#*slightly more aggressively* OI

[deatheaterv]

ENDEARING

pairing : james potter x fem!reader

genre : fluff

summary : james potter teases you ALOT

it started small. james potter, hogwarts’ golden boy, had taken a liking to you, and the entire school seemed to know it. at first, it was easy to ignore—the odd smirk across the great hall, a wave during transfiguration, and the occasional “you’re looking radiant today, y/n!” whenever he passed you in the corridors.

but then he ramped it up.

one morning, you were walking to charms when you heard it.

“oi, y/n! i’ve decided i’m gonna marry you!”

you froze mid-step, the bustling corridor falling silent as every single person turned to look at you. your eyes widened in horror, and you whipped around to see james standing at the other end, his hands cupped around his mouth as he grinned like a lunatic.

“what do you say? sound like a good plan?” he called out, his voice echoing down the corridor.

“i say you’re insufferable, potter!” you shouted back, your face burning.

he clutched his chest dramatically, pretending to stagger backward. “ah, rejection. but don’t worry, love, i’ll win you over eventually!”

you stormed off, ignoring the muffled laughter and whispers from the other students.

it didn’t stop there.

a week later, you were in herbology, carefully trimming a particularly aggressive fanged geranium when james sauntered up to your station.

“looking good, y/n,” he said, leaning against the table with a cocky grin. “but you’d look even better if you let me take you out.”

you didn’t even look up. “potter, if you don’t leave me alone, i’ll feed you to this plant.”

“you’re feisty. i like that,” he teased, wagging his eyebrows.

“and you’re annoying,” you shot back, finally meeting his gaze.

he clutched his heart as if you’d stabbed him. “you wound me again, darling. one of these days, you’ll see how charming i am.”

“don’t hold your breath,” you muttered, focusing back on the plant.

the next day, he upped the ante.

you were sitting in the library, enjoying a rare moment of peace, when james appeared, plopping down in the seat across from you.

“potter,” you groaned, not even looking up.

“just thought i’d keep you company,” he said, resting his chin on his hand as he stared at you.

“don’t you have quidditch practice or something?”

“i canceled it. you’re more important.”

you rolled your eyes. “please stay away.”

“sure, but a kiss first?”

“you’re unbelievably irritating,” you finally looking up to glare him.

he just laughed, completely unfazed. “come on, y/n, admit it. you’d regret it if you don’t want to.”

“not likely,” you muttered, though the faint smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

the teasing didn’t stop, but over time, you found yourself less annoyed by it. there was something about james’ relentless determination that was almost endearing.

one afternoon, you were sitting by the lake, enjoying the quiet, when james appeared out of nowhere, flopping down beside you.

“don’t you ever get tired of bothering me?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“never,” he said, grinning. “so, what do you say? want to grab dinner with me tonight?”

“is this your way of asking me out?” you asked, giving him a skeptical look.

“obviously. i’m very subtle,” he said, smirking.

you couldn’t help but laugh. “you’re ridiculous, potter.”

“ridiculously in love with you,” he shot back, his grin widening.

you rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed at his words.

then there was the moment that truly caught you off guard.

it was a late afternoon in the courtyard, and you were sitting with lily evans, enjoying the crisp autumn air. james, as usual, appeared out of nowhere, his hair even messier than usual.

“y/n,” he said loudly, dropping to one knee in front of you.

“what are you doing?” you asked, your eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“making a declaration,” he said, pulling a small flower out of his pocket. it was slightly squished, but the gesture was oddly sweet.

“oh, merlin,” lily muttered.

“y/n, will you do me the honor of..”

“potter, i swear to god—“

“-letting me carry your books for the rest of the week?” he finished, grinning as he held out the flower.

you couldn’t help it, you laughed. james potter, for all his arrogance and teasing, was nothing if not persistent.

“fine,” you said, taking the flower. “but just for this week.”

“that’s all i need,” he said, standing up and flashing you a triumphant grin.

as much as you hated to admit it, james potter was growing on you. and maybe, just maybe, you didn’t mind being the center of his attention.

[lay-z]

battered and bruised | 1/3

Synopsis: Captain Price won't tolerate you risking your life on a mission again.

Pairing: alpha!Captain John Price x fem!omega!Reader

Warnings/Info: 18+ MDNI | Omegaverse; comfort fic; humour; blood and injury; morphine/medical drug usage; fraternising; teammates/friends to lovers; dub-con; sexual/suggestive content; a/b/o dynamics; cussing; fluff (Some of these apply to upcoming parts!)

Word count: 2.2k

🖤 masterlist

Location: Hereford/UK | TF-141 HQ Date: Friday, 24/01/2025 Time: 00:37 a.m.

A door is flung open and then you’re harshly pushed and shoved, nearly sending you stumbling and crashing in your heavy boots before you barely catch yourself on the edge of a sturdy table, head spinning as your eyelids blink rapidly. 

Your sight is somewhat blurry, dust and eyeblack smudging your vision, white-speckled stars dancing and flickering in the corners of your eyes in the semi-darkness of what must be some vacant, random briefing room. 

The door slams shut behind you with more force than necessary, making the surrounding windows tremble in their frames, and then the room is filled with thick, accumulating tension as you feel Captain Price’s piercing glare on the back of your skull, his tangy scent surrounding the space, making you bristle like an animal caught in a trap. 

His voice is sharp and jagged, a combat knife slicing through heavy silence when he snaps at you: “You wanna explain that little stunt you pulled earlier, Sergeant?” 

“Oi–!” You huff, rolling your aching shoulders underneath your heavy tac gear as you turn to face him on wobbly knees; swiftly pulling your black balaclava off in one smooth motion and taking a greedy breath while tucking the fabric into an empty pocket of your cargo pants; revealing your dishevelled hair along with a thin, bleeding cut on your right cheekbone. 

“We finished the mission successfully, innit?” You counter briskly like the bloody smartass you are, though you usually never dare to adopt a tone like this with Price, not even in the privacy of twosomeness, and you gulp a gasp of air, eyes widening as you realize your mistake. 

This isn't John, your packmate and friend, but Price, your alpha superior. 

Price’s steel blue eyes darken another shade as he steps forward with a grim frown, tilting his head slightly, the look almost murderous. He stops in front of you, tips of your chunky boots touching now, before he grabs your chin with his gloved hand, lifting your bruised face up towards him. 

“You almost got yourself bloody killed, you goddamn fool!” He snarls, eyes scanning over the cut on your cheek before he lets go of you roughly. “You weren’t supposed to get that close; do you understand me? Never!” 

You tut, scrunching your nose in a small snarl like a disobedient pup baring its baby teeth at his rough manhandling, glaring at him with bloodshot eyes while your supple omega skin pounds and burns around the cut, irritated and raw. 

“Sir, I took those fuckers out efficiently, giving you and Gaz the necessary time to take out the main target–” you explain, trying to stay calm though your voice keeps wavering, “Call me a fool all you want, but you know I’m right, Captain.” 

Price growls at you as you continue to talk back to him; eyes hardening and turning to a shade of navy blue while his jaw clenches so tightly, you’re surprised it didn’t break yet. His nostrils flare as he inhales deeply, trying to calm himself down as his alpha pheromones turn too heady and aggressive, causing your gut to clench and your throat to tighten as you hold back a submissive whine. 

“That wasn’t part of the bloody plan, and you know it, Sergeant! Shouldn’t you be better at following orders by now? Ya could’ve gotten yourself–” He stops mid-sentence, his buff chest deflates with a rushed exhale, lids narrowing and zeroing in on the gnarly cut and bruises on your face once more. “Fuck,” he curses under his breath and the roughness in his voice makes you shiver in your boots before he reaches up with both hands to cup your face this time, gentler and tenderly; thick thumb lightly brushing away coagulated blood, making you wince and flinch, and melt simultaneously. 

“That needs to be taken care of, dove,” he says much quieter, his anger now replaced with worry as his frown softens and the wrinkle between his brows smoothens out. 

A tingling sensation spreads over your face, making it feel hot beneath his touch, like someone tugging on your hair so tightly, your skin is pulled taut while the tips of daggers are wrenched into your eye sockets, prodding at your brain and scraping inside your skull. The sudden pain makes you dizzy and sway.  

Time slows down for you, crawling along like thick tar, though, it merely takes seconds. 

With fluttering lashes, your eyes flicker up to stare blankly at his ruggedly handsome, dirty face; pain and adrenaline lowering your inhibitions and qualms, all reason melting from your brain and running out of your ears in an instant as you catch another whiff of his alpha scent. 

Cold bones covered in rich dark chocolate, wrapped in ripe tobacco leaves and presented to you. 

“Sergeant?” 

Swallowing down a mouthful of foamy saliva, your black pupils dilate as your wide doe-eyes flit down to stare at his lips as John speaks up again, and in a moment of weakness, your omega instincts manage to slither from your grasp despite the strong suppressants you take religiously and you reach out to clutch and curl your gloved fingers into the front of his tac vest to pull him to your level for a rash, first kiss. 

John freezes the second your soft lips connect with his; initial clumsiness balanced by raw fervency make his chest rumble with a pleased growl, and he finds himself kissing you back for a second, fingers carding through your hair and cupping the back of your neck, applying some pressure; sighing as he finally gets that ardently longing taste of you before his brain screeches to a halt; duty and regulations forcing him to act and contain his alpha nature, to be the reasonable one again. 

He pulls back with a sharp curse, lips smacking and stealing another peck before a string of saliva connects his bottom lip to yours. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He breathes harshly, uncurling his mammoth hands from you reluctantly before stepping backwards, running a hand through his short, brown hair in frustration. “Bloody Christ, Sergeant,” he huffs, “–you’re not... We’re not supposed to–What are we doing here, huh?” 

The feeling of his lips on yours, the taste of him melting on your tongue like hard candy, bursting on your tastebuds, and his beard scratching your sensitive skin, was enough to distract you from the throbbing pain and fuzziness in your head momentarily, though now it’s hitting you again full force. 

Inhaling a sharp breath through clenched teeth, your eyes widen as you stammer for an answer: “I–I–I’m–” you stutter, heart now hammering in your throat as your ears start ringing. “I’m sorry! I–I don’t know–ah!” 

You wince as you pinch the bridge of your nose harshly, and John can merely stare and watch you struggle to speak while his heartrate increases, strong muscle slamming into his ribcage underneath his layers of gear and clothing; both thoughts and emotions all over the place uncharacteristically after you’d kissed him without so much than a friendly premonition. 

Then, he steps forward again, pushing your hips back against the sturdy table behind you, large hands grasping the front of your tac vest more desperate than he’d like to admit. “You’re sorry?” He repeats in disbelief. “You kiss your superior just like that and you’re bloody sorry, Sergeant?” 

���Y-Yes, sir. I–ah... Fuck,” you curse and groan, squeezing your eyes shut as the splitting headache worsens; barely registering the way John has grabbed you by the shoulders now. “Please–” you whine, unable to keep the pathetic sound concealed this time while you reach out to get a hold of his strong forearms, finding purchase against the table as you lean back.  

As soon as your soft whine is torn from your delicate throat, alarm bells go off inside the Captain’s head as he ignores the pleasant shudder running down his spine and focuses on the need to protect and take care of you blossoming behind his ribcage instead.  

“How are you feeling?” He asks, eyes filled with worry as he witnesses you practically falling apart in front of him and not knowing why is driving him mad already. “Jesus, you look like you’re gonna pass out any second now, dove.”  

Wrapping an arm tightly around your waist despite the bulky gear covering both your bodies, John pulls your smaller frame as close as he can get you; securing you against him. “Let me help you, okay? I’m taking you to the medbay. Just breathe for me and calm down. We can’t risk you getting sick–” 

You feel even weaker in the knees now, but you manage to loop your arms around his neck somehow while you take eager little sniffs of his calming scent at this proximity, and as soon as John notices you trying to seek out his comfort, he swiftly unzips his combat jacket and tugs at the tight collar of his compression shirt to expose more of his scent to you, mumbling to himself. “Damn it, honey, why is my life never easy with you?”  

A pleasant tingle runs down the length of his spine when the tip of your nose grazes along the curve of his neck cutely, narrowly missing his sensitive scent gland as you breathe in his scent, and John’s jaw clenches while his mind short-circuits at the featherlight contact. He should be able to resist it, being an experienced SAS Captain and all that, but he’s slowly realizing how powerless he is when you’re all submissive and vulnerable for him like this. 

“Hit my head... pretty badly when–when I grappled and–an' took out that ah... one bloke,” you explain in a muttered murmur while John hums affirmingly and starts leading you out of the briefing room, down the long hallway towards the nearest elevator, making you lean heavily against him with his arm curled around your waist below your vest. His jaw is clenched tightly, his face set in a frown once more as he tries to keep his simmering anger at bay. 

Given the chance, he’d rip that fellow apart with his bare hands. 

Pulled away from his violent thoughts, his attention shifts again when the bright fluorescent lights along the ceiling crackle and switch on automatically, filling the eerie silence inside the building at this hour, and causing you to groan pitifully as you squeeze your eyes shut immediately. “Ouch... Please, make them stop!” You mewl before twisting and turning your face to bury into his shoulder for protection like a lost, helpless kitten, and John feels something else stir in his chest, something heavy and warm that slows him down. 

“You hit your head, and you didn’t tell anyone?” He hisses, though it’s lacking harshness, and he gently pushes his hand into your hair, along the side of your head until his fingers shield over your temple as he tries to block out some of the light. “Fuck me, Sergeant, you’re too bloody stubborn, ya muppet.” 

He’s never truly witnessed you acting like an omega; always too guarded, too stoic and professional; constantly drugged up with military issued suppressants and scent blockers while the knowledge about that has always sort of peeved your alpha teammates, including John himself, leaving them worried and itching to order having you to throw them away recklessly, make you go natural, knowing each of them would more than willingly take care of you. 

Almost subconsciously, John leans in and sniffs your hair; catching a slight whiff of your scent, though it’s still heavily suppressed, and he swallows down the rumble in his chest, ignoring the flutter in his stomach as he thinks back on that kiss. “And we’re gonna have a long discussion about that kiss, too, when you stop being so bloody delirious.” 

With another breathy whine of pain, you practically curl into his side, holding on tightly despite his cussing and scolding; despite him being your superior. “Don’t cuss at me,” you whimper, nuzzling your face into his shoulder as he keeps guiding you towards the elevator that will take you down to the medbay. “I’m sorry... for the kiss, John.” 

John croons lowly in his chest as you apologize, trying to soothe your pain and distress. He hates that he can’t smell you, which means he can’t read you properly; it's like trying to read the most interesting novella through a veil. And he hates your apology, too, not wanting to hear it.  

He huffs sharply as he adjusts his grip around your waist, stopping in front of the closed elevator doors before pushing the button for it with his free hand. “Don’t talk back to me, you little brat.” John straightens and grumbles half-heartedly, trying to keep his professional demeanour up here out in the open around HQ, though the smallest smile tugs at the corner of his mouth when your soft snicker reaches his ears. 

The elevator doors open with the faintest gust of wind, and he catches another whiff of your scent, though– 

His heart drops into a pit as he freezes, pupils dilating instantly.  

A bouquet of wildflowers, resting on a pile of fresh white linens, surrounded by an assortment of candied fruits; succulent, soft, and utterly saccharine.  

[yawnderu]

K-9 — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | Part II

Sick as a dog, and just as vicious.

1 2 3 4 5

Simon scores a date with his favorite medic

Or

Simon has to be under her watch after getting a knife to the gut.

"Oi, doc." Simon calls out and you sigh softly, gaze drifting from your patient report to him, his unmasked figure lays on the medical bed, gauze wrapped tightly over his abdomen, keeping his newest injury guarded from anything that could rub on or mess up the stitches.

"Why'd they call you K-9?" One of his thin, eyeblack stained eyebrows lifts as he looks at you, already feeling bored from having to stay still for so long, movement limited by the patched up stab wound on his stomach.

"Long story." You dismiss him, looking back down at the patient report you were writing for him. His medical file was interesting, indicating no pictures of him should ever be taken, as well as additional personal and professional information.

"You got surgery in 2020, what's that about?" You didn't notice any bigger scars whenever he was injured, having already seen his naked torso and part of his legs.

"Curious 'bout me, doc?" His tone is slightly teasing, the smug bastard thinking he's funny by asking that. A single eye roll is enough to get him to speak, a deep, gravelly chuckle escaping his lips before he answers.

"Took a nasty gunshot to the leg, was fadin' fast." He lays back down, gaze drifting towards the ceiling as he thinks about it. He was so close to death himself, only three years ago.

"Thought it'd be more interesting." Your bluntness never fails to make him double take. It's not passive aggressive or mean, just... way too honest. More than he's used to.

"I'll get a proper grand injury just for you, lass." You roll your eyes again, taking a sip from your coffee to hide the way the corners of your lips are tugging up. It's amusing, really, to find out how much Simon has changed throughout the years. Price told you he used to be much more quiet, though after 4 years of working with the task force, he was able to open up, getting more and more used to interacting with a team rather than being a lone wolf.

"That's not necessary, I can give it to you myself if you'd like." Your gloved hand presses on the scalpel on your white coat before going back to writing his medical report, tone laced with subtle humor.

"She can joke." He taunts, trying to sit up before a sharp hiss of pain escapes his lips. You frown, the report taking way too long to finish because you keep getting interrupted.

"Hold on." You walk up to him, hands holding onto his strong back before you try to help the behemoth of a man sit up. His calloused hands hold onto your forearms, a few low, deep groans escaping his lips at the strain his flexing muscles are causing to the fresh injury.

