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entitled-fangirl · 1 month ago

Text

How to liven a marriage.

Cregan Stark x wife!reader

SMUT SMUT SMUT SO MUCH SMUT

Summary: Cregan and the reader's marriage is dull, purely for duty. When the reader finds a book in the Winterfell library depicting just how pleasureful a man and wife's sex life can be, she takes it upon herself to introduce such a thing.

Warnings: p in v, fingering, making out, washing bruises (from a battle), riding, studying the scientific parts of a vagina, foreplay, etc

A/n: based on a reallllly good ask. I think this is my longest fic and I have no regrets. Except that I haven't proofread it yet. That's a later problem.

Masterlist

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She felt her stomach drop to her feet when she saw the drawings in the book. Her cheeks became a flushed red, completely embarrassed to have stumbled on something so… private. She shut the book with a thud and cringed at the loud sound that echoed in the library.

She heaved the book back onto the shelf and brushed off her skirt, as if trying to completely brush off the experience itself.

Once she had pulled herself together, she decided she'd had enough of the library. Enough scavenging and prodding at the books. Especially one like that.

Be even so, she felt herself stop halfway to the door.

She was a married woman. The act of sex itself is no crime to a married woman. Nor studying various positions of it.

It felt dirty to do so. Very wrong. Like her old Septa would appear and scold her ardently over it.

But her Septa wasn't there.

No one was there.

Just her and the book.

…

Cregan was sure to arrive within the fortnight.

She wished to be happy about all of it. The return of her husband was good. It had been a tough few weeks to rule without him. After all, she was still new to the North.

But she couldn't find it in her.

Cregan was harsh and cold. Never happy, never caring. Duty and honor. How the words were stamped across their foreheads.

They had married out of duty, and that is all they had of one another. They were awkward and lacked the eagerness to spend time with one another.

She had heard stories of great marriages of love that whisked away all problems and only left a man, a wife, and their love. That was not this marriage.

So the return of Cregan meant the return of a duty that she had started to dislike: Their attempts to conceive. She knew once she gave him a few sons, they would be rid of the need to conceive, but that day was far away.

And Cregan surely drew closer to Winterfell.

…

Perhaps the book- Forget about the book, she told herself. A proud man like him would never agree to look at such a thing.

Her fingers grazed over one of the drawings as she read the contents next to it. It was confusing to try and follow such a strange topic, but still she tried.

Women may experience intense pleasure of their own. It is most easy to start at the clitoris. It is located above the vaginal opening. A gentle circled rubbed at the area w

"What are you reading, my lady?"

She slammed the book shut with a thud and a gasp, her head snapping to the side to see Winterfell's maester standing with a curious expression. She held a hand over her chest. "Do not sneak up on a woman."

"Forgive me, my lady. I thought myself being rather loud in my steps." He gave her a chuckle. "It seems I was wrong."

Her shock was turning to embarrassment as she tried to slide the book further behind her back on the table that she leaned again. "You're forgiven, just go."

"Ah, I've come for a reason," he countered. "News of Lord Stark's return is at hand. He should be here by sunset tomorrow, gods willing."

She nodded, trying desperately to get him back out. "Right. How fortunate. Thank you. You may go."

"My lady, if I may," he continued. "You look rather flushed. Are you feeling ill?"

"NO!" She cringed at her outburst. "No, I'm quite well, thank you."

The maester gave her a strange look. He clearly didn't believe her, but he wasn't going to push it. "Right. If you need anything, only say the word." He dipped his head and hurried off, closing the door behind him.

Her entire body relaxed at his leaving. She ran a hand over her face in an attempt to physically remove the heat from her cheeks.

She had been so close to getting caught with this.

Too close.

When she was sure there weren't footsteps in the corridor, she turned back, opening the book once more and reading further.

It gave her an idea.

She grabbed the book, carrying it to Cregan's desk and setting the heavy thing down. Her fingers sprawled over the page once again, careful to not continue the tear that went down the side. She slowly sat down as she continued to read.

A gentle circled rubbed at the area will increase pleasure during the act of sex.

She looked over her shoulder to check one last time before her hands began to bring her skirt up. The fabric was quickly pooled around her stomach and her legs were exposed. Her right hand shook as it brushed the small piece of fabric still guarding her most intimate parts from the cold air.

But the most important part of a female's genitalia to understand is the vagina. Located between the clitoris and the anus lies the vagina. Though different in looks, all women's perform quite alike.

Her breath caught as she gained her last bit of bravery, and her fingers pushed the fabric to the side. The cold air made her hiss, as did the coldness to her fingertips.

The labia majora protects the vagina from foreign particles, the labia minora after that.

Her fingers explore the very area, the cold digits skimping past the skin until she knew her middle finger grazed the inside of her vagina.

She should have known the territory well. It was her own body and still she found herself unsure of where everything laid.

And above all else, she felt filthy for it. This was for her husband, not her own gain. Her own pleasure has nothing to do with making an heir. But she wouldn't stop now.

Her eyes grazed over the page again as she pushed her middle finger deep inside her. It caught once or twice, the lack of moisture causing a small discomfort. But once her second knuckle disappeared into her, she recalled the feeling.

She remembered this now: the feeling of something inside of her. Though, this was one finger and nowhere near as intruding as her husband's cock. And only then did she begin to understand how a man could fall apart from this feeling. Her walls seemed to not want her finger to part from her. She pumped it in and out a few times before daring to turn the page with her left hand.

…

Cregan returned as promised, with the sun beginning to set behind him- though it was covered with the thick clouds of the North.

Standing on the stairs to the castle was his wife. He had long awaited to return home. To continue his duties to her? No. But home meant warmth and small comforts and he would take that every day he could.

He dismounted his horse and took slow steps to her. He forced a small smile, more for the sake of everyone else than the two of them. "My lady."

She gave a polite nod of her head when he grew close. "You've returned safely."

"I have." His gaze wandered around the area in an attempt to ease the awkwardness.

"I… I've missed you," she muttered.

His eyes looked to her and his brows pulled together. "Have you?"

"Well…" She looked down at her shoes. Was that even true? She didn't miss him. Not really. Well, she did in a way. Waiting to talk about the book. "Well, I found myself wanting to be with you as soon as I could." She swallowed and looked up at him. "Would that be considered missing you?"

" 'Being with me,' " he repeated as he thought it over. He squinted in contemplation before trying to clarify. "As in speaking with me or… other things?"

Her face flushed and her eyes looked right back down to the ground.

He sighed and placed his hands on his hips. His tongue ran along his teeth before clicking as he came to a conclusion in his mind. "An hour. My chambers."

It was a soft command. He never ordered her around. And if she chose to voice an opinion ever, she knew he'd consider it. He was a forceful man, but not like that.

But when she made no motion against it, he chuckled. One of his hands came up to her chin and tilted her head up to meet his gaze. "An hour. I'll even wash for you first." He pressed an emotionless kiss to her lips and stepped away, grabbing his horse's reins and beginning to speak to one of the other men.

An hour. That felt like too long to sit with her thoughts. But she'd manage. Somehow.

…

An hour later, she opened the door with her heart beating wildly.

But upon seeing what laid inside, it died down.

Cregan laid in the large copper tub, his head laid back against the rim as he bathed: fast asleep.

She leaned on the door and studied him for a while. How easily the rough man became just as soft as anyone else. He seemed… at peace for once. That large crease that always laid between his brows was gone as he softly snored.

It's hard to make an heir like this. But he'd journeyed so far, and something like sex seemed dumb when he needed rest this badly.

She stepped in and closed the door behind her, careful not to make a heavy sound. Her steps were quiet and careful, quickly guiding her to him and now she kneeled at his side.

Her fingers dipped into the water. It was beginning to grow cold.

And judging by the light pruning of his fingers, he'd been there for a while.

Cregan often took his baths alone. He always refused the help of servants, even his wife, rather wishing to have this as his alone time.

She grabbed the cloth that lay over the side- unused, judging by its dryness, and dipped it in, beginning to lightly trail it over his chest.

She took the time to study every scar across him. There were many and she had no doubt that he'd won each battle they belonged to. She had seen him sparring- she knew how formidable she was with a sword in his hand.

The water ran down his chest and dripped into the tub again. The sounds echoed in his room. Each seemed loud compared to the utter silence of the air.

She moved to the other side of the tub and cleaned him, now noticing the deep cut on his shoulder. Deep purple and green bruising laid around it. It looked quite painful. When she ran the cloth over it, he hissed and his eyes finally opened.

He took in the room, a sharp gaze that would make most men fearful. Once they set on her and he completely came to, they softened slightly. She saw the way they flickered from her eyes to the cloth in her hand. She waited for him to inevitably shoo her from the room.

"Has it been an hour?" He quietly asked. "I apologize. How rude of me." He pulled the rag from her hand. "And I've made you feel as if you have to clean me to make up for time lost that I now owe you. Well, sit and I will hurriedly finish, wife."

His words and movements caught her off guard. She was unsure what to say.

"Go on," he motioned with a hand. "Sit and wait for me. Like you so patiently have."

"No," she finally countered. "Y- your shoulder. It looks painful. Let me."

