that this is your responsibility to your husband. Harsh and utterly true. You don’t know if your father ever had indiscretions like Aemond, but you know she’d never plot the way you do. Her calculating nature showing up in different ways. Instead of going after him, she chose to focus on elevating you.

Her and Queen Alicent remind you of each other. Devoted to a fault. A victim who had no other choice but to fall in line.You pray for the both of them. Pray that they find peace with the sacrifices they’ve made. Pray that you never get that far. A shell of yourself. Duty, responsibility, cleaning up others’ messes - what a dull way to live.

“Once he’s out, I’m sure it will all be worth it,” says Ser Quinton, voice not wavering.

He’s trying to be kind, mentioning the working theory in the castle that you’re having a boy. You try to smile at the thought. It’s hard to believe that. Plan or not, you still have to know the truth about the father of your children. There is hole left in your heart about that. Him disrespecting you is one thing, but his words pertaining to your unborn child is another. A sudden spurt of anger rushes over you thinking about everything. It makes you stand abruptly.

“I’m feeling tired,” you watch as Daella pretend to stab her father with her sword. Her giggles ringing out when he reaches to pick her up. The dichotomy of Aemond Targaryen will always fascinate you as much as it terrifies you. How he manages to smile in her face, and lie to yours is quite a sight to watch. “I’ll send Margret out to get Daella.”

Waiting for the perfect moment is not going to work. There no time like the present.

The stiff upper lip of this family is something you noticed the moment you stepped into their presence. It’s seeped into the way they gatekeep a dying Viserys. Alicent is cold and collected in the most beautiful way. A sharp glittering icicle. A pretty rose littered with thorns to keep you admiring from a distance. Even Helaena, who you consider a friend, keeps certain things close to the chest. It’s better to keep the full truth away from her.

But there’s Aegon.

Pitiful, and lonely Prince Aegon. A drunk with a bad attitude. But he’s also the most painfully self-aware person you know. There will be times that you and him exchange looks, as you are in on the joke. That everything is a farce. One day someone will just come up and say it’s all been a bad dream. You think it’s the reason why he frustrates Aemond so much. The teasing on top of him never taking the Targaryen name seriously. Aegon spends his days trying to drink and fuck his way out of thinking about his life. Stuck in a royal cuckold. The first born son of a king with nothing to show for it.

He’s messy, nosy, and so openly brash. He’s your missing chess piece. The perfect pawn.

You leave the diary around places in the castle you know he will be. It’s not until you conveniently leave it in the play room where all Daella, Jaehaera, and Jaehaerys all frequent that you know he’s taken the bait. His lilac eyes seem to follow you whenever you two are in the same room. It takes days for him to confront you; book in hand and wry look on his face.

“Is it true? Everything you wrote?”

You stroke your belly while looking at him, a small smile on your face.

“Does it matter that if it is,” you tilt your head, and his eyes glitter with something you’re not used to seeing.

He mirrors your head tilt with a full blown smile on his face this time. It’s like a bright light after weeks of darkness. A person who also sees through the bullshit that enraptures once you call yourself a Targaryen.

“I greatly underestimated you my good sister,” he whispers. You know he’s thinking about his own words. ‘Pretty but horribly dull’.

“That’s fine,” you motion to the seat next to you. “You can make it up to me.”

Queen Alicent stands facing the fire. Aegon, Helaena, and Ser Quinton off to the side. All of them standing across from where you sit. Aegon gives you a knowing look while Quinton’s eyes are filled with pity and anger. Pity for his princess, anger towards his prince. Helaena looks like she wants to say something.

“I… do not know what to say,” her voice is strained with pain. You know this hurts for her. The image of the perfect son being destroyed. The pedestal she put him on crumbling before him.

You’ve gotten better at crying after Aegon told you tears will be necessary to sell it. It’s an automatic response now. The perfectly timed emotion that breaks like flood gates when Alicent holds out the diary. You say you’re embarrassed. That you never meant for anyone to read it, especially not anyone in the family. Aegon gets to be the concerned good brother. He rubbed your back, while his mother called for Helaena. She needed to know who else knew about this.