"Fuckin' hell." He mutters and you look up, eyes focusing on his pained expression for a second too long. Simon isn't ugly, really, but when his face is all scrunched up in pain, sweat gathering in the form of clear specks all over his eyeblack stained skin? He looks almost majestic. You get your head out of the gutter, placing some soft pillows behind his back to help keep him up without much strain.

"You should be healed up soon enough, got lucky the bastard didn't stab that deep." You shrug, looking back at the tiny coffee maker in your office before you look back up at him, his brown eyes already staring back at you, pupils blown, as usual.

"Want some coffee?" He shakes his head politely, eyes closing in pain as he tries to get into a more comfortable position.

"A cuppa would be nice." You flick his forehead softly, tired eyes drifting towards the clock on the wall. 0100, yet you simply nod and grab your phone from the desk.

"Try not to die while I'm gone." The door closes behind you before he can reply, brown eyes closing as he sighs when you're gone. He doesn't even know how it all started. Simon is a man of discipline, a soldier, a Ghost, yet the way his heart quickens and his cock hardens whenever he's with you is something he can't control, as if a parasite made home in his brain and is using his body as a vessel, ridding him completely of any self-control.

You come back 10 minutes later, a tray with a cup of hot tea and food placed on his lap, the almost comforting warmth quickly spreading through his legs and body.

"Thank you." He moves the spoon around the cup of Earl Grey, letting the sugar mix in for a hot minute before he takes a sip from it, nodding his head once in approval. He was starving, really, but he tried his best to eat slowly, ignoring his hungry stomach begging him to wolf it all down. His eyes drift back to the tray, attention caught by the singular orange left there.

His hands fumble for one of the knives in his clothes, finding all of the straps were removed by you and placed too far away for his injured body to reach. He looks back up at you, admiring you in silence and truly taking you in. The way you lift your glasses every once in a while even before they can slip down the bridge of your nose, the way your hand fiddles with the pen and your lips turn into a small pout whenever you're not sure how to describe something in the report, the way you look so angelic under the dim lights of the infirmary—

"What are you lookin' at?" You don't even bother looking back at him, feeling his stare on you for the past two minutes. He has such an intense gaze that makes you feel as if he can see through your soul, yet it never intimidated you.

"Nothin', bird, nothin'. Peeled you an orange."

[PREVIOUS] [NEXT]

[anyarose011]

"Crawling Back to You" {Aemond x Reader}

Summary: It started with a night out in King's Landing, then a fake name, and then a disagreement. Some time after cooling off, and after a job gone wrong, you and the one-eyed prince come to...an understanding in the rain.

Part 2 of 3 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Oral sex (f and m receiving), nudity, groping, talk of death, swearing, canon-typical injury, sexual harassment (not done by Aemond), and mention of past child SA

Heyyyyyy pookies. So I just started my senior year and it's been hectic. BUT I hope this long ass chapter (it took me forever) makes up for it! I'm also not sure how accurately I'm writing Aemond. I mean, I know HBO is making him into the edgiest edge lord, but I'm taking creative liberties i guess. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 8.5k

 “It’s a pleasure to finally put a name to your face. One that fits its beauty.” He smiled.

You lowered your gaze, fighting the smile on your lips. It was a stupid compliment, one that you had heard several variations of the rare times men would flirt with you those days. But…it felt different from him.

Still, you merely scoffed, setting the jug on your hip. “Do you want to lead the way, or should I?”

“Go ahead; considering you believe I’ll harm you somehow.”

“See?” You decided to tease instead of defy as you began to walk up the cobbled hill. “You are funny.”

Aemond scoffed, following you. “Did I ever deny it?”

“How you reacted when I first said it never gave me a clear answer.”

“Shouldn’t you change?”

You looked back at him. “What?”

Unashamedly, his eye trailed over your body and yours soon followed. Your nipples were perking through the thin material of the dress.

“Seven Hells.” You cursed, bringing the jug in front of yours.

Aemond came to your side, a hand on your back and leading you up the hill. “You don’t wear a corset?”

“Not with this. I’m meant to lure lustful men, remember?”

“Perhaps you can tell me where you tailor so we can get more appropriate clothing?”

Hell no.

“Or,” you suggested. “I could teach you how to properly steal something?”

“You need to be able to not draw attention to yourself to do that.”

“I’ve done it before.”

“I have no doubt, but the clothing off a man’s back?”

You paused for a moment before replying. “Yes, actually; I even managed all of one’s undergarments.”

Aemond shook his head, pulling his hood farther up to hide his smile. “I mean more so with that dress.”

“It might surprise you, but that is how I robbed him blind.”

“I mean in the sense that-.”

“-I understand.” You shut him up, but not aggressively. The two of you passed by more and more people through the many alleys of King’s Landing. When you got to the main roads, you would’ve lost Aemond in the crowd if it weren’t for the fact his hand had traveled from your back to your arm.

Maybe it was because he was paying you, or maybe it was because you didn’t know how touch starved you had been until it felt like his hand was simultaneously burning and soothing you; but you welcomed his touch.

As you continued to brave through the busyness of the city, you managed to spot a hobbling man wearing a long cloak with a drink in his hand. You smirked at your companion.

“Are you watching?”

He nodded, and how he looked you up and down briefly didn’t escape you. “I’m watching.”

You handed him the jug of water and approached the slightly incapacitated man. You pitched your voice up when you asked. “Ser?”

The man glanced up at you through hooded eyes, and he grunted in response.

“Are you alright?” You feigned concern, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to hold him up.

“Aye.” He sighed. “Much better now that you’re here.”

You giggled, leading him. “You’re too kind.”

“If it’s possible, could that kindness be repaid?”

“Let me at least have your name first,” you turned him down a spacious alleyway where there were less people. “Then I will know what to scream.”

“Gaius. You may-oi!”

You snatched the cloak right off his shoulders and took off in a mad dash down the rest of the alley. Turning your head over your shoulder for merely a second, you were graced to watch as the drunk man stumbled over his own footing before two hands in front of you grabbed your arms. Once you were pulled around the corner, you raised your hands to strike your assailant; to which he caught both of them.

“Is it truly that easy to rob Smallfolk?” Aemond asked, not letting go of your wrists.

Snickering, you pulled away from him. “I thought you said you were watching me?”

“I was.”

“Clearly not.” You slipped the cloak over your body, tying it. “You were lurking in the shadows.”

“I still saw you.” He retorted.

Shaking your head, you bent down and picked up your jug of water on the ground. Then, you stuck your hands into the pockets of the cloak. Your face lit up, and your retracted your hand, holding four pennies in your palm.

“Come with me.” Was all you said before walking past him and continuing down the street.

Aemond was by your side once more. “And where exactly are you taking me to?”

“Are you fond of sweets?”

“I enjoy them, but rarely indulge.”

“Then I will be more of a temptress tonight without having to show any of my skin.” You said excitedly.

All the prince did was smile; somehow trusting your ‘madness’. It was a short walk from where you were to a small stand in one of the several market corners of King’s Landing. Despite the long line, you pushed to the front, ignoring all of the comments and curses from the people.

“Evening, Marija.” You greeted the older woman. “Oh my, has someone bewitched you? You look younger!”

“What do you want?” She sighed your name tiredly, but a pleasant smile was on her features.

Sliding the four pennies onto the counter, you said. “Two dishes of Northern Snow.”

“Do you have two other pennies?”

“This was all I was paid.” You sighed. “You know how short everyone is on coin.”

“Precisely why I need every bit of what is owed to me.”

Shaking your head, you lowered your voice. “Do you see the man lingering behind me? The one with one eye.”

She glanced over your shoulder for just a moment, long enough for it to look like an accident and not a stare. “Yes?”

“He’s a rich lord from Essos,” You began the lie with a truth. “and he has fallen in love with me.”

“You have always told marvelous tales, but even for you-.”

“-Marija…I have a good feeling about him.” You spoke with more insistence. “You know that doesn’t happen very often.”

The older woman looked at you for a little longer, as if to try and pick apart your deceit. Then, when she could find no trace of it, she sighed heavily. Still, she brought out two small vanilla cakes and laid them on the counter, then brought out the bowl of puffy cream.

“You better invite me to this extravagant wedding of yours.” She frosted the cakes with the cream, creating a fluffy topping that looked as if it was true snow itself. Marija then drizzled melted chocolate over both cakes before handing them to you. “Considering this handsome stranger is wealthy.”

“He is strange.” You chuckled. “A bit arrogant too, but I shall live.”

“All men are arrogant.”

“You have not met this one. Thank you, Marija.”

“Sure, sure,” she scoffed. “Give me your water as well; I’m parched.”

“Only if you give me the jug back. I need it.”

“I’ll come around tomorrow and visit Yelena in the meantime, is that alright?”

Your smile fell for just a moment, before forcing it back. “Sounds great!”

Rushing away, you could barely hear her goodbye before you soon found Aemond again, handing him the dish. His nose wrinkled as you immediately sunk your fork into the pastry. “What is this?”

“Northern Snow.” Your answer was somewhat muffled by the amount of food in your mouth. “Marija’s traveled across the realms and has been popular for her desserts. The snow is just whipped cream with sugar and some rosewater.”

“The brown parts?” He poked the treat.

“Chocolate, but it’s meant to look like horse droppings.”

“I believe I’ll pass.”

You shook your head. “I’m meant to be showing you around the joys of the city that is not just brothels. Trust me.”

He matched your seriousness. “And if I find it revolting?”

“Then you may know where I tailor.”

Humming, he smiled as he dug his fork into the cake and then into his mouth. He pursed his lips together as you watched him ponder the taste. Then, he shook his head, taking another bite.

“You must be a witch to have known I would favor it.”

Smiling victoriously, the two of you walked a short while through the congested market until you managed to find two chairs and a table.

“What did you tell her?” He asked as you sat. “The woman who made this?”

“That you were Prince Aemond and would have my head if I did not serve you a Smallfolk delicacy.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t.” You agreed, taking a bite of your treat. You hesitated on your next words. “I…she’s a romantic, and I didn’t have enough for the cakes, so I told her you were a rich lord courting me.”

It was nice you didn’t immediately expect him to lash out or condemn you to your death; he seemed genuinely composed every time you were with him, and he stuck to that.

“And what was my name?” He humored.

“I didn’t tell her one.” You teased. “If you were not yourself, what would you have wanted to be called?”

He hummed, taking time for an answer before settling on. “Ciarán.”

“I’ve met one or two of those.” You nodded. “It’s a good name.”

“Might I ask you a question now?”

“Of course.”

“Do you summon your knife out of thin air, or do you hide it in your cunt?”

Choking on your food, you placed your hand over your mouth to stifle the sound. Once you were alright, you finally looked at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“The rumors I’ve heard of you isn’t just about your beauty.” He grinned, knowing the effect on you. “It’s known that you assault men with a blade, but I’ve heard conflicting accounts.”

You stared at him for a little longer before shaking your head, snorting. “Inside of my thigh, like a normal person. You nearly grazed it the first night.”

“Did I?” He tilted his head to the side.

Nodding, you smirked as you took another bite. It was then that his eye darkened just a hint. “What?”

Aemond didn’t verbally respond. Instead, he bunched up the sleeve of his shirt, reached over to take your face into his free hand, and wiped the corner of your lip with his sleeve. “You had something white on your face.”

It was your turn to hum at his statement, continuing to eat; yet, you would glance at him more often while you slid the fork into your mouth, tongue trying to lick the utensil clean of the whipped cream. You both finished up in silence between each other, yet the people around you only chatted excitedly, laughed boldly, or moaned and fucked one another in the dingiest of places nearby.

“Is it fun to be a prince?” You asked, pushing in your chair when you bother stood to leave.

“I wouldn’t call it such.” Aemond shrugged, following suite, and the two of you were wandering aimlessly once again.

“Then what is it you do for fun?”

“I find myself in the library often; reading, studying the history.” He listed. “I train with Ser Criston Cole, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and the Hand of the king.”

“You sound like you enjoy his company.”

“I enjoy making him falter as we spar.” He looked at you. “You mustn’t be so horrible in combat. On account of you supposedly taking men’s lives for bounties.”

Shaking your head, you place your hands in the pockets of the cloak. “I don’t take pride in it. I’ve also had my fair share of bruises and broken bones.”

“How many have you killed?”

“How many have you?”

Your response would’ve only worked if it had not been for the well-known fact he had killed Lucerys; something you had forgotten when you saw him again. Now, there you both were, your pace slowing equally in the silence that was the discomfort you had created.

Still, he responded. “Only one; and I assume you along with the rest of Westeros knows who by now.”

Nodding, you kept your eyes down on the road in front of you.

“Aren’t you going to ask how I did it?” He questioned.

You shook your head. “It’s not my place. If you wish to tell me, then tell me. If not, then I believe it’s your turn to ask something about me.”

Humming, he prodded. “Again, how many men have you killed?”

“The same as you.” You stood closer to him as a crew of rowdy men began to pass by. “He was an angry man; a ratcatcher fired from his profession, and to my luck, with no family or anyone to miss him.”

“It must have been his luck as well, considering what happened to all of them merely a week ago.”

You didn’t want to acknowledge the gate into that conversation. “I had only done the luring and thievery for a single moon; the worst I had come across was a bloodied nose and a bruised rib. This night…Chansey had warned me not to pursue him, but I was young and ignorant. I didn’t even get to the well before he came up behind me and…”

This was far too intimate of a story to tell someone you had only met twice; nonetheless, one of the princes of Westeros. You decided to end it as soon as possible. “He didn’t hurt me in the way you’re thinking. We struggled against one another, I had no knife with me at the time, but he did. He dropped it as we fought, we both reached for the blade, and I got it first.”

The two of you had somehow wandered into a small, quiet square; perhaps only a few other people resting from a drunken bender. Aemond, with his hands behind his back, simply inquired.

“Did he have anything of value on him?”

Shaking your head, you grinned. “Three pennies, a half-penny, and a surprisingly clean red scarf.”

“And the scarf was the most priceless.”

“Of course. I would’ve died in the winter without it.”

You both chuckled, and it was him who halted the walking. You stopped in front of him a few places.

 “I hadn’t meant to kill Luke.” Aemond admitted softly.

“Lucerys?” You clarified.

“Yes; only frighten him.” He sighed. “It…it was an unfortunate outcome to what I had intended.”

If he were not himself (perhaps the rich Lord Ciarán he wished to be for that one night), then you would have told him it did not matter what he intended. A boy was dead and that put all of Westeros at risk. Still, whilst your anger was present, you understood you would never know what happened that day. You also understood his regret above all; you had no right to act like a saint.

“Is there anything I can do?”

You genuinely had no idea how to respond to him. So, you did what your mother had done for you whenever you were upset as a child: Ask what you needed from her.

His eye met yours, and you somehow found the courage to not look away from him. After what felt like a lifetime, he approached you suddenly and gradually wrapped his arms around you. Your body was akin to a corpse with how frozen you had become. Still, it didn’t last for long as you found yourself easing into his hold, your own arms around his neck. The night was so quiet, you could hear his shallow breaths in your ear.

Then, his hand slipped into your pocket.

At the sudden change of touch, you flinched out of his touch, but he merely shushed you, pulling away fully. You reached into the pocket and pulled out what he had promised you; three silver moons.

Swallowing thickly, you looked up at him and saw…an array of emotions you could not describe. So, you spoke first.

“I…I hope tonight was enough for you. I’m not sure what else I-.”

“-It was nice.” He interrupted, his gaze still on you. “Lovely, even.”

Nodding, you pocketed the moons and kept your hands at your side. “I bid you a goodnight, Little Prince.”

He rose his brow. “I don’t believe I gave you permission to call me that.”

“Will you have my head then, your grace?” You taunted.

“I should.” He walked closer to you. “But I won’t. What direction is your house?”

Your heart leapt; yet, not in the way it should have after an attractive man (you would later admit) made a forward remark.

“Oh no, I will not bother you.”

“It is not a bother if I desire to see you home safely.” He argued.

“Aemond,” you stepped back, not wanting to play a game. “I don’t want you to walk with me for the rest of the night.”

The quietness returned; but, not one of comfort. He didn’t look angry, and that was what frightened you. He merely stood tall like a man.”

“I see.”

“I didn’t mean to say it so-.”

“-Yet you said it.”

Shaking your head, you tried again. “I offended you, and I’m sorry. My house is no place for anyone other than myself and-, not even other smallfolk.”

“I wouldn’t go inside if that is what worries you. I am merely curious.”

“Look,” you approached him again, only for him to step away. “if you wish to see me again, I wouldn’t mind at all-.”

“-As long as I have coin.”

Your face went blank for a few seconds you had been so shocked by his words, and soon formed a scowl. “You had offered.”

“You didn’t reject it.”

All you could do was laugh. “You-!”

He wasn’t the one to cut you off, it had been yourself. Taking a deep breath, you folded your hands over your mouth to ponder your next words. You were tired, frustrated, and wanted to go home. So, you did exactly that.

“Be safe on your journey back to the Red Keep.” Was all you said, and you brushed past him, expecting him to call you a nasty name, or chase after you again.

But, like the first night you had met him: He did nothing.

A week later, you were back where you’d always been at night: Sylvi’s brothel. As you prettied yourself, the girls were restless; not with enthusiasm for the clients, but for the talk of war. Whether it was the fear of death it would bring, or the lust for strong men to take comfort inside of a woman.

You were a part of the former. Not as horrible as some girls (you found one vomiting up her dinner after the discussion), but you had to admit you were judgmental of those excited about it. You yourself had never experienced war…but if it was just a smidge like the violence you and other women had ever suffered multiplied by a thousand…it wasn’t something you were looking forward to.

Later, you waited in Sylvi’s private quarters (the one place no one is allowed to go during work hours unless she permitted it) until it was Chansey who came, saying she had quarry for you.