Her hand grabbed for the rag, brushing his. The two seemingly froze in the moment. Cregan's deep eyes stared up at hers, as if taking her in for the first time. Finally, he shook his head. "It won't take long."

"I know. So, let me," she argued again.

He looked down to their hands, their fingers touching just barely. Slowly, his grip loosened and she was able to slip the cloth from him.

Silently, she took the acceptance and began to wash him again. She took extra care around the bruises now. When the cloth ran over them, the fingers of her other hand followed and paused. "Does it hurt?" She softly asked.

Cregan's eyes were glued to the water now, his fingers dipping in and out and watching the droplets fall back into the tub. "They always do."

"It didn't go well, I take it?"

He held water in his palm, cupped carefully as he studied it. "It went very well."

"This is very well?"

He tilted his hand and let the water escape down his arm with a sigh. His head tilted and he finally looked at her with a firm gaze. "The Wall is harsh. Even on its best days."

Having him stare at her so deeply made her chest flutter and she suddenly imagined how he might look at her while doing things from the book in the library.

She dared a thought, bringing a hand up to his cheek. He watched her carefully. To think that she did this of affection was a ridiculous one. He must have something on his face.

But when her palm rested there, on his cheek, he began to think differently. It brought a strange feeling to his stomach.

Her hand rested there for a while and the two were unmoving. But when she brushed her thumb over his cheekbone, he pulled his head away.

Her fingers pulled to her palm as she accepted the rejection and blinked away all thoughts. "Lean forward," she gently commanded.

He raised no fuss, pulling himself forward with a small groan. No doubt his muscles protested with each movement.

She focused now, trying to ignore the way the muscles in his back flexed and contracted each time he moved.

The cloth ran across his back and few times, and he eventually sighed at the feeling. Her hand somehow applied just enough pressure to his aching back. And when she noticed and focused just above his shoulder blades, he let out an audible groan.

"Tense, Lord Stark?" She almost teased.

He didn't catch the teasing part though, too relaxed in this state. He only nodded and prayed that she'd continue.

She abandoned the cloth and began to fully massage his shoulders with her hands. It put the powerful man in a relaxed trance, and not one he cared to come out of anytime soon.

"I've been thinking," she spoke. "Well, do you think that… " she hesitated. "That maybe… maybe there's more to conceiving a child than… what we've been doing?"

There was a silence. It was suffocating and she was sure that she'd said the wrong thing. She would have swore he hadn't heard her, but the sudden tension in his back said so.

Finally, his head turned just a bit, revealing half of his face to her and he barely looked over his shoulder. "I think," he drew out, "you've been reading."

Oh. So he knew of the book.

She pulled away, as if burned and began to wring her hands as her nerves took over. "It was there… and… And I only thought… maybe-"

He laid back again the tub again to look at her. "Is that something you want?" He calmly asked.

Her mouth went dry as she tried to speak an answer.

"Wife," he voiced a little sharper. "I asked you a question."

She forced herself to take a deep breath. "Yes."

The corner of his lips tugged up and leaned his head back against the rim as before, closing his eyes. "So be it."

"W-" she stopped herself before creating any problems she didn't need. He'd agreed, and that was that.

With her confused presence, he opened his eyes and lulled his head to the side. "I'll apologize again for taking our time." His hand came out of the water to her, mimicking the way she had cupped his cheek early. "But after the feast?" His thumb ran over her lips, catching and pulling down her bottom lip. "You are mine to have."

…

She remembered something in the book about this. Foreplay, she recalled. Like dangling a bone in front of a dog and seeing the way it would drool in anticipation.

Like quick glances, small touches, things that would signal to a partner that you wished to engage in sexual activities.

Doing such things during a feast felt scandalous. But it filled her heart with a fire that she knew was traveling between her legs as well.

She had started it, brushing her hand with his as they ate. Then wiped at a bit of wine that had dripped down his chin. Then even daring to brush a hand across this thigh.

But that was earlier. Now, across the room from each other, she took other tactics.

When she wasn't looking at whoever she spoke to, she looked at Cregan. Her eyes would wander from his face to his feet, a long gaze that took its time, and enjoyed every moment of it. And he was quick to notice it. When she was caught and his eyes were on her, she quickly looked away in mock embarrassment.

It worked wonderfully.

The rest of the evening, she felt his eyes on her and when she'd look back, he'd have a look that said he was ready to devore her whole. She felt her core almost drip with the adrenaline rushing through her.

Now, to act on it.

She caught his gaze again, keeping it and taking slow steps to the high table, hoping he'd get the hint to follow her.

And perceptive he was.

She stood in front of her chair and reached down to her cup when his chest warmed her back. His hand reached over hers and seized her chalice as his voice spoke lowly in her ear. "Bid them goodnight. We are retiring."

She craned her neck to try to look at him. "We are the hosts-"

"-two minutes, and I'll carry you myself if I must."

His warmth disappeared, and he set her cup back down to the table.

A wide grin came to her lips.

…

The moment the door to his chamber closed, he pushed her against the wall. His lips chased her with a heat like she was the air he needed to breathe. His hands pulled at the fabric on her shoulders, so eager to undress and ravish her.

Her hands did the same, pulling at the strings of her doublet. But it was hard to do so through Cregan's heavy hands tugging her this way and that.

Soon enough, cold air rose goosebumps across her skin. Cregan paused, only for a moment, letting his eyes wander over her. And for the first time, lust was evident in his pupils.

His lips consumed hers once more, his tongue delving past her teeth to hurriedly explore. His hands and hers both pulled at his clothes.

With his chest bare, he deemed that enough for now. He picked her up and took her to the bed, dropping them both to it and holding himself above her with one hand. His lips moved to her neck now, sucking at the skin. And her small hitch of breath encouraged him.

Soon he pulled away and stood at the foot of the bed, pulling down his trousers and throwing off his boots. His eyes never strayed from her body. How beautiful she was. Now he really noticed.

His hands found her ankles. He pulled her down to the edge of the bed.

She began to notice how he'd began to go back into their routine from before.

He stepped between her legs and propped her hips up a bit, lining his cock with her cunt and beginning to force his way in.

Her jaw clenched and her nose inhaled sharply. She was never used to that first push.

Her mind wandered to the night before with the book. She had went on to get three fingers in and without pain. She knew it was possible to avoid this if they went slowly. And the pleasure she had felt yesterday was inexplainable.

"Cr-Cregan," she panted out.

His eyes snapped up to hers. They never spoke during this. There was never anything to talk about.

"I want to… to do it differently," she managed out.

He pulled out from her, holding her legs steady as he gave her a questioning gaze. "What did you read in that thing?" He finally asked.

"I want… I want to be… above," she tried to explain. "You lay down and I… I will do the work."

He was hesitant, understandably so, but he was hard enough now that he didn't quite care how it happened. He just needed a release.

So he laid himself on the bed, his eyes almost bulging out with the way she straddled him so confidently.

She brushed against his manhood, and he couldn't take it anymore. His hands gripped her hips tightly as he tried to take back control. But her own hands pulled his away. She gave him a look that warned him to let her try it.

She sunk down onto him this time. The pressure was there, but it was different. More bearable this time. And at her own pace, she took her time to adjust to him until his pelvis met hers.

Cregan's eyes were closed in bliss, and she took that as a sign to continue. She pulled her hips up and sunk back down, and a whine left her mouth without realizing it. It felt… good. Sex with Cregan felt good.

His hands trailed back up to her hips, more gentle this time. He guided her hips in a back and forth motion and a sinful moan escaped from him.

She continued it as he wanted, leaning down to brace herself on his chest. With this new motion, she could find a little pressure to her clit, and it brought a whole new wave of pleasure.

The motions quickened as the two began to explore the idea that maybe… just maybe… they liked this.

If their moans had any indication.

She felt a tightening in her lower stomach, something she remembered from yesterday. She wondered if Cregan could feel it from inside.

And he could. It created a resistance that had him almost drooling with how well it felt. How good she made him feel.

"Let me fill you," he voiced in a beg. It hadn't intended to come out that way, but it did. Cregan was begging.

"I w~" the words caught in her throat. "I want you to fill me," she managed. "Give me a child, Cre~"

The words died altogether on her lips as her orgasm washed over her. The one from her fingers yesterday was nothing compared to this. She felt it throughout her body like spring that had finally snapped.

Cregan's eyes were open and wide at the feeling of her cunt around him now, spasming with the aftermath of her orgasm. It felt amazing, and he had cursed himself for never discovering it before.

And now that he had, he wouldn't forget it.

Her cunt milked him for all he had, and he happily gave it to her, releasing himself with a heavy groan.

The two slumped on the bed, Cregan's arms wrapped around his wife's frame. Neither were eager to move from their positions, not even as he softened inside of her or the liquid ran down her thighs.

Before, Cregan had held her up and made her keep it in.

Now? He didn't care. He could always just fill her again.

He'd do anything to see the way her jaw dropped and her eyes glazed over again.

"Thank you," she breathed against his neck.

There was a comfortable silence from him. Then finally, "I'll have that book read within the fortnight."

..........................................