“I can say what everyone is thinking,” Aegon pipes up. “He’s a fucking cunt.”

“Aegon.”

His mother turns to glare at him, but it doesn’t deter him.

“Walking around with that self righteousness just to fuck a Strong,” he scoffs. “Calling his child a mistake?”

The words makes Alicent sigh, and squeeze her eyes shut. Helaena continues to play with her fingers with a quizzical look in her eye. If Aegon of all people can judge, the actions must be bad.

“This all my fault,” you decide to take it up a notch. Your breath catches. “I must’ve done something to deserve this.”

“Oh my sweet girl,” Alicent walks over and sits next to you, pulling you into her chest. “None of this is your fault.

“I just don’t know what I did to deserve this,” you continue. That part is true; what the seven hells did you do to deserve this marriage? “This, and the baby, and missing my family. I’m just so unhappy here.”

Alicent strokes your hair. You can feel her heart thumping in her chest. You can tell she’s upset and scared. Scared for what your unhappiness means. You’re a risk now.

“Maybe… my father can come and visit. He hasn’t been here since Daella was born.”

After you got married, your parents left court to tend to your house. They felt their work was done. That the marriage was as far as their political ambitions can go. They visit from time to time to see their granddaughter but normally you’re the one who has to make the trip.

“Of course,” you can see the wheels turning in her head. “I’m sure the Hand would love to pick his brain on some things. Your father has always been so kind and helpful”

Queen Alicent is as predictable as she is smart. Your dad thought your marriage would help him get a seat in the small council. When no offer came, his ego was bruised. If your marriage couldn’t, maybe a desperate Alicent can. The idea of sending a raven about the news makes you have to bite back a smile. An ally in an castle full of strangers.

“I’ll speak to Aemond about this,” she nods to herself. “You don’t need to be worrying about this in your condition.”

The disappointment is clear in smooth voice. Before you can reply with a thank you, Helaena finally piped up.

“A baby’s green eyes spurs brighter skies.”

She mutters it before looks at you curious. You look down at your swollen belly, feeling confused. Neither Aemond or you have green eyes. You try to push the sinking feeling out of your stomach. Even Aegon, who normally ignores Helaena’s cryptic language, has perked up a little.

You take a look at Ser Quinton… his eyes as green as spring grass.

Ok this is my first one doing a tag list, so I’m sorry for those I’ve missed. It only let me do 50??? Idk it’s it’s different on desktop or I’m doing something wrong. Hopefully I can find a more conducive way for this. I also only tagged people who specifically asked: @afro-hispwriter @crispmarshmallow @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @its-sam-allgood @lol-im-done @grey-water-colors @sassysaxsolo @justsumstufff @lilithskywalker @dc-marvel-girl96 @bekky06 @claudie-080102 @cloudroomblog @shelbythequeen @crazylokonugget @solacestyles @instantpeachpeace @katyadenauer @nsainmoonchild @deeeeexx @iwanttohitmyself @rosa-berberifolia @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @princessmiaelicia @bregarc @castellomargot @thesadvampire @chaosmagiq @icarusignite @happinessinthebeing @flavorofsalt @wishfulwithwine @slut-for-eddie-munson @rosaryos @mistalli @inana-mm @winxschester @papery-maniac @nolongereviliwantlove @fultimefangirl @missusnora @skinmittensgoblin @duckworthbean @b00kdiary @chiyausu @alexandra-001 @tachibubu @juneisreading @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @verycollectivecreator

#aemond x oc #hotd imagine #my writing #sorry for the delay.. the tagging kicked my butt 😭#also if there’s typos I’m sorry 💀💀#also sorry for once again leaving it ambiguous… couldn’t help myself #aemond targaryen x reader #black!reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #Aemond targaryen

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