She had been with an older, retired member of the Lannister guards. He was three and fifty, she told you; fucked like an animal, but when it was over, while he desired to do it again, his body ached so horribly he could only walk.

It was meant to be easy…but for any reason at all, it wasn’t that night.

You stumbled as you brought your knife out, and he unsheathed a dagger from his side. You fought and fought, it almost being like a twisted dance; he’d strike, you’d doge, and vice versa. He swiped against your side, and it stung but you had no time to even seethe in pain as he brought his blade up to stab you again.

He’d gotten tired sooner than you imagined, and you grabbed onto his sleeve, then dragging him into a handful of barrels nearby. He landed in a crash, and he wasn’t getting up. He was still breathing as you looted him. A few Coppers and a silver Stag.

It was only then, as you pushed your way through the boisterous crowds, that you felt your head begin to lighten, and your side grow heavy. Looking down at the gnawing pain, you saw crimson soak your thin gown. Oh…you were wounded.

“Chansey?” You called out over the groaning of whores and their patrons once you made it back to the brothel. The lights seemed dimmer than usual, and with one hand keeping pressure on your wound, you used your other to tap the shoulder of the nearest server.

She gasped upon seeing you. “What happened?”

“Where’s Chansey?” You asked.

“She-she’s with someone.”

“Seven Hells, already?!” Sighing, you took one of the chalices off her tray. “Fuck it, I’ll do it myself.”

And you took it in one gulp. The server gaped at you as you took another one, also downing it like it was water. “Thank you.”

Her voices of worry were once again drowned out by the sound of constant pleasure from every corner of the brothel. Now, what the server did not tell you, was that it wasn’t the cheap wine usually served to the common payer; no…it was incredibly rich, and incredibly strong.

It also didn’t help you barely ate or drank water that day. So, to no one’s surprise but yours, you were stumbling through the entire pleasure house.

“Needle and thread?” You slurred, pulling open one of the curtains abruptly only to see five naked women lying next to two men. “Sorry.”

You felt the blood begin to seep through the small cracks of your fingers and your pressure wavering as you made your way to the next curtained area.

“Do you have a needle and thread?” You asked again, being welcomed by Valda laying on her back with a man’s head between her legs.

She screamed at your intrusion and cried your name. “What the fuck?!”

“Hey,” in your haze, you found it amusing. “do you know where Chansey is?”

“Get out!”

“Okay, okay.” you whistled at the man. “Good ser, I do declare that you are a gift from The Seven because only They know how many men actually come here to-.”

“-Wait, are you bleeding?!” She sat up in alarm.

You left immediately, taking deep breaths to try and remain upright as you continued your search. A hand grazed your shoulder.

“Are you alright, girl?”

A putrid looking man questioned with a toothy grin as you turned briefly to see who touched you. You nodded. “I’m fine, go away.”

“Hey now,” he tried to make a grab for you again, but you shoved him off. “don’t be like that.”

“I’m dying, I think I can be.”

“Let me give you a little death.” He flirted.

You grabbed the nearest curtain, tossing it aside. “For fuck’s sake, does anyone have a-?!”

Words failed as you gazed upon Madame Sylvi sucking the cock of a standing man. It was then that your eyes traveled up his body, and saw a familiar, silver-haired prince.

A prince with one eye shut, and a sapphire where an eye-patch should have been.

Your mouth ran dry at the sight of him falling apart in whimpers, and it dropped once his eye opened and immediately went to yours.

Aemond released a loud groan, tossing his head back as cum dripped through the creases of Sylvi’s mouth. She drew herself away from him, still on her knees, wiping her mouth and looking over at your interruption.

“What in the devil’s name are you doing here?!”

Your words fell into syllables as you genuinely had no idea what to say. Then, in the corner of your eye, you saw the man that had been following retreat.

“Hey!” You yelled, hobbling after him. “You sheep fucker, get back here!”

Two hands grabbed your shoulders and turned you around sharply, causing a reminder of the wound in your side. You hissed, clutching it and trying to smother a cry. You kept your head low as the person who had manhandled you led you back into Sylvi’s small room. You were laying on the pillows and thin mattress. It was then you saw Aemond Targaryen hovering above you.

“No-!” You tried to push him away.

“-Calm down.” He insisted, restraining you. “You’re going to make it worse.”

“If you touch me, I’ll carve out your other eye and feed it to your mother.” You slurred.

Instead of killing you right there, he thinned his lips. “While I don’t doubt that, you shouldn’t need to worry; I’m well spent.”

You gagged, shutting your eyes in disgust and tossing your head further into the pillow you rested on. You felt a presence soon beside you, and you opened your eyes to see Sylvi.

“My prince,” she turned to Aemond. “please wait in my personal quarters and I’ll-.”

“-I’ll hold her down.” He interrupted. “She’s a fighter, if you don’t know.”

“Believe me,” she unscrewed a bottle of alcohol. “I do.”

Sylvi hiked up your dress, completely exposing you from the waist down, and poured liquid over your side, causing a squeal to escape your throat. In an attempt to not just remain calm for yourself and everyone else in the building, you did your best to stifle your cries. It only became harder to do once Sylvi stuck a needle in your skin.

That was when you instinctively rose yourself up, only for Aemond to force you back down, putting his entire weight upon you. Your hands traveled up to his bare shoulders, sinking your nails into his skin and even scratching in an animalistic attempt to get him off of you.

Tears welled in your eyes as you took in quivering breaths and suppressed your grunts in pain. It looked like everything was underwater, and you could barely make out the face of the man above you. You only saw the shimmering jewel where his left eye should’ve been.

Then, the pain was over.

Your heartbeat began to slow down, and it was no longer the only sound in your ears. Your body rose momentarily as you felt bandages being wrapped around your waist, and your dress finally lowered, covering your nakedness. You felt a warm hand brush your face gently before it pulled away abruptly.

“What did you do now?” Sylvi sighed, tossing her materials away.

You groaned, unable to move. “Bad job.”

“And so, you decided to come and bother me?”

“Chansey was fucking someone and I-.”

“-Watch your words!” She lightly slapped your face and whispered fiercely. “Prince Aemond is here, and I will not have you speak like that.”

You laughed, glancing over at Aemond, who had put his pants on, and was working on his shirt. “Do you hear that, Aemond? I can’t say ‘fuck’!”

“Are you drunk?” She hissed.

“Nooooo.” You trailed off before giggling.

Sylvi stood, placing her head in her hands and shaking her head. Now noticing how strange the whole situation was, you pushed yourself up. Your body was scalding, but you would rather die walking away from embarrassment than in the heat of it.

“He had some coin.” you sat up. “I don’t know where it went, but I’ll find it. I have to go home now.”

“You are not walking out like this.” She pushed you back down.

“I’m not sleeping here.”

“I’ll take her back.”

The prince stood tall, slipping his patch over the sapphire. Sylvi shook her head. “No.”

“Are you questioning my authority, Madame?” He challenged.

You watched her flinch. Then, taking a breath she explained. “You needn’t bother with her; she’s a humble, little thing that doesn’t listen to anyone other than herself. Besides, you requested and paid for two hours, yet you have only used twenty min-.”

“-I will gladly spend the rest of it escorting her home.”

Again, the only sounds being heard was skin slapping alongside loud moans outside. You looked in between the prince and the Madame as if you were a child being fought over. So, coughing, you sat up again.

“Can I wear my own clothes, please?”

Sylvi, for the first time that night, coddled you. “Of course. Aemond, could you tell the first girl you see to fetch her clothes from my quarters, please?”

He nodded, leaving you two alone. When he was out of sight, she brushed the hair sticking against your sweaty face.

“Tell him you changed your mind, and you’re too weak to walk.” She begged.

“And if he says he’ll carry me?”

She scoffed. “He won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

Sylvi kissed your cheek as if to soothe you. “I don’t want you to be alone with him.”

“He told me he already had his fill of cunt.”

“Men can still hurt little girls without their cock.”

“Take a look at me,” you sassed. “don’t you think I already know that?”

She said your name softly. “He’s not as kind as he seems.”

“No, he’s not. He acts like he’s been born out of an ass’ ass. I mean…how you feel about the Dowager Queen-.”

Slamming a hand over your mouth, she spoke in your ear. “-Not another word from you. You listen to me; I’ve come to know him for the years I’ve spent with him longer than the weeks you have had with him.”

“If he’s so horrible,” you took her hand away. “then tell me what he has done.”

“He-.”

“-Never mind, I don’t care.”

Instead of stepping into the room, Aemond had tossed your set of clothes through the curtains, landing on the floor. Without words, but with looks that could kill, Sylvi helped dress you and then led you out of the brothel.

It was downpouring, and while your clothes thankfully covered almost every inch of your skin, save for your face, you weren’t in the mood to be bathed in rainwater. Sylvi hadn’t even wished you a proper goodbye; just nodded to a hooded Aemond beside you and went back inside.

“I assume you can walk?” He asked, almost annoyed at his own idea to walk you home.

“You’re not going to carry me?” You teased.

“No.”

Sighing dramatically, you took a few steps out into the rain, and immediately felt agonizing pain. Well, not as bad as earlier, but it hurt. Still, you decided to follow the best given advice: Walk it off.

“Stop, stop.” Aemond shook his head after you limped four more steps, coming to your side. “Lean against me.”

You didn’t argue, draping your arm over his shoulders. You both walked as quick as you could in the rain, you giving him directions the best you could (he had to turn around twice to go back to the same fork in the road) until you tapped his shoulder.

“Wait-wait, I don’t feel good.”

“Seven Hells.” He cursed, pulling you over to the side of the street. Grabbing your hands he placed them on the nearest wall, standing behind you to guide you.

“Hey, hey!” You rose your voice. “Don’t-don’t you even think of hiking my skirt up!”

“You’re going to smell like death in a moment, why would I ever-?”

“-Because men are…are…”

You gagged, and Aemond’s hands immediately vanished as you threw up what little you had eaten that day. Your throat was on fire the whole time, making the chill of the rain even more apparent.

“Oi!” An older man yelled. “Are you alright, ma’am?”

You nodded, wiping your mouth and turning over to look at him standing in a doorway of his shop. “Yes, thank you!”

“Do you know that man with you?”

Before Aemond could say anything, you pat his shoulder affectionately. “I’ll have you know, this is Lord Ciarán of House…Strong…Man, Strongman. He’s one of the richest men in Westeros.”

“Is that so?” He nodded, then looked at your companion. “Lad, do yourself a favor and put your old lady to bed.”

Aemond forced a smile, taking your arm and returning it back to its proper place over his shoulder. The two of you were on the road again, you leading him blindly throughout the streets. The rain felt nice at this point; not exactly, but your throat had been parched, so most of the time, you were holding your mouth up and tongue out like a child to catch the rainwater.

At one point, he hissed in pain, his hand coming up to his eyepatch.

“What is it, what’s wrong?!” You gasped.

“Nothing.” He cursed. “’Just keep going.”

Reluctantly, you carried on through King’s Landing until you reached your home.

“Okay, we’re here.” You stopped him a few minutes later.

Aemond looked at the building before him; it was a bouchère. “Here?”

“No, down there.”

He followed your gaze, and sure enough, there was a set of stairs to the side leading down. Carefully, you both scaled down the steps, and entered your home.

There was no leaking anywhere, to your surprise. With only the little amount of light within the sitting room, you knew Aemond (even with one eye) could see just how much dust there was on the furniture.

“Hells,” he sighed heavily, slipping off his cloak before you could stop him. “how do you live in this humidity? I can barely breathe.”

“I-.”

“-Vivi.” A sweet, tired voice called for you.

In the corner of the room, in her usual chair, was your grandmother. Her eyes drew up to the door once you entered, and they were alight.

“I thought you were out for too long.” She stood.

“Evening, Gigi.” You staggered over, embracing her. “And how was holding down the fort?”

“Some mice almost came in, but I showed them who was the boss around here.”

“I’m sure you did.”

It was only then did she fully realize there was someone else with you; a man. A man with silver hair. She gasped, turning back to you.

“Siobhan, you didn’t tell me the king was visiting!”

You cackled. “Gigi no, this is my friend-.”

She gently took his hand into hers, kissing it. “-Your grace, you must forgive my dear girl; she has a knack for getting into trouble, but not for telling me things.”

And then, Aemond did something you weren’t expecting. He placed his other hand over your grandmother’s, smiling.

“All is forgiven.”

Her grin was contagious as she pulled her hand away to hike her long skirt up, walking to the kitchen. “Oh, I shall make tea! Imagine what Cassian would think?” She chuckled. “Jaehaerys himself in our house!”

The name she uttered sobered you up; not all of you, but enough for terror to return into your body. Once she was out of sight, with a growing fear in your eyes, you looked at Aemond.

“You-you must understand, she hasn’t been herself since I was a child. I don’t think she’s even aware there is-was another-.”

“-I’m not a fool.” He stopped you. Noticing you had the face of someone who would vomit for the second time that night, he said. “I told you; I enjoyed reading the histories. I’m well aware the king before my father was Jaehareys.”

Feeling as if you could breathe again, you rested against the wall. “Thank you.”

Aemond hummed. “Why ‘Gigi’?”

“She never liked me calling her ‘Grandmama’.”

“And who’s Siobhan?”

Your eyes drew to the ground. No mice were in the house, but a few spiders had made their way in. “My mother.”

“Ah.” Was all he could manage.

“She uh, she died when I was one and ten; that’s when Gigi…”

“How?”

“What?”

“How did she die?”

Something clogged your throat, and your head felt heavy all over again. Swallowing the lump, you tried to find the words to-.

“-Forgive me. “Aemond spoke. “I shouldn’t have prodded.”

“No, you-.” You shook your head. “I understand your curiosity.”

And there you two were, against the wall in silence. Sighing you finally said.

“She forgets what she was meant to do when she enters a room with a purpose.” You explained. “I guarantee you, she’s doing a puzzle instead of making tea. We don’t have the best leaves anyway.”

He nodded. “Do you wish for me to leave, then?”

Your eyes went to one of the only windows in the house; the long, thin panel at the top where you could see the feet of everyone in King Landing if it were a nice day. The rain came down harsher, the spattering of water being almost too loud.

“You can stay until the storm eases,” you answered. “if you want.”

“I would prefer it.”

Nodding, the heaviness of your head did not cease, and your eyes drifted to the doorway in the back of sitting room. You made your way through it, glancing back at Aemond.

“If I may be candid, I’m quite exhausted. So…unless you’d prefer being called ‘Your Grace’ by my grandmother, then you’re more than welcome to talk with me in my room.”

“Hm, the former sounds tempting.” Despite his words, he followed close behind you.

You pushed open your door, took a few steps towards your bed, and lowered yourself to lie down with a sharp wince. The prince took his time observing your room, taking in every little detail. From the residue of a mess being pushed under your bed, to old childhood art pieces up on the wall.

One piece had caught his eye the most. A sketch of a woman’s face; a haunting gaze in her eyes that would make anyone believe she was watching them.

Much like yours…

“This is Siobhan?”

Better to use your mother’s name as if she were a stranger instead of calling her ‘your mother’.

“Gigi drew that.” You smiled lightly. “It was on one of her namedays.”

“It’s beautiful.”

His compliment unnerved you before it flattered you. You deflected with a joke. “Beautiful enough to have her paint the Targaryens the next time they so desire it?”

“If she cannot remember to boil tea-?”

“-She is herself again when she does or speak of things she loves.” You sat farther up against the wall behind your bed “Even if they’re things that no longer are with us.”

He sat at the edge of the mattress. “And what are some of those things?”

Oh, where to start? As your mind rattled over what exactly to say first, you truly looked over Aemond for the first time. It was strange; you had acknowledged his attractiveness for just a moment, but never delved more into it.

Then, as you stared at him, you knew exactly what to tell him.

Giggling, you began. “Cassian was my grandfather; I hadn’t known him, he died before I was born. Still, if it’s not him she speaks about being in love with, it’s ‘Elio’; a Dornish man, her first love.”

“Some might say they are far greater than the one you marry.” He shrugged.

“She’s never told me his real name.” You leaned forward. “She said that he had to keep it secret from her for a long time, and he only told her after she got drunk, and he thought she wouldn’t remember.”

The two of you laughed lightly, and you kept going through your giggles. “He-he was only in King’s Landing for a year and went back to Sunspear. They would send ravens to each other, but then he stopped one day. She married my grandfather, had my mother, he died, and that was life.”

“And then there was you.”

You nodded, thinning your lips. “And then there was me.”

“You’ve talked about your mother, but you haven’t mentioned your father yet.”

Sighing, you rubbed your finger into the blanket you rested upon, looking away from him. “When my grandfather’s heart gave out, Gigi had to take on more work at the tailor’s and they still weren’t making enough for food. So…my mother took up working with Sylvi. She was fifteen, and Sylvi only let her cook and clean. When she was of age, she let her go to bed with the men for her coin. I could’ve walked past my father, and I wouldn’t be able to know.”

Aemond stared at her, nodding. “You’re a bastard.”

“It’s the one time I enjoy being smallfolk.” You shrugged. “I can just as easily lie and say my father died while married to my mother.”

“No one else knows?”

“Sylvi and Marija; the woman who gave us Winter Snow.” You scoffed. “Some old neighbors who’ve thankfully died, but I still remember their insults as I passed by them when I was just a child.”

He hummed, and you did not blame him for not saying anything after you. The two of you just existed in your childhood bedroom, the rain still beating against the roof, but not quite as hard this time.

“What were you like when you were a boy?” You questioned.

“Not like my brother or nephews.” He answered right away. “They…teased me a lot.”

“I’ve never had brothers or sisters, but aren’t they meant to?”

“Not like how they did.”

Oh…so it was bad. You wouldn’t ask him how horrible it was, knowing that there are some things no one would ever want to speak of.