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palskippah · 3 months ago

Text

Hi! Nimona told him to do a thumbs up (also I hope you get the reference image because I couldn't find it ajkdsad)

There's some mpreg headcanons and drawings under the cut! :D

By the way the limit of images is 30 so I had to make some longer images with comics to save space and put more drawings 😭

-Also, small continuation from the previous drawing:

(I wrote baby album but maybe it should be those albums that people keep of the pregnancy process ajskd)

-When Ballister first started showing, he was a bit insecure about it, but Ambrosius helped with that, in the romantic sense of worshipping and whatever, but also like this:

Translation (did my best to see how to translate it sorry sdjksd it works better in spanish)

1 Ballister: I think it's too soon to be getting fat- Ambrosius: You know what else is getting fat? 2 Ambrosius: Who said that

-Ballister goes through the denial of needing new clothes, so imagine him still wearing the stuff he usually wears and Nimona coming from behind and picking at the clothes by his shoulder and going in a high-pitched voice, as if the shirt was talking - I'm tired, boss while Ballister swats her away and say, leave me alone, it still fits me >:(

(it doesn't)

>Also Ballister absolutely refusing to wear maternity clothes, the only one he got he was like, wearing it and looking very unimpressed, and Ambrosius' like, you don't like it? :( and Ballister says, No. It's ugly as fuck >:(

>So, he just gets bigger shirts and stretch-ier pants and that's it. Also he gets an oversized hoodie and he says that's gonna be his best friend the rest of the pregnancy, and both Nimona and Ambrosius gasp offendedly at that.

So-

Ambrosius (turning to look at Nimona): What the- hey, I am his best friend. Nimona: Course not! You lost that privilege with what happened that one time (she means the movie events, more than five years ago) Ballister: Ambrosius' my best friend, Nimona. Ambrosius: HAH >:D Nimona: Aw :( Ballister: Because you're my sidekick :) Nimona: :D Ambrosius: Hey, what now- that sounds better than best friend :(

-Ballister during most of the pregnancy is like, woo baby :) but at the very last months he's at least half of the time pissed off, tired and done with being pregnant.

(my incredible math skills in the next point)

>70% of that time he's mad at Ambrosius (who made him pregnant), 20% mad at Nimona (who consciously (and sometimes unconsciously) gets on his nerves) and the remaining 10 he's pissed off at Baby (and he gets sad about that one, because he's just a baby, so he redirects it at Ambrosius instead 😔)

>Ambrosius does his best to be of help but usually there's nothing he can do aside from being there (and sometimes getting out of Ballister's sight, if he's really angry- in the sense of 'I don't even want to see you now')

>Most of the time Ballister just cools off.

-Also Ambrosius giving him massages, sometimes randomly on his shoulders or his feet, and sometimes something more elaborated, like Ballister laying down and him using body oil, setting the ambient and all to massage his back (and Ballister almost always falls asleep in those).

>Sometimes tho he just does a 'chop chop chop' at his shoulders (it doesn't do anything besides amusing Ballister and keeping him company)

>Also Nimona said that of course he'd just randomly start chopping Ballister while Ballister does nothing about it, so Ambrosius starts chopping her instead

(made these two drawings with like three weeks of difference ajdkad)

(N/SFW thingies on the next four points and the next four images)

-Also with that previous point imagine Ballister waking up all angry, and Ambrosius just not knowing what he can do for him to stop being mad, but it turns out that Ballister had just woken up horny and pent-up.

>And once he realizes, he's like Ambrosius... (with intentions of getting some), and Ambrosius is like 🧍? because a second ago Ballister wasn't even looking at him.

-Also with this, Ballister is just very much hornier now (after the first trimester which was the worst) and Ambrosius doesn't mind at all - except when his jaw gets sore or he's running late for work because they lost track of time and also other situations ajsdks but usually he's delighted.

>(In the drawing Ballister just crossed one leg over the other once he heard Ambrosius coming in, because he can't maintain the position too long without getting uncomfortable sdjksj)

-Whenever Ballister is like >:c and looking in Ambrosius' direction, he immediately assumes that his husband is angry at him.

>Y'know when you look intensely at someone so they feel your gaze and look at you back? Ballister here is trying to apply that, but it doesn't work bc of the previous point askdad

-I had written sometime (I think) about them blaming Baby on literally anything that has more or less to do with him. If Ballister's crying, if he forgets stuff, if Nimona coddles Ballister too much and pisses him off, if Ambrosius wastes all the cleaning product in two weeks because he had been cleaning too much (he's nesting and realizes that sometime later), if Nimona and Ballister eat the weirdest stuff that at least he wouldn't eat in normal circumstances- and a long etc.

-During Ballister's pregnancy, Nimona works the most she had ever worked in her existence (in the biscuit factory):

-Both Nimona and Ambrosius are the most supportive c: yippie. Supportive husband/best friend and supportive sidekick/friend/sibling/etc

>An example would be of Ballister being tired, and if the time allows, the other two will immediately suggest a nap.

>Their collective naps usually last hours and they wake up disoriented, sweaty, with drool and the sheets marked on their faces.

>Also they wake up almost always stacked, Nimona always under the other two.

Translation

Nimona and Ballister: (snoring) Ambrosius: Fuck- what year is it? (tries to lift himself up)

-Also Nimona is the self-assigned pregnancy pillow, and at first Ballister had refused to let her do that, but as a sidekick she took it upon herself to make sure that her boss was comfy and could sleep well - and Ballister reminded her that that's not what sidekicks are for. She said, fuck off I'll do it anyways >:c

>Anyways he sleeps great with her help and earns himself a huge told you so from Nimona.

>I had written a thingy where just when she woke up she was like good morning boss :D while Ballister also said good morning and she hugged him while pushing Ambrosius away, even out of bed. I can't remember where I left it but once I find it, I'll see if it's good for posting pipipi Also Ballister and Ambrosius are corny husbands

>Also here I drew my vague idea of a bear bc I was too lazy to look for Nimona bear references sowwy

-Nimona sometimes shapeshifts into Ballister to make fun of him.

(This one joke gets lost in translation which is a shame but I'm gonna share the comic anyways sdjs)

>(She's messing around about names, doing a play in words using Gloreth's name while Ballister is already warning her to stop)

>Nimona urges them to get a name soon because Baby is almost born, and they're like yeah chill we're on it - and they're both sitting on the sofa, with Ballister's legs over Ambrosius' lap, while Ballister goes through their list on his tablet and Ambrosius focuses on giving him a massage on his feet.

They're like-

Ballister: So, Cyril? Ambrosius: No, my horse at the Institute was called that. Ballister: Right, then not that one... What about Casper? Ambrosius: Hmm... no. Ballister: Why not? Ambrosius: I don't know, I just don't really like it. Do you? Ballister: Eh, it's alright, I guess. I don't think Baby looks like a Casper, though Nimona: You don't even know how he looks yet! Ballister: You shut up, kid >:v Ballister: So, what about…

And they're making nearly to none progress but yeah sjdsd

>Also imagine Nimona (as Ballister) imitating what he does now that he's pregnant but x10 times more.

Translations

1 AUGHH- MY BACK 2 FUCKING AMBROSIUS! 3 Ambrosito? Can you get me a sweet treat? 🥺 4 I'M HUGE WAAA

>And while Ballister is like wtf I don't act like that, he turns to Ambrosius like, do I act like that? 😥 And Ambrosius, who was laughing to himself, goes, well... not so intensely, which is good enough for Ballister.

>But Nimona points out to what Ballister is eating with a mocking smile (and it is weird to be mocked by a version of himself that has a pink strand on his hair, but whatever), and he's like ? what? and realizes that he did ask for a sweet treat almost like Nimona depicted he does, because he did pull the big sparkly eyes and he did call Ambrosius Ambrosito while at it.

>Then he's wondering if he really complains about his back like that (he does, but as Ambrosius said, he isn't so intense about it, usually just holding his lower back and throwing his head back as he winces. Normal)

>(the yelling insults at Ambrosius is definitely not true. But he does throw daggers at him with his eyes when he's angry, he has to admit to himself)

>Now, about crying because he feels huge- yes. Very much true, but he doesn't wail. Just sobs and cries a river like the sensible, serious adult he is.

-Also that thing of knights don't cry and whatever. This one knight does cry, and he cries a lot (at least while he's pregnant).

>He cried once because he dreamt that Nimona was a little spider and even though he warned Ambrosius to be careful, he accidentally crushed her and he woke up not only incredibly sad but also upset with Ambrosius, even though he was aware that it was silly to get mad with him over a dream.

>Nimona was like boss :( while hugging him, and Ambrosius had to scoot a bit away because Ballister didn't even want to look at him as he wept. Ambrosius said a lot of reassuring words of I'm sorry, I think I didn't see her :( while Ballister was like, but I warned you so many times :'[

>Then he was like, I promise you, I'd never hurt Nimona. And Nimona herself said, yeah boss, I'd crush him first, don't you worry about it :) and Ballister said, but I couldn't protect you :''[ while hugging her harder.

>And both Nimona and Ambrosius are (internally) like, ohh, so that's what it's about.

>Anyways, just a bunch of hugging and comforting gets him to feel a little less sad and also Nimona saying, but you're great at protecting me now :D so, there's all that sdjksd

-Sometimes Ballister just breaks down over seemingly the most trivial stuff too (which is usually just the last straw over a bunch of other stuff going on)

Translation

1 Ambrosius: Balli? What happened? D: Ballister (with one eyeline going up and the other going down): Ambrosito, my eyeline's crooked* *the straw that broke the camel's back (his hair isn't cooperating) (his back hurts) (done) (clothes feel uncomfortable) (the baby won't stay still) 2 Ambrosius (doing Ballister's eyeline): Stay very still, love (focused) 3 (they're in front of the mirror) Ballister (laughing his ass off): BUT HOW DID YOU MAKE IT EVEN MORE CROOKED?! Ambrosius (embarrassed): Aw Ballister (holding his belly): Ow, Baby, don't kick me, sorry, sorry! I'll stay still now-

>(Y'know when a pregnant person laughs the baby inside gets all shaken skdsd I find it funny, so imagine Baby being like ??!! because Ballister keeps laughing too hard and shaking him all around and his kicks are like him going, stay the fuck still D:<) (Ballister's still weepy but now he's crying with laughter, which is better than him crying from being overwhelmed)

-Also Ballister's very scared of giving birth but he's very good at pretending that Baby will simply materialize in his arms rather than him having to push him out.

(Drawings based over this)

Translation

1 Ballister happy because his baby is almost born 2 (Remembers that he has to give birth to him)

-The day that he was in labor and all, imagine the water just breaking and stuff and Nimona being like 'okay everyone DON'T PANIC' while panicking and also Ballister's panicking too (Ambrosius' at work and when he's told he also panics and arrives at the hospital in record time still wearing his armor. The power of first-time father panic)

(But someone gotta be not panicking in the situation, so Ambrosius calms the fuck down and becomes the calming presence that Ballister can rely on c: also Nimona calms down too and goes back to being herself and is very good at distracting Ballister while he goes through contractions and the hours before pushing.)

>Also y'know how in TV sometimes someone else imitates the pregnant person's breathing exercises by going huff huff huff quickly ajsdkjd

>Also Ballister going Nimona what about the bags and also don't carry me there?! and her going shit right and ignoring the second half, then returning for the bags and grabbing them, all while holding Ballister like a doll (a doll with a little doll inside SJDS pregnant barbie)

En español pensaba que fuera = AYÚDENLO, SE LE SALE LA WAWA - NIMONA DEJA DE HACER SHOW

-Wrote a lil something about Baby's birth and Ballister going through kinda a rollercoaster of emotions because at the very beginning of the pushing stage he almost had a panic attack, but then everyone in the room helped him calm down, and when he thought everything was going great, the doctor offered Ambrosius to receive their baby, and of course his husband was very excited about it and said yes, getting dressed up in the medical gown, the facemask, the gloves and all that.

(Initially everything after that was supposed to go swiftly, but I thought, no, what if Ambrosius faints like some dads do? and after watching a TikTok of a woman whose partner did faint and they had to pause her birth to hold him up because he was like over 6 feet tall, I was like hell yeah that's it)

>When Ambrosius finally got between Ballister's legs to look, his blood pressure went the fuck down. And since he's pretty tall and the nurse that tried to catch him was pretty short, the other one had to join in and then the doctor too to avoid him slamming on the ground. The thing was that Ambrosius was clearly fighting very hard against unconsciousness, giving the three people holding him false hope about him finally holding his own weight, making them almost drop him multiple times.

>Sensibly, the situation was kinda scary, because the three people assisting his baby's birth were busy trying to hold his husband from fainting. Said husband was clearly fighting with everything he got to keep himself conscious, and Ballister could very much feel his baby crowning.

>But seeing three short people trying to hold Ambrosius up and yelping when they almost dropped him several times, and remembering that Ambrosius had been so excited about it but hadn't been able to even stand the view, and feeling pretty nervous because his main emotional support couldn't even keep himself awake-, made him crack up.

>So, he's laughing out loud and going every once in a while, owfuck- because it still hurts like a bitch, while the other three keep going, YOU'LL DROP HIM. BE CAREFUL, SIR?? SIR, CAN YOU HEAR ME? and Ambrosius' like, yea- (faints again)

>(they're well aware that they gotta deliver the baby, so they're doing their best to hurry Ambrosius to get out of the way)

>The whole thing had made Ballister's body feel weak from the laughter, and he had to try and calm down to have strength again and push the baby out.

>As you'd guess, Ambrosius didn't receive their baby, and had to sit down and eat something sweet to not faint again, but he managed to stay on his feet well enough to cut the umbilical cord yippie.

>So anyways, Baby out, wrapped and all that, Ballister kept laughing more quietly about it and saying that they should mark the date in the calendar to celebrate Ambrosius fainting over almost delivering their baby. And Ambrosius' like hmm, I don't know Balli, maybe we could use this date for our son's birthday, don't you think? and Ballister's like OH RIGHT and now started laughing at himself.

I keep thinking of new stuff that contradicts what I already have posted, sowwy

>Imagine Ambrosius practically begging Ballister to not tell Nimona, while the other says she'd love to know but also is aware that she'd never let Ambrosius live it down, so he agrees on not telling her. Both eventually tell both Nimona and Baby when the latter is older and inquired about his birth, and indeed, Nimona loved the anecdote, and never let Ambrosius live it down, since then.

-Ideas about Nimona infiltrating the room in the form of a nurse after Baby is born and blowing up her cover when she commented on the baby's nose being just like Gol- Mr. Goldenheart's. And also, his hair being black like Bo- Mr. Goldenheart's.

>At the beginning when they had been admiring their baby, Ambrosius had said, he got your hair D': pipipi (he cried the second Baby got placed in his arms, got a drawing of that but I don't like how it came out wah, Ambrosius' wearing a facemask and being all tear-eyed pipipi) and Ballister had said, he got your nose :D but Ambrosius had said no? that's just a baby's nose, how can you even tell. But after Nimona commented on it, Ballister's saying told you so, it's your nose, while Ambrosius' like, Mr. Goldenheart could be either of us (both smiling amusedly because Nimona's too silly and they clearly know it's her, but she's all idk who's Nimona?)

-Also, I don't know how to make that work with the idea that when she got kicked out to the hall for the pushing bit, she went to steal some flowers and balloons with 'it's a boy!' on them for Ballister. But anyways, I'll write that bit too.

-Also this is Goldenheart with their baby, and I drew it a while back but realized that I don't like it anymore, so I'll do a redrawing someday sdjksd

>Imagine that Ambrosius was in the hospital bed with Baby while Ballister was getting ready so they could leave to their home, and Nimona said pictures timeee and then took that pic, with Ballister pointing at Baby and being all :D Also, Ambrosius looked pretty good and all, and Ballister was all unshaven face, kinda messy hair, the hospital band with his name still wrapped on his wrist as he pointed at Baby, and yet there were some people online that were like ??! Ambrosius Goldenloin Goldenheart was pregnant??

>And the people that knew even if a little bit about the Goldenheart's life, and also because they still went out and whatever, were like ? no? didn't you see Ballister like, a week ago? (Where he was very obviously pregnant and Ambrosius clearly wasn't sdjkdj)

>Every once in a while, Nimona would remember about this and repost it again, even after Baby is much older.

And that's it! If you read till here, bless you ajsdkadj

I've got more stuff about mpreg, both written and drawn, so I hope to make another post like this sometime, they're very fun to make :D

#nimona #ballister boldheart #ambrosius goldenloin #goldenheart #my art #mpreg #i love them so much #giving Ballister the biggest honor I can as an artist -> making him pregnant #that's what he gets for being my favorite #se pone bien papi chulo #I reached the image limit again pipipi #they should let me put 238493 images not just 30 #also notice that bathroom I drew that barely looks like a bathroom jsdsd #apologies I was too lazy to look for references pipipi

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r0-boat · 7 months ago

Text

Von Lycaon eating pussy

I'm sorry

Cw: NSFW, AFAB!reader.

Summary: based off of my last post of hired Butler and bodyguard Lycaon

"are you stressed young Master?" The cold husky tone of your bodyguard cuts your concentration as he gently places a cup of warm tea on your desk. Your eyes have been staring at a white paper for so long You had to rub them before looking up.

You sigh the grimace on your face was imminent of your displeasure.

"I just been working on these papers I want to get them done soon but... It's been a couple hours now and I can't focus." You are always vulnerable with him and like always he is willing to listen but this time He had something different in mind.

"pardon me if I make a suggestion perhaps I could help you de-stress?" You swore you saw his tail twitch his lips twitch up word as well. At first you thought he was just going to nag or something but little did you know. He had something different in mind.

"What is it?" You said giving him the go-ahead. Your heart stopped in your chest as he turns the chair around for you to face him towering over your smaller form before he gets on his knees His soft fingers delicately tracing over your skin before holding onto your legs forcing them apart.

"Wh-Woah woah! Hold on What are you doing?!"You felt heat flushed to your face You can't lie in saying that you hadn't done things with him before but this??? In the office???