“I’m sorry they did.”

He shook his head. “No need, it was years ago.”

“It was still wrong.”

Aemond didn’t say anything; didn’t even look at you. Then, for some reason…you felt compelled (maybe even okay) to tell him. “My mother she…died the same way my grandfather did.”

“His heart.”

“We-we think so. It’s strange though; she was so young, and just one night we were eating dinner, she stands to go tend to the fire…and she fell. It…it was as if her soul had been sucked away from her and all that was left was her body.”

“And you think you’ll die like her.”

Swallowing thickly, you had hoped he didn’t see right through you about that; but at the same time…how freeing it felt to be seen even in the most shameful and terrifying moments of life.

“She was the main provider for our house.” You went into more detail. “Gigi tried her best, but it wasn’t enough. My mother…Sylvi hasn’t told me everything she did to earn enough coin, and I don’t think I want to know. Many healers have said that people dying from a bad heart at such a young age is due to stress. I don’t know if they’re right, and even when I was one and ten, I did everything in my power not to feel so, but Gigi would wander around King’s Landing late at night, or we couldn’t afford food for days on end…”

You were vomiting all of your troubles onto him, it was disgusting; but, once you started, you couldn’t stop. The storm had picked up again, and from how the wind shook the walls of your room, you thought they would all crumble.

“Sylvi knew of us struggling, and she paid for our meals. I was to become an indentured servant to her, like how my mother was; cooking, cleaning, running odd errands…but she paid me in coin as well. I think-I think she thought I was going to follow in my mother’s footsteps when I was of age, but I refused. That’s when some of the girls and I came up with a way for me to make extra coin, and here we are.”

“She never let anyone younger than seventeen be a whore?”

For a moment, you pondered how that was the one thing he got from your nervous ramblings. Still, you decided it wasn’t best to think about it. “She didn’t want men bedding little girls.”

“I suppose it’s different for girls.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It was my thirteenth nameday when my brother brought me to Sylvi’s pleasure house.” He said it as if it was common knowledge. “He said I needed to know everything there was about women. Your Madame certainly taught me well. It makes sense I suppose; girls are taught to be more ashamed about it.”

Even with the storm still going outside, the only sound you could hear was the beating of your own heart. “…What?”

You remembered what it was like when you were that age. Your body felt strange, you bled between your legs for the first time, you wanted a husband right away one moment, and then wanted to be a child forever the next. You were good at talking to men who were older than you…but…being intimate? No…and Sylvi had…Sylvi had-?

“Is something wrong?”

If you were delusional, you would say he seemed concerned. Still, if you were to tell him that what Sylvi had done was hypocritical and despicable of her, you would go red in the face with tears, and he would only spit on you and say you wouldn’t understand, and-.

“-Your hair.” You said, having been staring at it whilst your mind rushed. “Has…has it always been curly?”

Aemond scowled, not in scorn, but in puzzlement. It must’ve started to dry as he spent time in the house; it must’ve been frizzy and horrible as well. “Yes.”

You forced a smile. “And here I thought only the ladies of the night burned their hair since men favor it straight.”

“Mothers too.” He sighed when he saw the look you gave him. “It curled more by the time I was fourteen. She had the servants straighten it for me ever since; I believe she hates anything about me that is a reminder that she is my mother.”

“Aemond…”

“I don’t need your pity. I’ve been with her since I was born, it is nothing new and I have-.”

You don’t know why you reached forward and combed a strand of his hair between two of your fingers. Maybe it was because you were still tipsy, or maybe it’s because you just wanted to. He flinched upon your touch, and so did you.

“For-forgive me,” you backed farther up your bed. “I-I forgot myself and I-.”

He brought himself forward, taking both of your hands. Without looking at you, he brought both of them into his hair. Almost like it was second nature, you began to gently run your fingers over his scalp. He shut his eye, his hands traveling to drape along your waste, and he bent his head to rest upon your chest.

It was strange. Strange but nice. You were holding him, but just to have the illusion of you also being cared for…not even your grandmother had done something like this for years.

“I like your hair just how it is.” You whispered after a minute. “If it matters at all.”

He merely hummed, his hand travelling under your shirt. Your breath hitched when you felt his finger caress the skin above your wound. Your hands did not still, continuing to comb through his hair softly.

His finger traveled farther up, circling the swell of your breast. You made a noise you hadn’t made before, and you thought you sounded ridiculous. He hummed against your chest, and…

And…

Something between your legs felt like it was beating; like your heart, but it wasn’t that.

“I’m going to touch you there.” He mumbled against the fabric of your shirt. “Alright?”

No, no it wasn’t alright, but it was at the same time.

It wasn’t okay because you’ve only heard stories about this from the girls at the brothel, but it was okay because-because you liked him, and he was-

and you were-

and everything feels warm-

and the way he talked to you-

and the way you-!

“Get off!” You whispered once you heard just the lightest of footsteps outside your door. He listened, backing away quickly to the edge of the bed. An almost silent knock came from your door, and you smiled. “Come in!”

Gigi pushed herself in, holding a tray with two steaming mugs, setting it on the bed. “I’m so sorry, your grace. We do not have tea leaves, so is milk alright?”

Aemond nodded. “It is.”

“How have the both of you been?”

You wore a thin grin. “Fine.”

She nodded, looking in between the two of you. As if she knew what had just taken place, she gave a wry smile and turned to leave. “Well, the rain is dying down now. Let me know if you two need anything else.”

“Thank you, Gigi.” You said without another thought.

She didn’t shut the door when she left. You picked up the mug, took a sip and immediately felt your body heal just a little. Warm milk does numbers on a soul.

“I should take my leave now.” The prince stood up abruptly, dusting himself off.

You tried to stand. “I’ll walk you out.”

The wound at your side burned every inch you moved, and you did a horrible job concealing it. Aemond gently took your shoulders, pushing you back down.

“Rest.” He commanded. “You’re injured, and it’s late.”

“And when have you ever cared?” You teased

“Perhaps just now.” He matched your tone.

“Do you know what I hate?”

“Me? Life itself? Men?”

“Yes, to the last two.” You feel your chest constrict at what you would say next. “I hate that you told Sylvi you would spend time with me because you paid her for…other things previously.”

Aemond tilted his head to the side. “Is that so?”

She nodded. “You…you no longer have to pay for my company. You’ve seen me in turmoil, and I’ve seen you naked.”

He laughed…he laughed in a way you’d never heard him laugh before. “Is that what makes us allies?”

“Friends?” You reworded. “You understand the meaning, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.” He scoffed.

“So…are we friends now?”

Friends who touch each other in ways they usually don’t.

A hint of a smile spread across his lips. He took your hand and kissed your knuckles. “Friends.”

You dropped your face, hopefully to avoid him seeing how you blushed. The damage was done though. Regaining yourself, you took a deep breath and looked at him.

“And…I’m aware I won’t be the first person you’ll seek if you’re in distress, but please know I will help if you need it.”

“Do not call yourself inadequate.” He shook his head. “I might have some use for you.”

You scoffed. “How considerate of you.”

“Rest now.” He repeated, turning to leave without a proper goodbye.

You sat up. “Wait!” Aemond did not turn to look at you, but he stopped. “Your eye. When you were walking me home, you were in pain. Does it still hurt?”

He was silent. For a moment, you thought it was to come up with a lie, then you assumed it was to find the words to tell you the truth…you had too much faith in him for either.

“It’s late.” He said your name softly and walked out of your bedroom. You heard the front door open then shut.

And there you were, on your bed, alone with an undrunk mug of milk.

The rain had completely stopped.

[thatlotuscookie]

Hi Hypno. I'd love a Natsu x Reader (Female) where he’s being overprotective and kind of clueless about why it’s embarrassing her in front of the guild, but it turns into this cute confession in the end and they start dating

✧･ﾟ: a/n : hihi! I hope you enjoyed this super cute and protective Natsu! I wanted to capture that fiery energy of his, but with a dash of sweet fluff. I'm also not too familiar with Fairy Tail, so apologies in advance. Thank you for the request<3

✧ Title: ✧ Overprotective Flames ✧ ✧ Characters: Natsu Dragneel x Fem!Reader ✧ Genre: Fluff, Romance, Humor ✧ Rating: T ✧ Summary: You asked Natsu to walk you to the guild hall, and what you got was an overprotective dragon slayer scaring everyone off. You didn't expect his actions to lead to a heartfelt confession, but maybe there’s more behind his behavior than you thought. ✧ Content/Tags: Overprotective Natsu, Fluff, Confession, Mutual Pining, Slight Embarrassment, Best Friends to Lovers, Guild Dynamics ✧ WC: 987 words // 5.5k chars

You were starting to regret asking Natsu to walk with you to the guild hall today.

What had started as a normal day had quickly turned into a public display of just how protective your best friend could be. The moment you two had stepped into the guild, Natsu had stuck to you like glue—literally hovering over your shoulder, making comments whenever anyone so much as glanced your way.

“Oi, Gajeel! What do you think you’re lookin’ at?” Natsu growled when the Iron Dragon Slayer walked by, offering you nothing more than a passing nod of acknowledgment.

“Relax, Flame Brain,” Gajeel grumbled, not even bothering to look back as he made his way to the bar. “Ain’t nobody interested in your girl.”

Your cheeks flamed at that. Your girl? Gajeel’s words stuck with you, even though you knew that wasn’t how Natsu saw you. At least, you thought he didn’t. He was just being… well, Natsu—fiercely protective over his friends. You knew that much about him.

Still, today felt different. Like maybe he was going a little overboard.

“U-Um, Natsu, it’s okay,” you whispered, trying to wave off his aggression with a nervous smile. “Gajeel wasn’t even—”

“Wasn’t what?” Natsu interrupted, turning to you with a serious expression. “He was lookin’ at you funny. You think I’m gonna let that slide?”

You sighed, feeling the familiar weight of eyes from across the guild hall. You could practically hear the others whispering amongst themselves, and it only made your face heat up more. Why was Natsu acting like this in front of everyone?

You loved him—liked him, you corrected yourself quickly—but this was just embarrassing. The last thing you needed was for the whole guild to think you were helpless and needed a dragon slayer to fight your battles for you.

“Lucy, help me out here,” you pleaded under your breath, shooting a desperate glance at the celestial mage sitting nearby. Lucy gave you a sympathetic smile, but she clearly wasn’t going to interfere. She probably thought it was cute.

Well, you didn’t.

“Oi, Gray, keep your shirt on and your eyes off her,” Natsu barked, his eyes flashing as Gray walked in your direction, hands in his pockets.

“I wasn’t even—” Gray began, but Natsu cut him off with a huff, stepping between the two of you.

“Yeah, well, you better not be,” Natsu snapped, crossing his arms over his chest.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Natsu, please,” you whispered, “you’re embarrassing me.”

Natsu blinked at you, his sharp gaze softening slightly. “What? Why?”

“Because…” you trailed off, biting your lip. How were you supposed to explain that everyone was staring, that your crush on him was already making it hard to breathe, and now he was drawing even more attention to the both of you?

Natsu frowned, his expression genuinely confused. “I’m just lookin’ out for you, (Y/N). You know I don’t want anyone messin’ with you.”

“I know that,” you mumbled, staring at the floor. “But you don’t have to scare off everyone. They’re just our friends.”

He scratched his head, looking utterly clueless. “But I don’t want any of ‘em getting ideas. You’re too important to me for that.”

Your heart did a little flip at his words, and you glanced up at him, eyes wide. “I… I am?”

“‘Course you are,” Natsu said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. His gaze softened again, a warm grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Why else d’you think I’d be so protective? You’re… special.”

Your breath caught in your throat. There it was again—another hint that maybe he didn’t just see you as a friend. Maybe all this overprotectiveness wasn’t just about keeping you safe; maybe it was because he cared about you in a different way.

But you still weren’t sure, and the uncertainty gnawed at you. “Natsu,” you began cautiously, “are you being overprotective because… you like me?”

He stared at you for a moment, and you could almost see the gears turning in his head as he processed the question. Then, a slow, sheepish grin spread across his face. “I… yeah, I guess I am.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “R-Really?”

“Yeah,” he repeated, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I didn’t realize it at first, but I think… I’ve always liked you, (Y/N). I just didn’t know how to say it.”

You blinked at him in disbelief. Natsu Dragneel, the guy you had been crushing on for ages, liked you back?

Before you could respond, Natsu took a step closer, his expression serious but warm. “I don’t want anyone else even thinkin’ about you that way, y’know? You’re mine.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt your face heat up all over again. “I… I’ve liked you for a while too, Natsu,” you admitted shyly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Natsu’s eyes lit up, and his grin widened. “You do?”

You nodded, feeling a smile tug at your lips despite your embarrassment. “Yeah.”

Natsu’s expression softened, and before you could react, he wrapped his arms around you in a tight, warm hug, pulling you against his chest. “That’s awesome, (Y/N),” he murmured into your hair. “I’m so glad.”

You laughed softly, your heart swelling with happiness as you hugged him back. “Me too.”

“Guess that means we’re dating now, huh?” Natsu said, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes, his grin as wide as ever.

You blushed, but nodded. “I guess it does.”

Natsu’s smile turned even softer, and he leaned in, pressing a quick, warm kiss to your forehead. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not letting anyone else get close to you from now on.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, feeling lighter than you had in days. “You’re still overprotective.”

“Damn right I am,” Natsu said proudly. “But now I’ve got a reason.”

[its-avalon-08]

Hi, could you write a story with George, where he is protective of the reader? I don’t really have much of a plot, but I would like a bit of angst and fluff. Thanks!

all my love (gr63)

✦ pairing - george russell x female!reader

✦ genre - angst, jealousy, protective george

George Russell is always fiercely protective of Y/N, whether they're in the fast-paced world of Formula 1 or just enjoying quiet moments at home. His protective nature shows in the little things—like making sure she's safe from paparazzi pushing through the crowd, or standing up to people who try to belittle her. He keeps a watchful eye on her during events, always ready to step in when someone gets too close or crosses a line. No matter how tense things might get between them, George's protective instinct never falters. To him, Y/N is everything, and he'll always go the extra mile to keep her safe and remind the world that she's his.

It was the day after a big race, and George had just secured a podium finish. The media frenzy was at its peak, with paparazzi and fans crowding every corner outside the hotel where George and Y/N were staying. Y/N had accompanied George to an event that evening, and as they walked out together, hand in hand, the mob outside seemed more aggressive than usual.

"Stay close," George whispered, his thumb gently rubbing the back of Y/N's hand.

Y/N nodded, trying to stay calm despite the growing chaos. The crowd of fans surged forward, phones held high, while photographers shouted for George's attention. The security guards tried to hold them back, but it was clear they were struggling.

Suddenly, there was a push from behind, and Y/N stumbled forward. The momentum from the crowd caused her to lose her footing, and George instinctively reached out to steady her.

"Oi! Watch it!" George shouted, his protective instincts kicking in. He tried to shield Y/N with his body as the fans kept pressing forward.

But the crowd didn’t stop. In the confusion, someone jostled George from the side, and before he could fully regain his balance, another push sent him tumbling to the ground, pulling Y/N with him. She gasped, her heart pounding in her chest as she scrambled to get up.

Out of nowhere, Lewis Hamilton, who had been nearby, immediately stepped in. His arm wrapped around Y/N, gently but firmly pulling her away from the chaos. “I got you, I got you,” he whispered, his calm demeanor doing little to hide the concern in his voice.

Y/N looked over her shoulder in panic, her eyes searching for George. “George! George, are you okay?”

George was already getting to his feet, brushing off the dust from his trousers, but there was a deep scowl on his face. He winced slightly, favoring his left leg, and his jaw clenched in frustration.

“Back off!” George shouted angrily at the crowd, his voice sharp and filled with fury. “What the hell is wrong with you lot? You just shoved her!”

The crowd stilled for a moment, clearly taken aback by his outburst. Even the security guards began pushing the people back more forcefully, creating a space between George, Y/N, and the aggressive fans.

Y/N, still in shock, held onto Lewis, her heart racing as she watched George. "George, you’re hurt…"

George limped over to her, his frustration melting into worry as soon as he saw her in Lewis’ arms. “Are you alright? Did they hurt you?” His voice softened instantly as he reached for her, ignoring the pain in his leg.

“I’m fine,” Y/N whispered, her eyes filled with concern for him. “But you’re not…”

“I don’t care about me,” George said fiercely, pulling her close despite his obvious discomfort. “I care about you. They shouldn’t have done that.”

Lewis gently let go of Y/N, stepping back slightly to give the couple some space. “You guys good? I can make sure they clear this area if you want.”

George nodded, his arm firmly around Y/N’s shoulders. “Thanks, mate. Just… get her inside. I’ll handle this.”

Lewis shot George a reassuring look before turning to the nearby security team, instructing them to handle the situation. Y/N glanced up at George, worry evident in her eyes as he tried to stand tall, though the pain was clear on his face.

“You shouldn’t be handling anything,” Y/N said, her voice trembling slightly. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine, love,” George said, his tone softening as he looked into her eyes. “I just… I lost it when I saw them push you like that. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Y/N shook her head, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “You don’t have to apologize. You always protect me, but I hate that you got hurt because of me.”

George held her close, his chin resting on the top of her head. “I’d get hurt a hundred times over if it means keeping you safe. Nothing matters more to me than you.”

From a distance, Lewis gave them a small, supportive smile before heading back inside, leaving the couple to recover from the chaos.

As the security team finally cleared the crowd, Y/N looked up at George, her hand gently resting on his cheek. “Let’s get you inside and take care of that leg, alright?”

George smiled down at her, his protective demeanor softening. “Only if you promise to stay with me.”

Y/N smiled back, leaning up to kiss him softly. “Always.”

2.

It was supposed to be a quiet family dinner at Y/N’s parents' house in London, but as always, the atmosphere had turned tense. George had been by Y/N’s side the entire evening, but he could sense her unease from the moment they arrived. He could see why, too. Her family, particularly her parents, had a habit of being overly critical, constantly making snide remarks that chipped away at Y/N’s confidence.

Y/N sat next to George at the long dining table, her eyes focused on her plate as her mother launched into yet another judgmental comment.

“You know, Y/N, it’s a wonder how you manage to keep up with George’s lifestyle when you’re so busy with your little business,” her mother said with a condescending smile. “I mean, it’s cute, but don’t you think it’s time to settle down and focus on something more stable?”

Her father, sitting at the head of the table, nodded in agreement. “Yes, George is a successful man in the prime of his career. Surely, you can’t expect him to be patient with you forever.”

Y/N’s grip tightened around her fork, her knuckles white as she tried to keep her emotions in check. She always had to endure these dinners, these backhanded comments that made her feel small. But it hurt even more now with George there, witnessing it all.

George could feel the tension radiating off of Y/N, and he wasn’t having any of it. He had been quiet for most of the evening, but hearing Y/N’s family tear her down, yet again, was the last straw.

Before Y/N could respond, George stood up from his seat, his expression hard and unwavering. “I’m sorry, but I can’t sit here and listen to this anymore.”

Y/N’s parents both looked up, startled by the sudden interruption. Her mother raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t appreciate the way you talk to her,” George said firmly, his voice calm but filled with a quiet intensity. He looked at Y/N’s parents with a kind of authority they hadn’t expected. “Y/N is the smartest, most capable person I’ve ever met. The way you undermine her achievements, her hard work, it’s—honestly, it’s disrespectful.”

Her father frowned. “George, we’re just being honest. She could be doing more with her life. Someone has to push her to do better.”

George’s jaw tightened, his hands gripping the back of his chair as he leaned forward slightly. “She is doing more with her life. She’s built a successful business on her own, while managing to balance everything that comes with being in a relationship with me and the crazy life I live. She’s strong, she’s incredible, and frankly, the fact that you can’t see that is disappointing.”

Y/N’s mother blinked, clearly taken aback by George’s words. “George, we’re just trying to look out for her.”

“No,” George interrupted, his voice low but firm. “You’re tearing her down, and it’s not okay. I won’t sit here and watch it happen.”

Y/N’s heart was pounding in her chest as she watched George stand up for her, his protective energy filling the room. She had never seen anyone stand up to her parents like this, and certainly not for her. Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away, trying to stay composed.

Her parents sat in stunned silence as George turned to Y/N, offering her his hand. “We’re leaving.”

Y/N, still processing the moment, nodded silently and slipped her hand into his. They left the dining room without another word, the tension hanging thick in the air behind them. The moment they were outside, Y/N let out a shaky breath, her hand still gripping George’s tightly.

“George…” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly.

George turned to her, his expression softening as he cupped her face in his hands. “You don’t deserve to be treated like that. Ever.”

Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes as she looked up at him, her heart swelling with gratitude and love. “I… I didn’t know how to say anything. I’ve put up with it for so long, I just…”

“You shouldn’t have to put up with it,” George said softly, brushing a tear from her cheek. “You’re amazing, Y/N. And I love you, just as you are. I needed them to know that.”

Without another word, Y/N surged forward, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and kissing him with all the emotion she had bottled up inside. The kiss was desperate, filled with relief, love, and an overwhelming sense of gratitude. George’s arms circled around her waist, pulling her close, his hands resting on the small of her back as he deepened the kiss.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless, Y/N rested her forehead against his, her eyes still closed as she savored the moment. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

George pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “You never have to thank me for standing up for you. I’ll always protect you, Y/N. Always.”

Y/N smiled through the remaining tears, her heart full as she leaned into his embrace. In that moment, she knew she had found someone who would love her unconditionally, someone who would always have her back—even against the people who should have supported her the most.

3.

It had been a long day, and tensions between Y/N and George were running high. They had argued that morning over something trivial, but as the hours passed, the silence between them had grown heavier. George was short with her, and Y/N, equally stubborn, gave him the cold shoulder. They barely spoke throughout the day, both too proud to break the silence first.

But they had plans for the evening—an invite to a club for a post-race celebration with the team. Neither of them wanted to cancel, so they dressed up and went along, even though the air between them was still tense.

Y/N wore a sleek black dress that hugged her figure perfectly, her hair cascading down her back in loose waves. She looked stunning, and George couldn’t help but steal glances at her as they walked into the club, though he said nothing. His jaw was set, his mood still sour from their earlier argument.

The club was alive with music, lights flashing as people danced and laughed. George immediately joined his team, catching up with Lewis and a few others. Y/N, still frustrated with him, decided to grab a drink and wandered towards the bar. As she stood there, sipping her cocktail and trying to shake off the lingering tension, one of the mechanics from another team slid up beside her.

"Hey there," the mechanic said, flashing a grin. "You look a bit lonely. Where's your guy?"

Y/N glanced at him, her eyes narrowing slightly, but she forced a polite smile. "He’s around," she said, keeping her tone neutral.

The mechanic didn’t take the hint and leaned in closer, clearly interested. “Well, if he’s leaving someone like you alone, he’s making a big mistake. How about we get out of here? I know a quieter spot down the street.”

Before Y/N could respond, she felt a familiar presence behind her. George had been keeping an eye on her from across the room and, seeing the mechanic's approach, had immediately crossed the floor. His hand slid possessively around her waist, pulling her firmly against him.

“She’s not interested,” George said coldly, his voice low and threatening as he stared down the mechanic.

The mechanic raised his hands defensively. “Hey, man, no harm done. Just talking.”

“Yeah, well, you can go talk to someone else,” George said, his jaw tight. His hold on Y/N didn’t loosen as the mechanic walked away, casting one last glance at her before disappearing into the crowd.

Y/N looked up at George, her heart pounding—not from fear, but from the way George’s protective side always surfaced when it came to her. His touch, his stance, the way he looked at the mechanic like he would tear him apart if he tried anything—it was all undeniably attractive, even after a full day of tension between them.

Teasingly, she raised an eyebrow. “Even when you’re pissed, you still get jealous, huh?”

George’s lips twitched, his icy mood melting just a little as he met her gaze. He leaned down, his face inches from hers, his arm still firmly around her waist. “I might be pissed off, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, “but you’re still mine. That hasn’t changed.”

The heat in his words sent a shiver down her spine, and she couldn’t help but smile, her frustration from earlier starting to fade. “Yours, huh?” she teased, her eyes sparkling as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

George’s expression softened as he pulled her closer, his forehead resting against hers. “Yeah. Always.”

The argument that had been hanging between them all day suddenly felt insignificant. There, in the noise and chaos of the club, all Y/N could focus on was George—how fiercely he loved her, how protective he always was, even when they fought.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

George sighed, his thumb brushing her cheek gently. “I’m sorry too. I hate when we fight.”

“Me too,” Y/N replied, her voice soft as she leaned into his touch. “But I kind of like how protective you get when other guys try to hit on me.”

George chuckled, finally letting go of the tension from earlier. “Don’t get used to it. I’m not going to make a habit of this.”

She laughed softly, pulling him down for another kiss, this one longer and deeper. When they finally pulled apart, Y/N grinned. “Even if you’re mad, you still love me.”

George rolled his eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips as he held her close. “You have no idea.”

With his arms wrapped securely around her, the two of them forgot about the argument that had weighed them down all day. In that moment, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they were together, still each other’s, no matter what.

[reallyromealone]

DAY 🎃TWELVE🎃 FACE SITTING - Smiley

Warnings

Male reader, bottom male reader, smut, nsfw, face riding, ass eating, light spanking, cum, dirty talk

"A-are you sure this is alright?" (Name) was hesitant as he hovered over his boyfriends face, worried about hurting him but yelping when Nahoya pulled him close to his face "baby I want to be /smothered/ by you" he said wrapping his arms around (name) and nipped his ass cheek "been wanting you to suffocate me with this beautiful ass since I saw you walk into my restaurant..." that was over a year ago, he had been wanting this for a /year/.

Smiley coaxed him to relax more before giving a lick across his hole, admiring how tight it was despite the /damage/ smileys cock had done to it, the two loved going at it hard.

Smiley circled his tongue around the rim, listening to the sound of (name) letting out a shaky pant as smiley took his time with (name), he had nowhere to be but right here. (Name)s hands splayed against Smileys abs as he bucked slightly at the warm tongue that teased him, Nahoya pushing in slightly only to pull out "H-hoya..." (name) whispered as a hand moved back to grab at his hair and Nahoya just hummed and continued his teasing before slowly pushing in deeper and slowly fucking his tongue in the other, grinning internally as (name) clawed at his chest, most likely leaving marks.

"O-oh!"

"Fuck!"

"Please...!"

(Name) whined and moaned as he tried to get more pleasure from Nahoyas sinful mouth as the man slowly picked up speed, eating his ass like he was made for it.

(Name) leaned to suck Nahoyas stiff cock, the angry red tip leaking pre-cum but the second his hands touched it Nahoya slapped (name)s ass cheeks "Oi! This ain't about me, be a good boy and ride my face!" Nahoya barked and (name) pouted but jolted when Nahoya but his ass cheek before diving back in with vigor tongue pushing in as deep as it could and made circle motions before pulling out and quickly licking his hole.

This was about (name), his pleasure and his climax.

God the thought of (name) cumming to his mouth almost made him cum.

Nahoya made out with (name)s ass, sloppy and passionate as he pushed his tongue in again and started thrusting aggressively, timing it with (name) shaky and fast pants as he humped the others face with vigor, ass cheeks jiggling slightly at the speed of which he was riding.

"O-oh! Oh god Nahoya! Fuckfuckfuck!"

Nahoya gently stroked the others thighs and continued at his pace to urge (name) to chase high.

(Name) was sweating as his thighs shook "OH! YES!" He finally cried out as cum shot out of his erect cock, white spirts covered Nahoyas chest as he leaned forward, trying to recover from the hard climax.

But Nahoya didn't stop "come on baby ~" he said between licks "gimmie one more"

[animestsstuff2]

Unconventional

Bakugou Katsuki X fem reader.

This is kinda long lol!

Part 1 here

♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎

You sat daydreaming during Present Mic’s class, English was never your best subject and you definitely didn’t try to better yourself with the constant daydreams. Your eyes glancing over to the blonde beside you. His eyes meeting yours the tiniest of quirk of his lip as his red eyes rolled playfully at your obvious un-interest in the loud teacher before you both. His foot shifting ever so slightly to nudge yours. The decision by Bakugou to move next to you went unnoticed by your peers, initially Mina picked up on it but after watching how you both literally never interacted during English she let her ship drown but it is Bakugou, nothing he does is conventional. Your eyes leaving the blondes as you thought about the developments which lead to you dating..

You were training with class 1-B today, it had been a few days since that awkward interaction between you and Bakugou and maybe you were overthinking it but he was acting different. You used to find him glaring at you sometimes, especially during any basic training but instead the blondes eyes were just looking, no narrowed eyes or furrowed brows. His expression was one you couldn’t place. Now every time you caught him staring he would immediately look away and so would you, not catching the small pink on his cheeks.

You of course were paired up with Bakugou, which was pretty rare. You didn’t really pair well together after all he hated you and wouldn’t communicate as a result. He would just leave you like many of the other extras who were deemed ‘unworthy’ of his cooperation in his dust, literally. This time however as you both stood in the fake city zone he turned, eyes meeting yours..well briefly, you stomach twisted and you kept breaking eye contact.

“Oi! I want you behind me this whole time. I’ll be the offence need ya’ to do the job of watching out for any little tricks they got” you just nodded, his red eyes meeting yours in a silent agreement as Aizawa called the match was starting. Bakugou blasted off and you quickly drew water from the rain puddles around you, gathering around your feet and sliding yourself forward. Your eyes keeping track of his body flying through the air as you stayed to the ground, not enough water to steadily build a wave to give you height.

The blondes eyes scanned the buildings for the damn extras, who was it again? Kenko? Some ginger girl and a boy with freakish green hair. His quirk was more threatening. His eyes scanning for blades when he felt the splatter of water on his back, quickly changing trajectory mid-air to spin and seeing you engaged with that razor freak. Your feet slipping across the ground as he advanced aggressively. The blades in his arms slicing through your shield of water each time you reformed it.

Bakugou growled, chest tightening as he quickly blasted down palm outstretched and sending a cluster shot. The boy just avoided it, large blade taking the brunt as he retreated back, huffing but Bakugou pressed forward. His palms hot and body sweaty as he sent another explosion at him. You followed letting him be the offence as he backed Kamakiri into the building behind him. His eyes glancing feverishly around and Bakugous brow twitched as he remembered about his other opponent, instantly following his enemies eyes that fell behind him.

His head whipped round, red eyes widening as the massive palm of Kendo appeared beside you, forming too quick for you to react but slow enough for Bakugou. His palms fired up as he shifted his focus. His mouth open yelling your name hand outstretched and grabbing you, pulling you against him as her hand swiped both of you, sending you flying through a window, smashing it entirely. Bakugou took the brunt off it, having pulled your back against his chest as he landed on his, fresh pain awakening on the bruised skin from your previous encounter together. You gasped, quickly sitting up between the blondes legs as he groaned on the ground below you, eyes cracking open from their squint.

“Bakugou! Why would you do that? Are you okay” You asked him and just like last time without even thinking your hands cupped his jaw, pulling his face up as your worried eyes met his. The faintest pink on his cheeks which you ignored.

“M’alright, shoulda been payin more attention n’ i would’t have had to save your ass” he grumbled as he sat up. You chewed your lip. You should have been paying closer attention.

“You’re right, are you okay though- your back is it-“

“Stop yappin’ i’m alright, m’ not made of glass like you..y’alright though, nothin’ nicked you?” The last part was almost a whisper as he met your eyes again. You quickly nodded realising the position you found yourself in now as you quickly let go of his face and scampered up.

“Good. Then lets finish this n’ don’t have me savin’ you again cause I’ll let you get beat up next time” he grumbled out as he stood up with you, palms crackling as you nodded, determined to help him beat class 1-B

You still couldn’t place why he saved you, even your classmates couldn’t as you all left the changing rooms, everyone having finished their own battles. Mina squealed as she hung off your arm, pulling and pushing at you.

“Oh Y/N it was so heroic! The way he blasted over, grabbing you with his big arms and pulling you into his chest! Ah! I wish I had a boy do that to me!” She cried as you giggled nervously. Mina knew about your tiny huge crush on Bakugou. She thankfully, mainly due to your begging, never pushed on it or put you in awkward situations with the blonde.

“It was nothing Mina. He was just helping me” you mumbled, rubbing the back of your neck as you arrived at your dorm door. She rolled her eyes, giving you a cheeky grin.

“C’mon Y/N, I just know you got butterflies when he grabbed you. What happened in the building, we didn’t see that par- Oh my God! Did you kiss! Did he confess his lo-“

“Mina- shut up! He could hear you” you yelled, cheeks burning red as your eyes feverishly glanced round, ears straining at the slightest nose. She only snorted at your expression. The red on your cheeks making her push more.

“You know i’m only messin’ unless that did happen and thats why your freaking ou-“

You slammed the door on her, pressing your palms firmly against it as you let out a breath. You heard her giggle on the other side. You rolled your eyes as you moved and flopped onto your bed, rolling over and stuffing your face into the pillow as your stomach tickled with nerves as you did think about it; about his strong arms, his firm chest. You groaned as you rolled over.

A knock sounded at your door and you rolled your eyes, not wanting to talk to your pink best friend as you moved over, grabbing the handle and swinging it open your eyes closed and brows furrowed as you opened your mouth.

“Mina, not right now please. I don’t wanna hear anymore about what happened or about Bakugo-“ your opened eyes met the confused red ones staring back. Your heart skipped and stomach dropped as the grip on your handle tightened. It wasn’t Mina. No, of course it wasn’t.

“Huh? What are you yappin’ about me for?” He asked, leaning down. He wasn’t that tall but unfortunately your parents were both short. You stepped back, mouth drying as you stuttered out a response.

“Hm! No-nothing, um, sorry do you need something?” You asked, quickly drawing together the fact Bakugou was currently outside your room a very odd sight. He leaned back as he puffed his cheeks out turning his head to the side, fingers curling in his sweaty palm.

“Y’got anymore of those heat pads. My back is sore from earlier” he mumbled out quickly and your eyes widened remembering how he took the force of the window and concrete which you both landed in. You spun round going to the small box and pulling one out, turning back round and literally squeaking as you nearly bumped into his chest. Your footing unsteady as you stepped back and craned your neck up.

“H-Here..do you need help putting it on?..- not that you aren’t capable! I just mean becau-

“Fuck, stop ramblin’ so much making me regret comin’ to you” he groaned and your cheeks flushed. His eyes meeting yours as he mumbled he did want your help. You nodded as he moved to sit on the edge of your bed, this time he reached down pulling his tee off and your hands cracked the pack prematurely as your face burned.

“Y’gonna put it on or just keep starin?” You could hear his tone lift from the usual annoyed grumble his words came out with. A smirk ghosting the edges of his lips at your blatant staring. The thought of you checking the boy out stroked his ego..not that he needed it.

You said nothing, fearing your voice would crack or worse you’d just blob like a fish and rather moved to sit behind him. Bakugou sucked a breath in still not prepared for the gentleness of your finger tips that ghosted the purple and yellow bruise on his back. Your hands touching delicately as you laid the pack on, pressing your palm to his back and moving your eyes up to glance at his turned head.