And that's when you saw it, It was a small yet wolfish smile. "You've always told me that I need to 'be more wild' to 'have some fun' as well as 'bend the rules'"this guy... Sounds like he's mocking you. You grit your teeth but couldn't hold up your gas when you felt his tongue lick your bare thigh as he slowly begins to pull down the rest of your garments.

"I think this is more than bending the ahh~."

And with that his tongue licked against your folds.

Lycaon hummed tasting the sweet arousal on his tongue "Delicious. I don't mind having you as my meal tonight."

The way he was speaking so elegant yet so lewd and that damn smile now showing glimpses of his sharp teeth. Which he had noticed.

"Don't worry master I'll watch my teeth, I'll be gentle. Thank you for the meal."

He growls before diving back between your legs. His tail was thumping against the ground but he didn't care His ears twitching has he tries not to dig his claws into your flesh thighs as he struggles to go deeper with his tongue.

When his thumb presses against your clit you tilt your head back It took everything in you to hold back your noises Your thighs trying to close onto his head but he was far stronger than you holding you completely still practically pinning you to the chair. He was not only deeply engrossed in your wet sweet folds but also your pleasure. He tried not to play with your wet pussy too much with his fingers afraid his sharp claws but he touched you just enough for you to squirm.

Part of him wanted to tease you. To withheld pleasure until you beg, But you've been good doing your work all on your own you deserve a break, You deserve a reward.

When you clenched around his tongue trying to grind your hips against his face He knew you were close. Your hands and tangled in his fur grabbing and pulling him rather roughly You hear growl coming from him a sound you have never heard him make before your whole world shifts You stare at the ceiling your back against the seat He lifts your legs up His shaky breath against you.

"cum." He growls "Cum for me."

He didn't have to tell you twice as you came all over his tongue he tasted every sweet bit of you.

As you laid their panting he scooped you up putting you back on the chair taking out handkerchief from his coat pocket wiping his mouth dry.

"Oh my it looks like you're even more exhausted I'll draw a bath for you." Lycaon smiles before leaving the room leaving you in a daze. His tail swishing side to side on his way out.

"I shall come back once a hot bath is ready for you."

#smut #zzz lycaon x reader #zzzero #zzz lycaon #zzz smut #zzz lycaon smut #zenless zone zero #zenless zone zero x reader #zzzero x reader #zzz x reader #von lycaon x reader #von lycaon #I wish I had him aaa #von lycon smut

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14dayswithyou · 8 months ago

Note

This Angel has another question! \o

What's it like taking a bath with RENACTED?

✦゜ANSWERED: Hell on earth T_T he takes up soooo much room and won't give you a moment to yourself dshjgjds /silly

cw: It gets NSFW towards the end!! MDNI!

"Think we need more bubbles?"

When you're met with nothing but silence, you look up from your bubble sculpture to see your partner sporting an all too familiar pout on their face. His tattooed arms were crossed over his bare chest like he wanted to prove a point — and as if to fully emphasize their current disdain; Ren turns his head away the moment you make eye contact.

You couldn't help but let out a puff of laughter at the silliness of it all.

"Why are you pouting?" You nudge their leg with your own. "What's wrong?"

"...Why are you all th'way over there?"

'Over there', being on the opposite side of the tub from your beloved boyfriend. Which... didn't make much sense now that you thought about it, seeing as he was the one who (silently) volunteered to take the side with the faucet and drain, which left you with all the space and legroom your heart could desire. Though... it wasn't much, given how massive of a mountain your partner was. Ren was all long, lanky limbs and thick muscle; but it wasn't exactly evident with all the baggy clothing they often chose to wear.

In an attempt to make your beloved hacker feel better about the (albeit childish) situation, you carefully scoot over so that you were resting against one of their legs instead of the tub. But apparently, Ren still wanted more, as a familiar tattooed arm emerges from the water the moment you draw closer and silently beckons you to join him at his side. When you accept — in what world would you ever say no to him and that trademark frown? — Ren pulls you flush against his chest with a content sigh.

They were acting like the cat who got the cream, no doubt.

You barely have a moment to adjust to your new position before you feel Ren's arms wrap around your waist, and his chin finds its place atop your shoulder. Now, your hacker has the perfect view of you rebuilding your bubble castle once more — only this time, you were right where he wanted you.

"There." Your tone is laced with something mirthful and lively as you lean into his embrace. "Is this better?

"Much."

"Just make sure you don't fall asleep. Elanor told me that it's not safe to do that." You purposefully ignore how their arms tense up at the mention of your coworker. However, you don't miss how they dip further under the water to run along the inside of your thighs instead.

Ren's real name slips from your lips in warning. You knew exactly what he was trying to do right now. Their hands were ghosting dangerously close to your—

"...'M not doing anything."

"Liar, I can feel you— Ah!"

His fingers casually brush past your most sensitive part, and it has you flinging your head back and clutching onto his forearm. From that reaction alone, you can hear Ren let out a curious hum from behind as their hand moves back to your sex once more.

"Just making sure you're all nice 'n clean down there."

"I-I somehow doubt that..."

"Isn't that the point of baths? T'get clean?" He muses, voice ghosting along the shell of your ear. "...Why were you talking to your coworker about taking baths in the first place, anyway?"

One of the rubber frogs you added ('for ambience!' you recall telling your boyfriend) innocently floats past, and you had half a mind to reach out and turn its gaze away from the intimate scene. Ren still had one hand firmly placed around your stomach to keep you steady while the other was shamelessly running up and down your—

"...Think I'm gonna need to do a thorough inspection. Bend over the tub f'me?"

#GET YOUR YANDERE!!!!!!!! HE'S GETTING SILLY AGAIN #This was also going to be ''washing blood off of Rendacted in the bath'' but I went against it sjdkgd #💌 — answered.#💖 — 14 days with queue.#💖 — about ren.#🔞 — woohoo zone.#🖤 — sai writes.#sleepyue00

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ssahotchnerr · 2 months ago

Note

Hotch x BAU!reader where maybe it’s their first Christmas together and reader is trying to be sneaky asking everyone what to get hotch/if he’ll like what they got him & he overhears and is just mush because of course he’s going to like what you buy him 😞😞😞 you thought of him and wanted him to have it how could he not like it

a gift that keeps on giving

cw; fem bau!reader, established relationship, some suggestive remarks/themes, fluff 🥰🥰 wc; 1.1k

A string of garland adorned with twinkling lights, undoubtedly Garcia's doing, paved Aaron's way. Draped on the walls, they colorfully led him down the hallway towards his destination; while he also offered stiff, yet friendly nods to the colleagues he passed.

It had been a quiet yet busy work day, full of end of year paperwork. The team had been rifling through case reports and settling stagnant matters all morning, a necessity before January.

Upon organizing one of his desk drawers, Aaron had found miscellaneous papers that would serve Garcia more purpose than he. So he decided to take a breather, stretch his legs, and venture down to Penelope's bat cave to hand them over.

Her door was slightly ajar as he neared, and before he could raise his knuckle to announce his presence, he heard your voice coming from inside, causing him to halt.

"Penny, I really don't know." You frustratedly admitted, and just by the tone Aaron could visualize the strained look on your face - the muscles in your forehead pulled taut, your eyes laced with trouble. "I'm awful."

Penelope scoffed in response, a tame laugh accompanying her release of air. The click-clacking of her keyboard was also present, "I wouldn't go that far."

A knot tightened in his stomach, a silent unease. Awful was not amongst the words he would use to describe you, ever. So the reason as to why you claimed such, he had no idea. Was something terribly wrong? Was it girl drama? Him drama?

He considered leaving, giving Garcia the files at a later time. As this conversation was happening in private, it didn't sound too dire, so his gut told him to remain. He leaned a bit closer to the open crack, straining his ears to hear the conversation inside.

In addition, he also nervously tossed a look behind his shoulder every so often, to ensure no one caught him subtly lurking.

"And I guarantee you Aaron," You said, which caused his ears to perk more, crossing your arms against your chest. "Isn't having the same dilemma."

His confused expression, as well was your frustration, was soon interrupted by a laugh exiting you. It was the pure, genuine one that could turn Aaron's day around in a second, one he couldn't help but smile at. Even now, the sides of his lips lifted.

"Don't give me that look!"

"Sorry, sorry! I'm so used to hearing Hotch that hearing anyone referring to him as his government name catches me by surprise. Like, we're talking about him? Boss man? And in a lovey dovey way too? It's so oddly foreign in the best possible way."

"But what should I get him?" Your tone faltered, the lightness leaving it again as your foot lightly stomped against the carpet.

It dawned on him, clarity filling his mind. Christmas. You were inquiring on what to get him, in result of being stuck, and enlisted Penelope for assistance.

"Rhetorically, this should be easy." You confessed as your tone switched once more - the affection gushing in your voice, as you gushed about him. "He's a simple man. Practical. And after this year, or call it the profiler in me whatever, I feel as if I know him better than I know myself. But when it comes to thinking of a gift, I'm drawing a blank. A complete blank."

"Well you can't go wrong with... a new tie? You know he'll get many uses out of that. Or just clothes to begin with. If you know him so well, you know what he looks good in. Like that one blue button-up you got him!"

Aaron's expression quirked. Thanks Garcia.