“Um, do you-you can sit here a while so it doesnt fall off or anything” you whispered much lower than you intended. The blonde only grunted feeling as awkward as you and not trusting his own voice. He moved himself as he lay on his front, hands moving to rest on the pillow, propping his head on his forearms. The curve of his large muscle bulging as you shifted to the headboard, pulling your knees up and staring at him. This was weird. Bakugou was topless..in your room..on your bed.

“Im sorry again for hurting you” you mumbled out, not knowing what else to say. His red eyes were piercing. The blonde just rolled them in annoyance.

“Stop apologisin’ its annoying me and you only managed to hurt me because I didn’t get a proper sleep the night before” he grumbled and you couldn’t help the snicker at his lame excuse. He was always so strict about about his sleep schedule.

“Yeah? You know you’ve yet to properly beat me” you quirked, feeling slightly more comfortable in his presence. He didn’t seem as intimidating, his brows weren’t furrowed and his eyes were gleaming with something other than annoyance.

“What! I beat you during training in the first week!” Oh no, you riled him. He shot up leaning closer as he narrowed his eyes at you but as quickly as he got up he cursed and slowly stilled. The heat back slipping off which you quickly grabbed and placed it back onto his back.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to annoy you and you’re right you did beat my ass pretty hard in the first week” you gave him a small smile which he returned with an eye roll and a cocky grin.

“Yeah and I’ll beat your ass next time too so don’t hold back” he wasn’t being mean. The competitiveness was true but he was teasing and it felt nice. You rarely, if ever, have seen him act this way.

“Yeah? I better prepare myself then” he only nodded and lay his head back down as you yawned, shifting to lay on your back.

“I can go if your tired n’wanting to sleep” he mumbled out and you quickly shook your head. You didn’t want this interaction to end. It was weird and definitely unconventional but it was feeding your silly crush on him.

“No! You can stay really. I don’t mind” he just nodded as you moved your head back on your pillow not initially realising how tired training had you till your eyes fluttered shut and a soft snore alerted Bakugou that you were sleeping.

He carefully got up as to not wake you or hurt his back further. He watched you curl up and chuffed out his nose at the sight of how peaceful you looked. He grabbed the small throw blanket and lay it over you, grabbing his tee and slipping it back on as he left ensuring the hallway was clear as he wondered back to his dorm. His stomach twisting and his palms extra sweaty. These feelings were new and he knew what they were but how he was meant to act on them was completely unmarked territory. He’d never had a crush..what was he even meant to do? Hold your hand? Fuck that Dunce face would never let him hear the end of it.

No..the next interaction between you too was certainly out of the norm. Katsuki’s behaviour was unconventional and it was obvious in his lack of traditional courtship.

[keirawantstocry]

Prompt: fitpac learning about qtubbos nightmare polycule with 2 gods. Maybe bc he's possessed and they're arguing in his body LMAO

i made the nightmare polycule worse hope that helps

There were strange unnatural glints in Tubbo's eyes. That was the first thing that made Fit and Pac realize it wasn't just him inhabiting his body. Pac had seen the same look in Mike's eyes when his goddess wife was possessing him. 

"Oi!" he said, looking curiously at the person currently in control of Tubbo. "Who are you?" 

A voice similar to Tubbo's but louder said, "It is me, Tubbo. I fuck like crazy." Its voice descended into crazy laughter. Not Tubbo's laughter. 

The inflection was deep on the uh syllable of Tubbo's name to the point where even an idiot would be able to tell this was not Tubbo. 

"You're not Tubbo," Fit said. 

Not Tubbo turned his face to Fit. "Heyyy sexy." 

Fit froze. "I'm sorry what?" 

Not Tubbo's face shifted into a concerned expression as his voice got higher and softer. "Ignore him. So sorry guys. My boyfriend is an idiot." 

Tubbo's voice broke through. "He's an asshole!" 

The female voice slipped back over his with a deep sigh. 

A new voice cut in over the two of them, deeper than both of them. "Well, Tubbo's the idiot who signed the marriage papers." 

Pac and Fit exchanged a look. 

"Is your husband in there?" Pac asked carefully. 

The voice that appeared first came back. "Yes. I am his husband, who wants to fucking know?" Not Tubbo squinted at him. "Is one of you the man he's trying to leave me for?" 

Pac burst into laughter as Fit simply gaped in disbelief. "No?" 

"Não, não," Pac affirmed. "I am very pro-poly. We can all have him." 

Not Tubbo seemed content with this answer. "Fine. Still my husband." 

Tubbo's voice forced its way through once more. "You have a girlfriend?" 

The feminine voice cut over Tubbo's, softer than both of theirs but taking priority. "I'm used to it. He keeps flirting with men in front of me." 

The deep male voice shoved its way through. "That's true. We had gay sex yesterday." 

"That's not true!" Tubbo said, sounding so exhausted. 

"Yes it is," the deep voice said. 

"We're in a polycule," Tubbo's husband, Tom Pac thought his name was?, said. 

"No, we aren't!" Tubbo cried. 

Pac couldn't stop the laughter bubbling out of him. 

"We're getting a fucking divorce!" 

Tom's voice took the reins once again. "No we fucking aren't. Molly is fine with this." 

The feminine voice, Molly cut in, sounding amused. "Did you ask me if I was okay with it or did you just assume?" 

Not Tubbo rolled its eyes. "I don't need your permission dear. If I say you're okay with it then you're okay with it." 

The deeper male voice made a return. "You are a horrible boyfriend, you know that right?" 

"Shut the fuck up, Jack," Tom said. 

Tubbo took control again. "Sorry for the crazy amount of voices today, guys. Tom and Molly and Jack are all here. They're excited to talk." 

"It's been so long," Molly said. "Since we've had a human host to inhabit." She lifted her hand up to study it before smiling gently with Tubbo's mouth. It was slightly eerie. "Such a strong one as well." 

Pac nodded. "Oh yeah he's very strong." 

Tom's voice came through aggressively. "Hey, stop flirting with my husband." 

"You were literally flirting with me like three minutes ago?" Fit countered and Tom squinted at him before sighing. 

Tubbo laughed. The laughter wasn't just his own; it was a mix of a deep roarous laughter, light giggles, and the familiar tremor of Tubbo's laugh. 

"That's so freaky," Fit said softly to Pac who turned to him with a grin. 

"So cool though, right?" 

As the voices began to bicker over each other, Fit just laughed to himself. "Yeah, so fucking cool."

[mindyco]

Last update for the day, or night, or yesterday...-?? (• ิ _ • ิ)? Artwork credit: @myt_s3

Scenario: What do they do when they get jealous?

You're engrossed in a conversation with another demon, your laughter echoing through the room. Lucifer watches from a distance, his usually composed expression marred by a hint of irritation. He strides over confidently, his presence commanding attention. "It seems you've captivated quite an audience," he remarks, his voice low and authoritative. "But let's not forget who you belong to. Excuse us, but I think it's time for a private conversation."

Lucifer's jealousy is often subtle, as he maintains a composed exterior.

He might become more possessive, keeping a watchful eye on you and subtly asserting his presence.

He may engage in small acts of dominance to remind others of your connection.

His tone might become slightly colder or his actions more calculated when interacting with those he perceives as a threat.

He might make a point to showcase his authority or accomplishments in front of others to establish his superiority.

You're surrounded by admirers, each one trying to impress you with their stories and gestures. Mammon scowls, crossing his arms and tapping his foot impatiently. He approaches with a mix of irritation and possessiveness, cutting off the other demons mid-sentence. "Oi! Hands off! Can't you see they're already taken?" he declares, wrapping his arm around your waist protectively. "I'm the only one allowed to monopolize their time, got it?"

Mammon's jealousy is loud and evident, as he struggles to contain his emotions.

He becomes overprotective and tries to monopolize your attention.

He may get easily flustered or irritated when others show interest in you.

Mammon might go to great lengths to prove himself, whether through grand gestures or extravagant gifts.

He might demand more affection and reassurance from you, seeking validation that you choose him over others.

You're engaged in an animated discussion about your favorite anime series with a fellow otaku. Leviathan glances over, a tinge of jealousy evident in his eyes. He takes a deep breath, summoning the courage to approach. "Um, excuse me," he stammers, his cheeks tinted with a light blush. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. There's actually this new anime I've been dying to recommend. Maybe we could watch it together sometime?"

Leviathan's jealousy often manifests as insecurity, causing him to doubt his worth.

He becomes more withdrawn and distant, isolating himself from others.

He may spend more time immersed in his hobbies or games as a way to escape his feelings.

Leviathan might act passive-aggressive, making snarky comments or giving you the cold shoulder.

He might need reassurance and affirmation that you value him and his interests.

You're deep in conversation with a knowledgeable demon, discussing intricate magical theories and ancient texts. Satan observes from a distance, his expression a mix of curiosity and possessiveness. He interrupts smoothly, his voice laced with authority. "Ah, I see you're discussing some interesting topics," he interjects, stepping forward. "But I have a few rare books in my personal collection that I think you'd find fascinating. Let's continue this discussion in my study, shall we?"

Satan's jealousy is a mix of possessiveness and intellectual superiority.

He becomes more protective and may act as a shield against potential threats.

He might engage in intellectual debates or showcase his knowledge to impress you and assert his intellectual superiority.

Satan might subtly mark his territory, whether through possessive gestures or subtly claiming your attention.

He may express his jealousy through sarcastic comments or teasing, masking his true feelings.

You're the center of attention at a glamorous party, surrounded by demons vying for your affection. Asmodeus observes with a knowing smile, but a hint of jealousy flickers in his eyes. He gracefully glides toward you, radiating charm and confidence. He leans in, his voice filled with playful possessiveness. "Oh, my darling, I see everyone is simply captivated by your beauty and charm," he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. "But remember, you're the true gem here. Let's dance and make them all green with envy, shall we?"

Asmodeus's jealousy is flamboyant and attention-seeking.

He becomes more affectionate, showering you with compliments and physical displays of affection.

Asmodeus may put extra effort into his appearance, wanting to ensure he stands out and catches your eye.

He might engage in playful jealousy, flirting with others in your presence to incite a reaction from you.

He may demand more of your attention and may become more competitive when it comes to your affections.

You're sitting at a crowded dining table, sharing a meal with other demons. Beelzebub watches intently as someone offers you a bite from their plate, a frown forming on his face. He stands up abruptly, his protective instincts taking over. He steps forward, his voice gentle yet firm. "I think it's best if I take care of feeding you," he says, his hand landing gently on your shoulder. "After all, I know your tastes better than anyone else here."

Beelzebub's jealousy is tied to his protectiveness and fear of losing those he cares about.

He becomes more watchful, keeping an eye on potential rivals and ensuring your safety.

Beelzebub's appetite may change, either losing his appetite or eating more as a way to cope with his emotions.

He might become quieter and more introspective, needing time alone to process his jealousy.

Beelzebub may express his jealousy through subtle acts of physical affection, seeking reassurance and closeness with you.

You're engaged in a conversation, your laughter catching the attention of those around you. Belphegor lounges lazily nearby, feigning indifference. He stifles a yawn before sauntering over to your side, a smirk playing on his lips. He leans in, his voice dripping with playful jealousy. "You know, I can make you laugh like that too," he teases, his eyes glinting mischievously. "If you'd give me a chance, I might even surprise you. Come on, let's sneak away from this boring crowd."

Belphegor's jealousy is intertwined with his fear of abandonment and missing out.

He becomes more clingy and possessive, not wanting to be separated from you.

Belphegor might act out or engage in mischievous pranks to get your attention.

He may express his jealousy through teasing or sarcastic remarks, trying to gauge your reaction.

Belphegor may need reassurance and comfort, afraid of being left behind or replaced.

～𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪

[somebluemelodies]

happy holidays my friends! my gift to you in these trying lore times is canon divergence <3 angst? what’s that? i only know richas and pepito have gotten ahold of mistletoe—

The kids are planning something.

The kids in question? Richarlyson and Pepito, who have been chittering and giggling almost nonstop since they finished opening their presents, using their notebooks instead of signing so their parents can’t figure out what the fuck could be about to happen.

Cellbit and Roier stop trying to figure it out when they get denied information the third time, so they can only trust whatever the two hatchlings were plotting isn’t going to be explosive, at the very least.

Nothing in fact happens for a long while, and one could assume that maybe they don’t have any plans in mind. Maybe they’re just gossiping.

(God only knows how much Richarlyson loves to.)

And then the party happens. An island-wide thing, per most of the major celebrations. There’s a whole new area, too, decorated similarly to spawn. A snowy little wonderland, with colorful blinking lights strung between tall pines decorated with large ornaments and occasional garland.

(It’s a welcome change from everything that’s been transpiring over the last few weeks.

A chance to recuperate.)

Roier is talking to Étoiles and Bagi when something tugs his pant leg, and he looks down.

Bright eyes and big, round glasses are looking right back up at him. “Pepiux?”

Pepito grabs his hand instead, trying to pull him away. “Ay— ¿Qué pasa, Pepito? What the fuck?”

Pepito only tugs his hand again, more insistent. The hatchling is smiling, though, eyes twinkling with mirth Pepito has failed to conceal, and at the very least, Roier knows something hasn’t gone to shit. “Okay, okay. Vamos, Pepito, vamos.”

He’s led over to under some tree a good distance away, but he doesn’t see anything. The spider-hybrid looks around, shooting Pepito a questioning look, but Pepito only beams with no elaboration, still holding his hand.

Roier keeps looking around. Is he supposed to see something? Nobody seems to be doing anything unexpected.

And then he looks up. “No mames, wey— Pepiux, you sneaky—”

“Guapito?”

He looks back down, and finds his husband being led by a very determined-looking Richarlyson. “O que é isso, Richas?” Cellbit laughs, and warmth blooms in Roier’s heart at the sound.

The hatchling lets go of his hand when he and Roier are standing directly in front of each other, and Pepito finally lets go of the spider-hybrid’s, too.

Cellbit copies Roier and looks up, eyes widening slightly. But then a smile creeps onto his face, and his piercing eyes are shining in a way the lights can’t provide, in a way his husband hasn’t seen in a long while.

How the kids placed the mistletoe up there, they’re not gonna question.

Instead, their focus is on what the hatchlings added to the holiday sprig: pink amaranths.

Cellbit looks down at Richarlyson and Pepito, who have just finished a high-five and are looking extremely pleased with themselves. He quirks an eyebrow. “We’re literally married, you guys.”

Richarlyson whips out his notebook, writing with a comedic ferocity before holding it up. AND? YOUR POINT IS?

Pepito lifts his own notebook, a lot less aggressive as he bounces in place. FELIZ NAVIDAD APAS :-D

The cat-hybrid chuckles to himself, shaking his head. His attention is diverted by hands settling on his waist. Roier’s smile is soft, and he’s looking at Cellbit in a way that makes him weak, mind going pleasantly fuzzy. “Oi…”

“Hola, gatinho,” Roier murmurs.

(Satisfied, Richarlyson and Pepito slink off, giggling at the prospect of the next part of their grand plan.)

Cellbit closes the space between their bodies, one arm wrapping around his husband’s neck while the other cups his face. Roier feels a familiar coil around his leg.

The spider-hybrid spares one last glance up at the customized mistletoe before pressing their foreheads together. “Well? You gonna kiss me or what, pendejo?”

“Pendejo? With that mouth of yours?” the investigator quips.

“It’s more fun, no?”

Cellbit hums, his thumb brushing along Roier’s cheekbone. “Claro.”

And with that, Cellbit tilts his head and the distance is closed, eyes fluttering shut as they melt into the kiss.

Subconsciously, they hold each other tighter, pulling each other impossibly closer. The world fades out around them, until it’s nothing but each other.

(They’re already as close as they can get.)

(Not that the fact will stop them from trying.)

They don’t pull apart until their lungs are burning for oxygen, watching each other closely as their hearts race in their chests.

Their silent stare at each other hardly lasts a few seconds before grins are splitting their faces, foreheads pressing together as their shoulders shake with silent laughter.

But then Roier makes a sound, unable to keep quiet, and that’s all it takes for them to both fall into proper laughter. Cellbit’s head drops to his husband’s shoulder, burying it in an attempt to stifle the growing noise.

(He hears Roier through his laughter, “hijo de puta, Cellbo—”)

They rock in place until they’re finally able to calm back down and catch their breath, and Cellbit lifts his head. He moves his hands back, cupping Roier’s face in both and studying him fondly.

“Told you it was more fun,” the latter chirps, and it takes more self-control than Cellbit cares to admit to not start laughing again.

(Roier’s always been good at that: making him laugh even at the simplest of things.

Maybe it’s less Roier and more a testament to just how whipped Cellbit is. But that’s nobody’s business but his own.)

(Since day one.)

The cat-hybrid rolls his eyes, not a trace of malice to be found. “Whatever, man.”

“Ey, man, what the fuck?” Roier moves a hand from Cellbit’s waist, putting it to his heart. “You know I’m speaking facts. Pure facts.”

“Cállate, guapito.” The cat-hybrid pinches one of his cheeks.

“I have a better idea,” his husband answers.

Cellbit doesn’t even get a chance to ask before Roier’s hand is against the back of his head, threading through his hair, and their lips are pressed together once more. A little less gentle, a little more passionate, but no less perfect as it speaks the words they don’t need to.

(Te amo. Te amo. Te amo.)

(And across the way, a flustered scientist and an equally-flustered war veteran find themselves under a red-rosed mistletoe.)

(A very Merry Christmas, indeed.)

[eezeybreezy]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴜɴᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ʜɪꜱ ᴄᴀᴛ pt.2 ➜ʜᴏʙɪᴇ ʙʀᴏᴡɴ x ɢɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

This is the result of Hobie brain rot. Was a lot longer than intended so now it's broken into multiple chapters.  Part 1, Part 3, Part 4🔞

warnings: suggestive, not-so-accurate accent, recreational drug/alcohol use, partying, punk shit, eventual smut?

You pout, clearly disappointed by the innocent peck he’d given. Deciding to be petty, you turn on your heels and head back towards the club.

Hobie follows after you and grabs your shoulder, spinning you around to face him. 

“Oh come on now, don’t be like that… oi, wait a sec!”

Your cheeks puff out childishly, you’re going to have to lay this on thicker than you’d thought.

“I just thought a punk vigilante would be more aggressive is all..” You trail off, looking down at the lace code adorning his boots. “And a cop killer at that.”

He pulls you closer, snaking his arm around your waist and whispers, “If you want aggressive, I can show you aggressive…”

He kisses you again, deeper than before, like there’s a point to prove, or a goodbye to be said. You kiss him back, melting into his arms, grabbing at his vest or anything in reach. We pull apart breathless and cheesin, corny idiots. 

“I don’t do well with broken promises, remember that Punk.” You say it with a smile, still catching my breath.

He smirks, “And I’ll make sure I never break that promise, sweetheart.” He gives a final quick peck before continuing, “Now are you done pouting or do I have to give you yet another kiss?”

He’s clearly teasing.

Deciding to get back on track, you pull away and continue sauntering down the grimy London sidewalks, “No, but I think a joint would quell my troubles.” You look back at him, urging him to lead the way in his city, his dimension. 

“You’re not wrong about that, I think that could solve most anyone’s problems.” He takes her hand and starts walking again, towards the club. “So you’re a smoker huh? Me too, I can get you some good weed if we get back to my place. And if you wanna stay the night with me it’s no problem.” He says the last part with a smirk, how chivalrous of him. 

You’d know better than to go to a function empty-handed, however, pulling a grinder and rolling papers seemingly out of nowhere. 

 “I’m not a leech either, we can match.” You give him a toothy smile and hope you don’t look like a dork. “A sleepover sounds great, though I was hoping to party with the punk for a bit.”

Hobie is taken aback, your being prepared was a perk sure, it showed your consideration. But that smile. It’s wide and welcoming, showcasing perfectly aligned, shiny white teeth that contrast the plump lips they so greedily hide behind. The sharp canine teeth stand out, adding a sense of playfulness and mystery to the grin. They're slightly longer than the other teeth, but their shape is graceful and elegant, lending to a smile that is just a little bit mischievous. 

He has to catch himself from staring, keep it cool Hobert.

“Eh, I’m sure we’ll have time to party before bedtime. Don’t worry about it, it always works out. So do you wanna split the joint or something?”

You toss him the grinder and papers, trusting his reflexes to catch them, you’ve seen this so-called “spidey sense” in action, yet it’s all the more impressive the more you’re a witness. 

“Whatever you prefer ‘Bert.”

He catches everything swiftly, throwing you a lopsided smile as he rolls quickly, unbeknownst to you, the club was swiftly approaching. 

He takes the joint and starts inhaling it, taking a long and hard hit. He holds it in for a few seconds before exhaling a plume of smoke. The music from one of the buildings is getting louder as you approach, and you look at Hobie questioningly.

“Blimey… that is some good stuff.” He takes another drag of the spiff, and soon you’re mouth begins to water. 

“Hey! Puff puff pass you punk!” You playfully yell at him, and take the lit joint from his hands. He chuckles as you yell at him, gesturing for you to go ahead.

As the music gets louder he seems more distracted by it, quickening his pace to take the lead again, excited by this new experience.

You have to damn near jog to catch up with his lanky ass, and quickly finish the joint before walking next to him. He notices your silence and demeanor, having opted to look at the ground as you approach the hole-in-the-wall venue. 

“Hey don’t worry, I know some people here. We’ll be just fine.” He looks back at you, trying to be reassuring. “Besides, what’s the point of being brave if you’re not gonna be a little scared first?”

You continue to stare down at the dirty city concrete.

He notices your demeanor and stops walking. “Is something wrong?”

You speak without looking at him, too embarrassed to see his face. “It’s just that there are creeps in every dimension, and I really don’t feel like getting groped or harassed and-”

He sighs, not annoyed with you, but in the vain of understanding.

“I hear ya, I promise to keep an eye on you… how about this, you stick right next to me and I’ll deal with any creeps that try anything ok?”

You were at the front of the line now, and so you ask in a low tone, one seemingly reserved for your newly found date. “Promise?”

Hobie smiles softly, “You have my word, I will not let you get harassed here. And if any creep tries something, I’ll be sure to kick the shit outta em’ before the night ends.”

You sigh, looking down with a smile, “You’re lucky I think violence is hot.”

He puts an arm around your shoulders and starts walking again, giggling a bit.

“Oh? You think so huh? Didn’t think I’d meet a girl who likes to watch guys fight that soon.”

You elect to hold the hand that’s slung over your shoulder, “And I didn’t think I’d meet a guy that makes me feel small but here we are. Though I do think I could snap you like a twig.”

“Hm, are you challenging me?” he chuckles, “Because I won’t go down that fast.” He pauses for a second, mulling over something, “Do you want me to prove it to you? I can show you how much of a fighter I am…” he asks innocently but smirks mischievously.

Two could play at this game, and you were a sore loser after all. 

“Oh I wasn’t talking about fighting Hobert, that’s for damn sure.” You begin caressing his arms, and trailing your hands up to the nape of his neck. It takes a second to think about what you’d meant before his eyes widen with realization.

“Ohhhh… I catch your drift cat,” he smirks again and reaches for you, but you snake out of his grasp before he gets too comfortable.

“Save it for later Punk, think you can match me shot for shot?” You ask as the doors to the venue open, it’s finally your turn to enter. He holds out his hand to help you step through the opening, 

“I think I can match you, love. And if I don’t at least it gives me an excuse to drink more. We should head in then.”

The bass was so loud that the ground itself seemed to be shaking. The crowd was a sea of moshing bodies, all flailing about in the dimly lit room. The air was thick with sweat and smoke, the smell of leather and beer a heady mix. Despite the chaos, there was an intense sense of camaraderie among the fans, and a shared sense of passion for the anti-establishment message of the music.

The punk rock anthem blared on, electrifying the crowd with its infectious refrain. It was a rebuke to the status quo, an anthem of defiance, and it resonated deeply with everyone in the room. You step into the venue, and Hobie hits his head on the door frame, giving it a nasty glare on the way in. You laugh, though you feel lightheaded after a while, you gotta ask about his dealer.

Rubbing his head, he continues, “Well we can always play it safe, and if there isn’t here there’s plenty of liquor shops nearby. I can just buy us drinks if there isn’t an open bar here already. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you have a good time.” He seems to be getting a little intoxicated as well, he gives you a playful smile. “Are you alright though? If you’re not feeling well we can leave if you want.”

You’d begun to clear your throat, “Damn that was some good shit Hobie, what strain was that?” you ask, coughing, but still giving him a cheeky smile.

He giggles at your expression, “Not sure, I think it might’ve been some kind of sativa though, that’s what the guy said at least.”

He laughs. A sound you’ve heard too little of tonight, “You seem to be having fun, so that makes me happy. Glad you like it.” He seems to feel much more relaxed and talkative now that the highs kicked in. 

“If you want we can get more after this or, well, you know…” He gives you a cheeky wink and a sly smile.

“Let’s get some drinks before the show starts,” you bite your lip to emphasize the point, “cuz once we get home I don’t want to leave.” 

“Sure we can do that, we’ve got time before things get started so we might as well enjoy the night to its fullest.” He says, grabbing your hand and gesturing towards the bar. “What do you want love? I’ll get you anything you want.”

“Hmm, I’m down for anything, so why don’t you surprise me ‘Bert?” You have to get on tippy toes to kiss his cheek. “I got just the thing.”

He turns and starts walking towards the bar, and starts ordering some drinks for you both.

“I’m gonna guess you’re a vodka girl, but you’ll have to let me know later.”

He smiles back and gives her a quick kiss on the cheek as he grabs the glasses from the bartender and holds them up for her to take them

“Cheers love.” He raises his glass to hers and takes a sip, waiting for her to do the same.

“SALUE!” You yell and chink our glasses together. You throw the shot back and it goes down surprisingly smooth, you’re giggling by the time the tender has taken the glasses, and he’s smiling at you. When he takes his drink and he swallows, takes you all in.

“This is gonna be a good night I can already tell…”

He looks down at you and gives a playful grin.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so full of life. What’s your secret?”

“The substances are definitely helping, I’m sure you know how it is keeping a secret identity, bearing the burden of an entire city.” I throw back another shot. “It’s nights like these that keep me going, to feel normal y’know?”

He chuckles and shakes his head, “It’s a nice escape right?” He takes another swig from his glass. “You know sometimes I wonder if being punk means I’m even allowed to enjoy nights like this. Maybe I’m not punk enough to have fun. But you seem to have a pretty loose definition of what fun is.”

You give him a playful grin as he says the last part, “It’s subjective yeah? Mr. I hate labels.”

You say the last park rather cheeky, and the grin only widens, your teeth on full display. 

Hobie  tries hard to stay focussed, “I agree, I never really liked the idea of conforming to labels and restrictions like that.” He smirks, “If we wanna enjoy nights like this, why the hell shouldn’t we?”

Somehow, the vigilante leans in even closer to you, “The only thing that matters is what you wanna do. Labels be damned.”

For the first time in the night, you’re the flustered one, tripping over the beginning of every sentence in shock. “I-uh- what do you want to do?” You say trying to smile and keep a strong front.

You think he either doesn’t notice, or elects to ignore you. Yet he puts an arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer to him, whispering softly in your ear.

“Anything you want to do, love. But if you want an idea, me and you could go somewhere more private. I’ll take you any way you want.” He smiles, smug with his response. “I’m sure you know what I mean…”

You squeak at that, shocked at what liquid courage does to someone so quickly.

It seems that he was right when Hobie suspected you’d get flustered, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all as he looks down at you, giving a flirty smile.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, sweetheart,” he says in such a soft and reassuring tone that almost seems to be trying to comfort you more than convince you.

“Let’s just have some fun tonight then,” You’re practically in his lap now, “but what about the show ‘Obie?” If you were sober, you’d care that the question came out as a whine, but you’re crossed at this point, the tree and drinks mixing in your system to create a needy vixen, dead set on her prey. You’re pouting as you pull him up to the floor.

While he’s surprised by your sudden change in demeanor, he quickly recovers and seems to be enjoying himself even more, “Oh we’ve got time for more than just the show if you wanted.” He looks at her deeply, that smug grin plastered on his face as you drag him up onto the dance floor. “Besides, I gotta show you how much fun I can have when I’m not being the punk of this city.”

In the center, a few hardcore fans pogoed with abandon, their brightly colored hair flying crazily around their faces. On the outskirts of the crowd, groups of friends screamed along with the lyrics, beer cans and cigarette butts littering the floor. You join him, the same smile plastered on your face as I headbang to every beat, keeping up with him on my own wave. As the song wounds down, a riotous cheer rose up from the crowd, accompanied by violent applause and raised arms. This was the raw, unvarnished energy of punk rock, a tribe of like-minded souls united in their quest for liberation. They reveled in the chaos, the fury, and the raw beauty of the moment.

“I gotta take you to a goth club back home!” You’re yelling, maybe louder than needed, trying to talk to him over the venue. “It’s called Club Hell, we’ll expand your horizons bruv!”

Hobie yells back in response. “Hell yeah! That sounds right up my alley love, can’t wait to go!”

He keeps dancing, smiling as you both get really into the music. He spins you around before pulling you back in for another dance. “Squeeze got the moves!” With a wink and smile at you, he’s enjoying himself more and more. And as the night goes on, y'all become more and more intoxicated.

“You know what sounds really good right now?” You shout after a dozen songs go by.

“Hm, what is it you need right now luv? Do you want to go somewhere else? Or are you ready to head back to my place? I can bring us some drinks if you want more than just what’s here.”

Even without the drinks, you’d have giggled at the enthusiasm. 

“I was just going to say some water love.”

“Ah, fair enough. Water is very good for you. Let’s see if they have some here.” He looks around for some water or even a vending machine. A smile breaks out when he finds one and goes to grab a few water bottles from it

“Here’s a couple waters, love.”

He holds them out for you, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. “How are you feeling at the moment? You alright with the stuff you had, or are you trying to sober up a bit?”

“Naw,” you reply between drinks, “I’m not trying to sober up, but I don’t want to be fucked up in the am as well.” You speak absentmindedly, ghosting over the spot he kissed with your fingers.

You push one of the water bottles back into his hand. “You drink some too, you’re too big for me to drag back to wherever you stay.”

Hobie chuckles at that, “Yeah fair, I guess it’s probably time to have a couple water breaks.” He chuckles again and opens a water bottle for himself and starts drinking. The cold water was refreshing and it calmed him down a bit. After downing some of the bottles, he speaks before you have the chance.

“You know we could skip most of the dancing and head back to my place already if you wanted.” He takes another sip of the water before offering some to you. “We could just listen to some music and relax if that’s more your vibe, can head back to my place whenever you’re ready luv. I won’t make you wait a second longer than you want.” He grins and squeezes your waist, when did his hands get there?  “Now are you ready to head back, or do you wanna spend a little more time dancing?”

You’re so entranced by him, he’s so effortlessly handsome and he's wearing crust pants. 

“You can choose I’m honestly down for whatever as long as we’re together.” You smile dizzily, clearly crossed but elated to be here. “But before we do anything I want to take another shot,” you say giggling.

Hobie grins when you mention the prospect of taking another shot. 

“Hell yeah, I think I’ve found my soulmate tonight.” he laughs a little. “You can go ahead and take a couple more if you want, maybe one for the road?” he says with a wink and chuckles.

“Do you wanna do that or can I buy us a bottle?”

I answer after throwing my shot back, “I really like you Hobie, so whatever you want to do I’m down.”

“If we’re gonna buy a bottle I think I know a place we can run to nearby where we can get a few things. I’m down for whatever you wanna do.” He smiles, with his full face, and gives you a wink as he takes your hands. “ So how ‘bout it love?”

He starts walking off the dance floor and towards the exit, “We can get our drinks and then grab a bottle on the way back.”

“Let’s do it!” I say, doing a little skip toward him, trying to keep up. “I know I’m tall, but you’re too long! I can’t keep up,” you say trying to tease him.

He chuckles at what you said  and slows back down to wait.

“Didn’t realize I was walking that fast. I was just excited, gotta make sure I don’t lose you.”

He grins and gives a light kiss on the cheek. “Let’s go, shall we?” He peeks out the door and starts walking towards the shop when the coast is clear, “I hope nobody recognizes a half-drunk Punk in the city….”

“This should be fun,” you mumble lowly. “The sooner we get back to your place the better, where do you stay anyway?”

As you both make your way out of the venue, and you begin to follow in his step as he makes his way to presumably the corner store. As they make their way to the corner shop, you can tell he’s been through here before, easily finding everything he needs without hesitation.

“Aha found it!” he grins and motions to the store once they stop in front of the door. “Let’s go get those drinks shall we?” He moves towards the door, holding it open for you to go in first.

“Such a gentleman.” you poke fun at him stepping inside. You’re anxious to see what shelf he picks from.

Chuckling at your joke, he moves to the back of the store, where a small shelf of liquor sits. He picks out a bottle of Jack Daniels and a couple bottles of beer and puts them into the shopping basket. “Alright, now you get to pick whatever you want.”

You peek down the eyes every aisle until finally spotting the culprit, Henney. You pick up the bottle and check it over, happy with your decision before putting it in the basket. Before you leave the aisle though, you make sure to snatch up some Fireball from the lower shelves.

“I see someone has good taste.” Hobie smiles and moves to the checkout, putting the liquor and beer onto the counter and paying for everything. Once he’s done the clerk hands him a bag with all the alcohol in it. “Alrighty then, we’re all set! Want me to carry the bag so you’re not weighed down?” He looks over at you and smiles so sweetly that you feel your jaw lock. 

You smile goofily up at him, still so taken by how handsome he was, “That’d be great thanks Hobs.”

“Shall we?” as he gestures to the exit behind him as he speaks.

“Lead the way, love, I’m all yours.”

“Oh my, now I wonder how serious you were about that…” he chuckles as he walks back to the door and starts leading the way. “It’s a short walk back to my apartment so we’ll be there in no time. Hope you’re up for it.”

[starlightingsss]

mad woman (laxus x reader)

part 2

as explosions went off around her, the girl ducked behind the bar counter was preparing to put up a fight.

"oh poor little guys .. they're so weak!" a haughty female voice laughed, as she heard a few screams.

"now now, ever .. lets not let this get out of hand." a more stern voice replied.

"out of hand, out of hand", something mimicked.

she heard footsteps clamoring around where she was, a little switchblade was in her hand- though it would probably be useless against the group of wizards.