"Yeah..." You agreed, chewing on your lower lip in thought. "But that's safe. Not special."

"Oh!" A devious smile graced Penelope's face, swiveling in her chair and she playfully grabbing onto your arm. "How about you become the gift. Surprise him with a new lingerie set? Have him unwrap you."

Blush immediately crept onto Aaron's cheeks at Garcia's suggestion, one he could get behind. The image of you in such attire clouded his mind pleasantly. His breath caught in his throat, and he forced himself to swallow. Cool it, Aaron.

"Noted." You laughed and meant it, sobering for a moment before continuing. "But that's more of a birthday, anniversary type present. Not something he can open under the tree Christmas morning."

"Eh, if you say so sunshine. I don't think you can go wrong with that. It'll be the gift that keeps on giving."

Enticing thoughts aside, Aaron's face softened; a delicate, warm feeling starting in the middle of his chest and spreading outward.

Although he wished you weren't so conflicted, and despite how much he wanted to march in there, and insist you needn't worry, he felt tremendously touched that you cared to such an extent.

Anything you gave him, anything, would be special as it came from you. Truthfully, he wasn't surprised you had hit a wall in terms of ideas. Just as you said, you knew him perfectly - he wasn't a materialistic type. He himself couldn't recall one thing he wanted.

Mainly because he already had all he ever longed for. You.

Just being able to say he was yours was the greatest gift of all. The past year has been unexpected, just as you had been. Admittedly, even since you joined the BAU, he had a soft spot for you. There was something about you that had intrigued him from the start.

Not only were you kind, considerate, but you brought possibility back into his life. His always negative what ifs, had turned into what ifs, in a newfound light, because of you. You taught him to be open to all life had to offer again.

After hour paperwork sessions in his office led to late night dinners - at any joint that was still open. They then turned into not-so-late night dinners, when he finally took the initiative to ask you on a proper date. It unraveled from there - you met Jack, resulting in an effortless bond. You and Aaron quickly made things official, and it only took you six short months to move in.

You made him feel as if, somehow, loving him was easy. That with all his baggage considered, you still viewed him as someone worth loving.

Again, what more could he ask for besides that?

You exhaled as you straightened your posture, pushing past your frustrations and remaining optimistic. "Well, I'm sure I'll figure it out. I still have plenty of time, right?"

"Oh sweetie I'm positive you will. It'll strike you outta nowhere and you'll be thinking why didn't I just think of this in the first place." Penelope waved her hand in the air, unbothered. "I'm not worried. Whatever it is, you know he'll love it."

And come December 25th, Aaron entirely did.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x fem!reader

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halemerry · 2 years ago

Text

So there's a lot to unpack here but I want to start by talking about the ending and specifically about the Metatron and the calculating moves made at the end of episode 6.

Every single piece of what happened there was a manipulation technique being employed against Aziraphale to an almost brilliant degree and I'm honestly a little obsessed with what this says about the Metatron in particular.

Let's go in order.

First of all. We see him order coffee. In a human body. Something sweet and sugary. He talks to Nina and asks her about her shop name. Does anyone ever ask for death? And when she tells him no they don't his response is to say "so predictable". Our introduction to him here even when everything about him reads like a sweet old man is presented to show us someone who reads the world in terms of being predictable to him.

He then shows up in the middle of Aziraphale's existence being threatened. He immediately cuts down the threat's authority (using outdated language like Az himself would favor) and reemphasizes his own connection to Heaven. When Michael doesn't recognize him and he puts her down and then directly engages Crowley. Crowley who, to Aziraphale, has for centuries at a minimum been someone he thinks is smarter, better, more Good than these other archangels. The Metatron validates these beliefs. Crowley is more Heavenly than these archangels who couldn't even recognize the voice of God when he was standing right in front of them.

The Metatron draws attention to the fact he's in a human body. The kind of body Aziraphale has been in and loved for nearly 6000 years. He then banishes the archangels, implying their morality is in a gray space, and validates Muriel someone we have seen Aziraphale react positively to and someone outside the current power structure. Look at me, he's saying. I see and validate the little guy.

He then tries to talk to Aziraphale. Aziraphale says "I've made my position quite clear." And then the Metatron offers Aziraphale the coffee. This bartering chip, consuming sustenance, is a thing that Aziraphale and Crowley have used as their connective tissue for centuries. It's an olive branch for them. It's giving Aziraphale bodily pleasure and the Metatron implies that he himself has partaken also - a thing we know that Aziraphale has struggled historically with moralizing. He is seen by the closest thing he has left to his parent and he is having old fears validated as safe and old habits being played upon to make him feel secure

He then REMOVES Aziraphale from his home turf. Not only does he remove Crowley from the equation but he takes Aziraphale from the place that has stood as a place of sanctuary throughout the entirety of the season. The shop is Safe and Aziraphale is leaving it and he is leaving the one person who might be able to smell the bullshit coming from the Metatron. The music notably turns absolutely dire here.

The next time we see them the Metatron tells Aziraphale that he doesn't need to answer instantly. He can take his time, if he likes. All the time he needs. And then tells him to go tell Crowley. Once again bringing Crowley in as a valid part of this while manufacturing a scenario where he can't possibly be.

Az ends up in a place where he's overwhelmed and confused and he wants so badly to believe what he's being told. It's an appealing thing from his perspective! He feels off kilter like he's made a mistake in judging the Metatron. He can't even fully articulate what happened to Crowley at first and he's had absolutely no real time to actually think it through. He's running on sheer reactive energy.

The Metatron starts their conversation by asking Aziraphale's opinion. Who should rule Heaven? This is once again playing into making Az feel validated and like he's a part of this decision making process. The Metatron corrects him, complimenting Aziraphale and making him feel capable and in control. He reassures Aziraphale's bafflement. And draws attention to some traits that, while true of Aziraphale around Crowley, are not his defining traits in the eyes of Heaven. You don't just tell people what they want to hear I find particularly notable in this regard given Aziraphale spent most of his time on earth actively lying to Heaven and doing just that. But it fits into the narrative Aziraphale has built around himself, especially post Apocalypse. The Metatron then says I need you (a phrase Az will use much more painfully here in a minute).

And even after all this Aziraphale says no. He says flat out he doesn't want to go back to Heaven. He says this!!! And then the Metatron sweetens the pot. He swaps tactics. Not once has this come up until Aziraphale pushes back against the idea. If the Metatron could've gotten him without using it I have no doubt he wouldn't have bothered with it. Come to Heaven and we can save Crowley. Aziraphale loves Crowley. Aziraphale thinks Crowley is better than any of the angels he's interacted with. Crowley is Good and Nice and Kind and always saving him and now he's being presented with a way to return that. He can Forgive Crowley - a thing Crowley has always presented to Aziraphale as something he struggles with. All of these things Aziraphale has watched Crowley react to in a way that belittles himself or distances them from one another. Of course he wouldn't consider that maybe what he was actually saying is "I'm unforgivable and I don't want that forgiveness."

The Metatron offers Aziraphale a Dream Offer for the pre Armageddon Aziraphale. You can keep your Crowley. You can heal him like you have always thought he deserved. You can have power and control the people who for your whole existence has beaten you down. It can go back to how it was but BETTER.

When Aziraphale leaves he still hasn't answered. He goes and has the conversation they have. It's intense and emotional and the Metatron comes in after the Moment all casual and asks how it goes, knowing fully well the shitstorm he had just set up to get created. And then he turns around and says "always did want to go his own way" which is not only true of Crowley but framed as a bad thing despite the fact that he has just spent twenty minutes or so telling Aziraphale that he's done his own thing and that is Good. He is playing both sides of this perspective as it suits him. And then he cuts down Crowley asking questions, pressuring Aziraphale to avoid doing the same. He then proceeds to ask Aziraphale not if he's made up his mind but if he's ready to get started. He is one by one closing off exit routes to this thing as Aziraphale starts to look more and more panicked and indecisive. He makes sure the bookshop is in good hands and asks Aziraphale if there's anything he needs to take with him. Letting Aziraphale have the illusion of choice while cutting down "I don't want to" as an option altogether.

And Az, as soon as the Metatron is out of shot, tries to express this. And then he falls back right on old coping methods. The Metatron pats him on the head. Reassures that he's the right one for this. That he is Good. That his particular skillset is needed here.

It is a masterstroke of manipulation. A very dark twist on what we see Crowley do time and time again with Aziraphale throughout the millennia. Familiar in a way that makes Aziraphale feel safe. Except this time this is being used to put him back in line. It's brilliant and painful and it fucking hurt and I need a season 3 to see the Metatron get what's coming to him stat.

#good omens #good omens season 2 #gos2 spoilers #good omens spoilers #Metatron #Aziraphale #Episode 6 #Every Day #good omens meta

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incognit0slut · 10 months ago

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hii, i love you’re writing and i have a song request idea. the song too sweet by hozier would be so cute it could be angst to smut and it could happen late morning or late at night since the lyrics. idk if it makes sense i just thought it’d be cute 😭. again i love your work sm okay, ty, bye 🫶🏾💖🫶🏾💖🫶🏾

Spencer thinks you’re too sweet for a damaged man like him.