"oi, should we maybe get some drinks? laxus would like that.." a more jokerish voice laughed, as she heard heavy footsteps coming towards her.

as she saw a man turn around the bar, to presumably steal some alcohol, she took her chance.

she shot up, stabbing him in the shoulder and slamming his head into the shelf before turning around to get a look at the other 2 as she ducked back down.

she heard more explosions - directed at her this time, as a few beams of light broke through the counter.

she crawled over to the side of the counter as she regained line of sight with the two other intruders, the woman seemed more aggressive and like a bigger threat, and so she dealt with her first.

she whispered an incantation, a message more so, unheard to their ears, but not ignored by their bones.

her magic was unique, the ability to control bones. from those of animals to those of humans, she could control how they grew and how they moved, and how they mended. if she had a carcass lying around, she could 'give it life'. and if that didn't work out for her, she knew the basics of elemental magic.

the woman hunched over in pain, screaming and clutching her chest as her ribs grew inwards, pressing against her internal organs.

soon she collapsed, not because she was dead - not enough power was put into the spell for it to kill, and i could still hear her heartbeat, she passed out from the pain.

the other guy - green haired - had now learnt of my position. i saw him crafting enchantments earlier, but most enchantment users have a second kind of magic to fall back on.

with his knowledge of letter magic, and his ability to utilize jutsu shiki, it was better for her to come out then give him the time to write an enchantment and trap her.

she focused her energy into the shadows, before eventually merging with them, she reappeared behind the guy but he reacted faster than she predicted, he snapped a spell she couldn't make out, before an overwhelming feeling of fear struck her.

but fear didn't matter, strange people from a strsnge guild? did fear matter if she might just die now before she had a chance to live?

before she reacted, he said something else she couldn't distinguish. she was encapsulated by darkness, as she lost her vision. she couldn't see.

her fear heightened at the loss of one of her most important senses. but that was until she heard the voices, little whispers that fed her information.

the bones were speaking.

they were arguing actually, telling her he was in front of her but slightly left - how if she swung with her right hand she would hit him square in the jaw.

they suggested her to use a fire attack, as he grew used to lightning from some man named laxus?

as she took their advice, swinging her fire-clad fist at the unsuspecting man, he took the brunt of the hit in his jaw - knocking him over.

she heard the thud as the bones told her he was right in front of her and she could just kick him a little, and she did. one firm thwack into his side, leading to a cry of pain.

she stumbled backwards after the hit - assuming he would stay down - as she backed into a staircase and heard a bang.

she felt pieces of rock crumbling over her, as she realized the ceiling was collapsing. with her vision still gone, she couldn't dodge it. once again, she was horrified and scared - until she felt someones arms around her, picking her up and dragging her outside.

once he took her out of the building, she was far enough from the other guy to regain her eyesight, and in front of her was a very hunky looking blonde.

she was seated and he was towering over her, with a very upset expression on his face.

"hello." she said, looking up at his narrowed eyes, with wide ones. she instinctively wrapped her arms around her waist, as he examined her.

"tch." was the only response she got out of him, as she heard footsteps coming from somewhere else in the forest.

"laxus! w-we took out everyone but her and then she-" the green haired guy said, interrupting what the blonde was about to say.

"wiped out all three of you, now." he sneered this, before turning back to her, "how did you manage to take on all 3 of them?"

she just shrugged as she stood up and tried to leave, turning and walking away from the group.

this enraged the blonde, who happened to be a lightning magic user, as a bolt of lightning narrowly missed her.

she turned again, raising an eyebrow, "yes?".

"don't ignore me when im speaking to you." he snapped, walking closer to her.

"you wiped my guild." she hissed in reply, moving away further.

"they deserved it." laxus said, as he stared at her.

she was stunning. her h/c hair beautifully framing her face, fierce eyes of the most luxurious e/c, perfect body, and a dress that hugged her amazingly. she was gorgeous but not in the pin-up way, more in the intimidating way.

"what magic?" he said, further examining her. when he tried to 'feel' her, there was nothing. he couldn't detect a trace of her magic power.

"none of your business." she told him.

"what magic do you use?" he repeated, his voice rising.

"none. of. your. business." she hissed, her voice rising too. laxus was getting worked up, as the thunder legion watched a little bit confused.

"where are you going?" he growled.

"nowhere." she said, less aggressive this time. "you guys blew up my house, remember?"

"come with us." he told her, more of a demand than an ask.

"to where?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

"back to our guild, to my house." he snapped.

"i have no money." she replied, narrowing her eyes again.

"so?" he grumbled, before grabbing a bag and throwing it into her arms.

the bag was heavy, as she faulted under its weight, wobbling a little.

he mumbled something unintelligible, as they trekked through the forest.

[lassofics]

Not Going Anywhere

Word count: 1.6k

Timeline: Season 1

Warnings: Bullying, implied abuse

Summary: Jamie’s snide remarks at Sam are not unusual. His response is.

Poking fun at Sam Obisanya has been a pastime of Jamie’s for a while now. He hasn’t known the kid that long, and so far, he isn’t all that impressed with his skills on the pitch. And this is the Premier League.

So, obviously, the best way to motivate this guy to improve is to insult his skills. Right? Jamie’s had it done to him a hundred times over, and look where he is now.

“Obisanya,” Jamie greets him with a small grin, sauntering up to him as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. “Oi. Just curious. You ever play any other sports besides footy?”

Sam, already knowing where this is going but knowing he’ll be in for it if he ignores Jamie, just exhales softly. “I played a little bit of basketball when I was younger. It didn’t stick, though.”

“Really?” Jamie looks him up and down, then just smirks. “Well, I think you should try it again.”

Sam just gives him a look, but Jamie doesn’t let up. “Scorin’ goals clearly isn’t your forte, mate. Maybe scorin’ baskets is.”

A soft sigh escapes Sam’s lips, and he calmly closes his locker to face Jamie. “Thanks for the insight,” he says, his voice tainted with annoyance but still calm. “Is there anything else?”

Jamie just cocks an eyebrow. He hadn’t been expecting such a calm response. So, he doubles down.

“You think you’re gonna be great one day?” Jamie flashes him a smug, self-assured smile. “You’ve got a long road ahead of you. You’re gonna need to work a hell of a lot harder to even come close to my level.”

Sam lets out another sigh, this time with more frustration. “Well, right now, I’m more focused on the team’s success than my own personal glory.”

“Oh my god, here we fucking go,” Jamie groans, facepalming. “Don’t bring up that “team player” bullshit. You know damn well the only reason you’re sayin’ that is ‘cause Lasso’s pushing it on us.”

Sam just gives him an exasperated glance. “Actually, no. It’s not just some empty idea being pushed by Lasso. It’s called being a team player. Hell, it’s called being part of a family.”

The word makes more of an impact that Jamie would care to admit, but he just snorts out a laugh. “A family? Bloody hell, that’s cheesy. Who needs a fuckin’ family? This isn’t some youth football team; this is the Premier League.”

Sam stares at him for a few seconds, processing this. It sounds like Jamie’s projecting a bit. This isn’t the first time he’s picked up on it, either. Whenever someone brings up anything having to do with family, Jamie seems to get… defensive, almost. As if he’s trying just a little too hard to be that cocky bastard he always pretends to be.

But Sam sees through it. He’s seen through it for a long time. And honestly, at this point, Jamie’s hurled so many insults at him that Sam doesn’t even feel guilty for calling him out on it.

“You know, Jamie, just because you’ve had a hard life doesn’t mean you need to push others away and isolate yourself,” Sam says, his tone surprisingly gentle. “People deserve to care about each other. That’s… that’s just how the world works.”

Jamie’s cocky expression falters slightly at this, and he crosses his arms defensively over his chest. He doesn’t like how easily Sam has seen through him.

“The fuck d’ya mean, had a hard life? Who the fuck says I’ve had a hard life?” he snaps, though the words lack their usual bite.

Sam gives Jamie a sympathetic look. “I’m just saying… the way you always talk about being tough, and… and not needing anyone’s help… it almost feels like you have something to prove. Like you’re overcompensating. Like you’re trying to protect yourself and not let anyone get close to you. It… makes me wonder if you’ve had some pain in your past.”

Jamie sucks in a breath. Damn, this guy is perceptive. He just stares blankly at Sam for another moment… before quickly snapping back into aggressive-defense mode. “Fuck off. You don’t know shit about me.”

Sam’s voice is gentle, no signs of malice whatsoever, in sharp contrast with Jamie’s tone. “I may not know your personal story, but I do know that I’ve seen people like you before. People who try to push away anyone that tries to get close to them. And from my own experiences, it just… leads to more hurt and pain. People are meant to support each other. We’re supposed to care about one another. And that’s okay.”

There’s a moment of silence, and Sam takes this as an opportunity to continue, his voice gentle and soft. “You don’t have to be so tough all the time, Jamie.”

Jamie hardens his expression out of habit, but his eyes don’t lie. Sam’s words are hitting him like a fucking truck, cutting through his usual defenses like a knife. But Jamie’s stubborn, and he isn’t ready to give in. After a taking moment to process Sam’s gentle words, Jamie just grits his teeth. He was NOT prepared to have this conversation today, and certainly not with Sam fucking Obisanya, but he isn’t gonna back down.

“Yes, I do,” he finally grumbles, his teeth gritted and fists clenched slightly. It’s what his dad had always said: you’re either tough or you’re soft. And Jamie is anything but soft.

“No, you don’t, Jamie.” Sam gives him a stern yet empathetic look. “You can’t keep going through life pushing everyone away and trying to face your problems on your own. It’s okay to let people care about you and want to help you. It might feel like you need to be tough all the time, but... it’s okay to be vulnerable and show that you’re struggling. It doesn’t make you weak.”

Jamie crosses his arms and glares at Sam, though there’s a hell of a lot less malice behind it this time. When he speaks, he’s asking a genuine question, but he’s saying it aggressively to try and disguise his vulnerability and genuine curiosity. Unfortunately, Sam’s been very perceptive so far, and Jamie highly doubts that’s going to change anytime soon.

“Why would you ever wanna help me?” he finally retorts.

He wants to add on, “I treat you like shit,” but he can’t own up to it directly. Not now.

Sam seems to sense Jamie’s true meaning even through his aggressive words. He responds in a soft voice, but his tone is firm.

“Because I care about you, Jamie,” he replies calmly. “You may say some shitty things to me sometimes, but I know deep down… you’re not a bad person. You’re just going through a tough time and lashing out at others. I believe that if you open yourself up a bit more, you could find people out there who genuinely want to support you and be your friend. But… you have to let them in.”

A million thoughts swirl around in Jamie’s head as Sam’s words sink in. Jamie wants to. God, he really wants to. But in Jamie’s mind, the chances of Sam being genuine here are slim to none. In Jamie’s mind, there’s no reason for Sam to actually want to help him, especially not after all Jamie’s cruelty and — let’s face it — bullying. In Jamie’s mind, Sam is going to let him get close and then abandon him — just like everyone else always does. So, Jamie tries to push him away again, steeling his gaze as much as possible.

“Well, I don’t know why you care about me,” he says bluntly, but still with less hostility than before. “‘Cause I don’t give two shits about you.”

Sam gives Jamie a sympathetic smile, his gentle demeanor never faltering. He’s not taking the bait. He’s not falling for it.

“You may say you don’t care about me, but… I know your words are just coming from a place of fear and pain. I understand that you’re scared to let people get close to you, because you’re afraid that they’ll hurt you and leave you.”

Jamie stares at him in slight disbelief. Had he really been that obvious? How much thought had Sam put into this?

“But let me tell you…” Sam continues, making direct eye contact, his gaze softening. “I am not going anywhere. I’m here for you, Jamie. I’m not gonna abandon you. You have my word.”

Jamie just keeps staring at him blankly for a few seconds, not knowing what to say. How is he supposed to respond to that? First of all, he doesn’t believe Sam — there’s no logical reason as to why Sam would ever care go out of his way to help him. Second of all, he never asked Sam to be there for him, and the thought of opening up in any way, especially to Obisanya, makes his skin crawl.

Jamie glares at him, his arms still crossed tightly over his chest, as if the tension alone could hold him together. He’s scrambling for a comeback, something sharp and cutting to shut Sam up, but nothing comes. Not this time.

Because, truthfully, he doesn’t have anything. Sam’s words are too close to something real, too close to something Jamie’s spent years pretending doesn’t exist.

He hates that Sam’s still looking at him like that—calm, steady, like he means every word. Like he’s not afraid of whatever Jamie might throw back.

“Whatever,” Jamie mutters finally, voice rough. He uncrosses his arms and turns to walk away, shoulders tense. “You’re talkin’ out your arse, mate.”

He doesn’t look back as he walks toward the pitch, but Sam doesn’t call after him, doesn’t try to stop him. He just lets Jamie go, the words still lingering in the air.

Jamie kicks a ball that’s lying in his path—too hard, too angrily—and keeps his eyes straight ahead. I’m not going anywhere.

He shoves the words away. Pretends they didn’t stick. Pretends they didn’t make him want to believe, just for a second, that they might be true.

[zkvry]

Drunk at 7AM | John Shelby x GN!Reader

Summary : You find John drinking alone in the Garrison at the break of dawn and you knock some sense into him.

Warnings : cussing, consumption of alcohol

Additional Information : > no spoilers > written in second person > gender neutral reader > 799 words | 4 mins

------------------------------------------------------------------------

From the car seat, your arms grab hold onto a crate full of glass bottles. Leaning back slightly to support the heavy weight, you walk briskly towards the grand doors of the Garrison. The sky was dull and grey, the sun barely peaking onto the horizon. The icy wind bites the skin on your hands, stiffening and numbing your fingers as they clutch on the ridges of the said crate.

Reaching the doors, you prop up a knee and rest the crate on it with a steady hand. Holding it close to your hip, you reach into the pockets of your coat to find the keys. The metal keys jingle in your grasp as you hold up one in particular to unlock the door, only to find it unlocked and a tad bit ajar. *Did you forget to lock up?* Panic sets in. You use your back to push the doors open, settling the crate on a nearby table. Your eyes scan the bar, the drinks and furniture seemed to be where they were the night before. That is, until your eyes landed on a familiar figure at a corner.

"John?" your voice calls out, eyes squinting to get a better look. "That you?" you say again. A rough grunt answered your question. You close the distance between between the both of you. You see John Shelby hunched over at a corner of the bar, an empty glass at hand. A bottle of whiskey stood tall in front of him, a third of the liquid already gone. His head hung low and his hair a mess with parts of it sticking out from the hardened pomade.

You walk towards him slowly whilst rubbing your hands together for warmth. "It's seven in the bloody morning, John. What are you doing with a full bottle of the Garrison's whiskey, huh?" You snatched the bottle away.

"Mind ya business. Oi, what 're ya think you're doing wit' that bott'l? Give me that!" John straightens up and extends his arm, trying to grab the bottle from you. He almost trips, holding onto the bar table for support.

A sigh escapes your lips and you grab another glass from behind the counter. You pour yourself a drink and filled John's glass too. You closed the bottle tightly and placed it back to where it belonged. Waiting patiently, you sip on the whiskey and rest your arms on the table.

John looks at you and clears his throat. He knew he wouldn't be able to walk away from this confrontation. He sighs and grabs his glass, downing the contents in one gulp. "The kids got me runnin' 'round all night. Not a wink of sleep," He says with an exasperated tone, rubbing his red eyes.

You look at him with pity. Later on in the morning, the gambling den will open to welcome another round of bets. John usually took care of the receipts and customers, rounding them up in a straight line as he took note of their payments. Without sleep, you knew he'd be way too out of his head.

Taking the matter into your own hands, you hand him the remaining contents of your drink. "Have the day off. I'll deal with it," You tell him, already formulating a plan. John waves his hand with reluctance and shakes his head aggressively, causing him to be even more giddy.

"N-no, I can't do 'that. Tommy will shoot my head off," John argues, standing up from his seat with shaky movements as he grabs his wrinkled coat from his chair.

"Oh shut up. Your head doesn't look like it's with you at this moment anyway," You tell him in a joking manner. You move to put his arms over your shoulder and walk towards the family car. Even in his drunken state, John doesn't rest his full weight on you and tried his best to walk alongside with your guidance. He leans on the window as you lock the Garrison from the outside.

Grabbing a hold on him again, you reach the door handles of the car. You open the passenger side and shove him in. "Ow!" He remarks, holding the side of his head.

"Oh shit! sorry," You laugh quietly at your carelessness.

You sat at the driver's seat and turn on the engine, driving to the Shelby residence. John sleeps soundlessly beside you with the exhaustion finally washing down on him. The car stops in front of the house and you turn to wake him but thought twice about waking him from his slumber. Instead, the car accelerates at a steady pace and you drove around town as he catches some shut-eye.

[underqualified-human]

The Dream Fic ft. Leona Kingscholar

→ A/N: This lion man invaded my dreams after I wore heels for the first time in a while, this is vaguely based on that 

→ Warnings:

→ Fandom: Disney: Twisted Wonderland

→ Genre: One shot

→ Word Count: 288

→ Pronouns: They/Them [but reader is mentioned as wearing heels]

You slid down the wall, the sound of chatter from the party echoing softly through the empty hallway. You pulled your knees up to your chest and rested your head against your folded arms. 

4cm heels and walking around for more than an hour truly was a horrible combination.

You hear footsteps and look up to see Leona standing above you. “Hey,” he said semi-aggressively, though his concern was evident, “Why are you on the floor?”

“Feet hurt.” You really weren't in the mood to form complete sentences, and he understood you all the same.

“Want to ditch?” He asked, removing his hands from his pockets and crossing his arms. You let out a sound of agreement, though it may have been slightly confusing to hear, Leona still understood.

He turned his back to you and got on the ground, bending his knee like he was proposing to the wall in front of him. With a pained groan, you rose to your feet and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. As he got up, he helped you wrap your legs around his muscular waist. 

When you were on top of him, and he had started the walk back to his room, you rested your chin in the crook of his neck. Not long into the walk you took your hand and started to absent-mindedly scratch under his chin. 

“Oi, knock it off,” he said sharply.

“But you're my little meow-meow,” you responded tiredly, clearly teasing him.

“I’m gonna drop you,” he warned, though his grip seemed to tighten rather than loosen.

“No, you won't.” 

The walk was longer than you expected, and you began to nod off, barely being able to hear his reluctant response, “... No I won't.”

Tagging: None

Story Time!: There's this cat in our neighborhood that hangs around with our cat on our front lawn, but since we don't know the owner [it has a collar] we call it Meowgiri (based on a Mae Geri kick). We also give it food whenever because it looks really thin.