Warnings: (18+) Professor Reid x Student Fem Reader. Age gap (he’s in his 40s or post-prison era, Reader is in her 20s). Angst and smut. 2.8k words A/n: anon I took your request but I changed it a little to how I interpret this song… which means a lot of ANGST💔 I hope you don’t mind

He knew you were here. He always knew. The usual chaotic sprawl of books scattered throughout his apartment seemed to be in order, and there was a comforting scent lingering in the air that unmistakably belonged to you.

Although Spencer could never really put his finger on your scent. Sometimes you exuded a sweet fragrance, like the delicate petals of a flower, while at other times, a crisp, fresh aroma lingered around you, reminiscent of a morning breeze, or perhaps the soft scent of rain.

But it didn't matter whether you smelled like a garden in full bloom or the crisp air after a rainstorm, the mere proximity to you brought him the peace he was all too familiar with, and that calmness enveloped him as he made his way toward his bedroom.

You looked like an angel. Sweet, calm, serene. His eyes drifted towards your sleeping form, and he couldn't help but wonder how you could sleep so well after the conversation you both shared this morning. The weight of your mutual decision to end things for good hung heavy in the air, yet here you lay, seemingly unaffected.

He watched the gentle rise and fall of your chest, each rhythmic pattern of your breathing seemed to draw him closer. One step, then another, until he found himself standing at the edge of the bed, looking down at you, vulnerable in your sleep. And then, as if pulled by an unseen force, he sank into the space beside you.

The bed dipped beneath his weight, and so did his heart. Spencer knew this wasn't the wisest thing to do. He was supposed to be the responsible one, after all, he was older than you. With age came experience, or so he believed, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he should be the voice of reason.

But as he lay beside you, he couldn't help but question his judgment. Was it truly wisdom that guided him, or was it simply the fear of facing the unknown? Age and maturity seemed like a flimsy construct now, overshadowed by the raw intensity of his emotions. With a heavy sigh, he placed a hand on your waist.

One touch, he told himself, one touch was all he would allow himself.

You felt the warmth of his touch seeping into your skin, grounding you in the present moment. Spencer watched intently, well aware he should have pulled back, yet, despite his better judgment, he found himself unable to let go, his grip on you tightening almost instinctively.

His gaze traced your face in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the window. Despite the early hour, your features seemed to radiate with a warmth that defied the darkness of the dawn. The lines of worry on your brow softened, your lips curved into a gentle smile, and for a fleeting moment, you appeared to embody the very essence of sunshine itself.

It was a peculiar sight, Spencer thought, considering how the world beyond the window remained shrouded in darkness.

"You're home," you muttered as if the word home was a concept you both shared. Perhaps it had once been true, or perhaps it was a dream that had never quite materialized. He felt a pang in his chest, a bittersweet reminder of what once was, or what could have been.

"You're not supposed to be here," he mumbled softly.

"I was going to give you back your keys, but you weren't here," you confessed. "And I wanted to wait for you."

A small smile tugged at his lips. "So you decided to wait on my bed?"

"It seemed like the most comfortable spot."

"You've always liked my bed."

You shook your head. "It's not the bed, per se. It's the feeling of being close to you..." Your gaze softened as you met his eyes. "Even when you're not here."

Time seemed to stand still as he met your gaze, a rush of emotions swirling beneath the surface. "I'm not here most of the time," he said after a pause.

"I know."

"That's not fair to you."

A heavy silence fell into place.

"I know," you replied quietly.

"And the next time we do see each other," he continued, his tone tinged with resignation, "Is when I'm standing in front of class with you sitting between the seats."

"Spencer, I know," you pressed, your voice barely concealing the ache in your heart. "We went through this conversation this morning."

"Then why are you still here?"

You held his gaze, your eyes reflecting countless emotions—sadness, longing, and perhaps a hint of defiance. "Because," you began softly, "I still can't bring myself to leave."

His heart clenched at your words, the weight of them settling heavily upon him. He had expected defiance, anger, perhaps even resentment, but your quiet admission caught him off guard.

"Why?" he asked.

You looked away. "You know why."

He knew the reasons, of course, he knew them all too well. But hearing them spoken aloud, seeing the pain reflected in your eyes, brought the harsh reality of the situation. He reached out, gently grasping your chin and guiding your gaze back to meet his.

"This is for the best," he replied quietly, though his voice wavered with uncertainty. He knew the words sounded hollow, even to his own ears, but he couldn't bring himself to admit the truth—that perhaps, deep down, he was trying to protect himself as much as he was trying to protect you.

"For me or for you?"

He hesitated, the lump in his throat growing heavier with each passing moment.

"For both of us," he admitted softly.

It was the truth, undeniable and painful. He couldn't deny the impact of your relationship if it continued down its current path. Not only was he much older than you, but he was also supposed to be your mentor, your teacher, your professor.

His role was meant to guide you. He was supposed to impart knowledge, not to engage in illicit affairs behind closed doors. He had allowed himself to become too invested in you, to give you more attention than was appropriate, more than was fair to his other students.

But it wasn't just about him anymore—it was about you. He couldn't bear the thought of tainting your pure, sweet soul with the darkness that came with him. He had done things he wasn't proud of, and made choices that he wished he could undo, and now, as he looked at you, he couldn't help but feel a sense of shame.

You deserved better than to be with someone who carried the weight of his past like a heavy burden.

"So this it?" You asked.

All he could do was nod. A lump formed in your throat as you struggled to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. "Fine. Just..." You paused, taking a shaky breath to steady yourself. "I'll leave as soon as you tell me the truth."

He felt a knot tighten in his chest as he waited for you to continue.

"Tell me you don't love me and I'll leave."

Your words hit him like a punch to the gut, the pain evident in his eyes as he struggled to find the right response. He knew that he had to be honest with you, no matter how difficult it might be.

But as he opened his mouth to speak, the words caught in his throat. How could he deny the truth when every fiber of his being longed for you? How could he let you go when you were the one thing he couldn't bear to lose?

"I..." he began, his voice faltering as he searched for the courage to speak the words you so desperately needed to hear. But no matter how hard he tried, the words refused to come.

"Say it," you urged. "Say you don't love me and I'll leave you for good."

Taking a deep breath, he met your gaze and braced himself for the pain his words would inflict on you.

"I don't love you," he whispered, the words feeling like a betrayal even as they left his lips. It was a lie, and he knew it. And yet, he couldn't find the courage to admit his feelings for you.

The air around you seemed to thicken with tension. He had braced himself for the pain his lie would bring, but nothing could prepare him for the look of hurt and disbelief that crossed your face at his words. You were the one who asked for this, yet hearing him admit to it so easily shattered your heart into pieces.

"You're... you're lying."

Spencer felt a pang of guilt shoot through him at the sight of your pain. He knew that he would regret what he was about to do, but he couldn't stand the thought of you walking away without knowing the truth, without knowing how much he truly cared for you.

So he closed the distance between you, his hand gently cradling the back of your neck. And then, without hesitation, he leaned in and captured your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. For a moment, you were lost in the sensation, the warmth of his touch, the tenderness of his kiss.

But as quickly as it had begun, it came to an end, leaving you breathless and uncertain. You pulled back and searched his eyes for answers. "You're lying," you repeated.

He sighed heavily, his forehead resting against yours. "I-I don't love you."

Your chest tightened again. How could he say that when his touch was so tender, when his gaze held so much depth? Frustration and hurt boiled over as your nails dug into his skin, gripping his wrist firmly as you held his face close to yours.

"Stop lying to me," you pleaded almost desperately. "Stop fucking lying to yourself."

He closed his eyes. He knew that he couldn't keep lying to you, and yet, the words refused to leave his lips, trapped by the fear of what might happen if he dared to speak them aloud.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart as he pulled you closer, not knowing what else to do to ease the pain away.

So he kissed you again.

He kissed you as if he was apologizing, each gentle press of his lips against yours a silent plea for forgiveness. He kissed you as if he needed to convey his feelings that he couldn't express with words, his touch speaking volumes where his voice fell short.

He kissed you as if you were everything to him, as if the taste of you was sweeter than any other, as if he couldn't bear the thought of a life without you in it. He kissed you desperately and unapologetically, it was sweet yet painful, tender yet desperate, as if every moment shared between you was both a blessing and a curse.

You could taste the bitterness of goodbye on his lips, yet you couldn't bring yourself to let go, not when his touch still felt like home. So you pushed your tongue into his mouth, savoring the taste of him even as you knew it would only make saying goodbye that much harder.

Your breathing became heavy as you felt his hand glide down from your cheek to your neck. He then pulled away, his lips still tingling from the taste of you as he licked them unconsciously. His gaze followed the movement of his hand as it settled on your breast.

You could feel the tension between you crackling in the air, the desire that pulsed between you almost tangible, as he brushed your nipple over your shirt. A gasp escaped your lips as he continued to tease you, each touch sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body.

You knew that this wasn't the wisest thing to do. You were both playing with fire and giving in to the temptation could only lead to more heartache. But you couldn't help yourself, not when your body was coming alive with the familiarity of his touch, not when you knew that this might be the last time you could feel him as close.

So when his hand slipped further down, tracing a path over your stomach, past your legs, you let him. The anticipation built within you as his touch hiked up your skirt, your breath catching in your throat. And when the rough pad of his fingers ghosted over the material of your panties, you found yourself instinctively spreading your legs apart, inviting him closer.

As the first electric surge rushes through you, the smallest of breaths escapes your lips, signaling the release of the tension you had been holding in your lungs. Your hands found purchase against his shoulders, nails digging into his t-shirt tightly as you felt him pressing onto your folds.

You both stared at each other, a silent exchange of emotions passing between you. There were so many emotions in his—sadness, frustration, and a burning desire that mirrored your own. And yet, despite the turmoil that raged within him, you found yourself unable to look away, drawn in by the intensity of his gaze.

As his hand worked its magic between your thighs, you felt yourself growing wetter by the minute, desire pooling low in your belly. And then, with a sense of purpose, he pulled his hand away, his fingers deftly finding the band of your panties as he coaxed the thin material down your legs.

How did he manage to bring himself into this situation again? It was a familiar pattern, one that he had promised himself he would break, and yet, here he was, like a moth to a flame, irresistibly drawn to you.

Or perhaps it was more like you were a precious flower, delicate and beautiful, and he was drawn to you like a bee to nectar, unable to resist the sweet temptation that you offered.

Whatever the reason, he knew that he couldn't stay away from you. With trembling hands, he buried his fingers between your thighs once more, finally touching your bare, slick skin. The slickness of your arousal coated his fingers as he explored every inch of your delicate folds, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

And then, unable to resist any longer, he pressed a single finger inside your entrance, the sensation causing you to gasp in pleasure. He moved slowly at first, savoring the feeling of your tightness enveloping him, before picking up the pace, his movements becoming more urgent and desperate with each passing moment.

"Please," you muttered, gulping and concentrating on the feeling of him slowly pumping his single digit in and out of your tightening, dripping walls.

But what were you begging for? For him not to stop? Or for him not to let you go? Maybe both, and for now, the only thing he could do was give you the pleasure you so desperately craved.

He could feel the tension building within you, the way your body arched and trembled. And as he continued to pleasure you, he made a silent vow to himself—to give you everything he could at this moment, to make you feel alive and wanted, even if it was just for a fleeting moment.

So he continued to move his finger inside you, and as he felt you drawing closer to the edge, he knew that he couldn't stop now. His thumb found your clit, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from your lips as he applied gentle pressure. Then with a sense of urgency, he plunged another finger deep inside you, stretching you in the most delicious way possible.

Your grip on his shirt tightened, your nails digging into the fabric as you clung to him desperately. "Pl-Please," you begged, heavy eyes searching for his own. "Please don't leave me."

His heart clenched at the raw vulnerability in your voice, the depth of emotion written plainly across your face. He couldn't bear to look at you any further, so he buried his face in the crook of your neck, pressing tender kisses against your skin as his fingers continued their fast-paced rhythm.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice filled with anguish. "I'm so sorry."

His words were barely audible over the sound of your ragged breaths, but you heard him clearly, and a loud moan ripped out of you. This was the cruelest form of rejection; to find pleasure in his touch only to be denied the warmth of his affection. You wanted to push him away, to scream at him for playing with your emotions, for making you believe there was something more. But as his fingers continued their relentless assault on your senses, driving you ever closer to the edge of ecstasy, you found yourself unable to resist.

So you surrendered to him completely, because all that mattered was here and now—the ache between your legs, his lips worshiping your body, and the undeniable connection that bound you together, even as the world threatened to tear you apart.

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid angst

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wifeyoozi · 7 months ago

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Lee jihoon - Popsicles for dessert

w.c : 1.5 k ┊ synopsis : jihoon's tired of all the pink underwear teasing and shows you he doesn't wear one┊ content warning : smut , bestfriends to lovers kinda , blowjobs , big dick jihoon , really big dick jihoon

a/n : aka the prompt ask y'all had been waiting for is finally here. Crack and smut.

It's all because Soonyoung.

He started it.

The whole pink underwear drama. Jihoon, for the fact, does NOT wear pink underwear. Maybe he wore them once for the sake of one of his ex’s kinks. But he doesn't own pink underwear. There's black and there's dark grey and there's dark blue. A red one for when he's feeling extra freaky. Nothing pink.

And yet all of this fuss and teasing. And it was still bearable when it was just the boys teasing him.

But then you caught on that inner joke. Well, more specifically, soonyoung told you. On purpose. Knowing how big of a crush Jihoon had on you, his best friend. And you found that funny too. And then you started teasing him about it. And he's so embarrassed.

And today it happened again. You two were just discussing your lives lately, and you told Jihoon about all the new make up you bought recently and how much you love that pink lipstick you got from your favourite brand. A sudden shit-eating grin spread across your face and Jihoon instantly knew where this was headed to.

“You know, Jihoon, what else is pink”

Jihoon groaned, “oh my god, not you too! Not again!"

You giggled at his reaction, “your underwear Jihoon! You wear pink underwear, don't you? Little pink panties?”

Jihoon groaned, burying his face in the throw pillow on the couch. As you continued teasing him, he snapped.

“God, y/n, I don't wear pink underwear,” he whined loudly, suddenly standing up, “should I show you or something?”

Your eyebrows quirked. “Why not, show me the proof.” There was a glint of mischief in your eyes. Jihoon should have known this was a bad idea. But he was tired of all the teasing already. He hastily untied the knots of his grey sweatpants and pulled them down to his thighs, revealing his slick black Calvin Klein boxer briefs.

Your eyes widened. And the colour of his underwear wasn't the reason. It was the big bulge at his crotch which you couldn't take your eyes off. Your mouth watered at the sight. “God, Jihoon,” you were speechless.

Suddenly shy again, Jihoon attempts to pull his pants back up, but you stop him, your hand on top of his as you move closer. He definitely has a really big dick hidden in there for the bulge to be that big.. And he wasn't even hard. Well, yet.

Your free hand moves and cups his crotch. Jihoon flinches but doesn't push you away. Instead, a soft moan leaves his throat before he could think. “Y/n what are you-”

“What fucking monster kind of dick you have in store here, Hoonie,” you can feel his dick come alive under your hand, the bulge growing as if it wasn't massive already. You palm him through his boxers. His hands fly to hold your wrist, stopping you. He really will just cum already if you keep doing that. You look up at him with a pout.

“I want it,” you demanded, as if you were a little girl asking for candy or ice cream. Not able to hold himself back, his hand briefly looses over yours and you take the opportunity to instantly pull down his boxers, freeing his cock as it springs up, hard under your attention.

“Oh my god, hoonie, it's so pretty,” you say, taking Jihoon's cock in your hand, examining it as though it was your first time seeing one. It was a pretty thing indeed, thick and long and only slightly darker than his fair face. It was a pretty shade of pink at the top and the purple veins prodded throughout the length. Its shape was just perfect, not too wonky or long and drippy or ugly. It was the kind of dick every girl sees in her dreams and every artist draws for their characters.

Jihoon, on the other hand, was trembling. Two minutes ago, you two were bickering. Now you had his dick in your hand. A shudder passed through his spine and he let out a whine as your tongue suddenly lapped over his head. “Y/n, you-”

“Shh, baby, sit down on the couch. I cannot stop myself from tasting this cock.” It was like you were hypnotised by his cock and he by you. He sat on the couch, his underwear and sweatpants pooled at his ankles. He opened his legs wide, giving you space to kneel in between as you take hold of his cock again.

You lick over the length again, dragging your tongue along the veins, making Jihoon moan and groan and grab a fist of your hair. You loved when he pulled, the sting making your panties damp. You take the tip in your mouth whole sucking on it slowly.

You try to take his dick deeper in your mouth, holding your breath as you do, before his cockhead touches the back of your throat, and it's just half way there. You forced your gag reflex to soften as you took him as deep as you can, wrapping your hand around the rest of it. You suck on it, hollowing your cheeks, feeling encouraged by all of the filthiest noises you head jihoon make.

His hands grab your head, not pushing or pulling, but just holding it as a support as you commit yourself to giving the best blowjob you might have ever given. Your pussy feels so wet at the thought of taking this monstrosity in it. You can't take him today. You're gonna need training for it. But jihoon will help you stretch out for him. And then he'll fuck you till you can't think about anything other than his dick and how well it's fucking you. Your clit throbs. God, you're so cockdrunk over him.

Your other hands come to play with jihoon's balls, who seem big and heavy from his cum. He's close already, you can tell. So you suck on it till he's cumming down your throat with a whiny shudder, his hips tutting up in your mouth reflexively. You drink in all of his cum, the bitter-sweet malty taste making you only want more.

Jihoon's panting. He just recieved what would be the best blowjob of his life. God, you should be put in a porn film with skill like that. His head falls back, catching a breath, as you climb on his lap, giggling as you lean in to kiss him. It's messy and wet and filthy, but he loves it. He could still taste himself on you. He wraps his arms around your waist.

It's all because of Soonyoung.

He started the pink underwear rumours, spread it to you, had you tease him and it led to this. He's thankful to his best friend for it, but he wouldn't say it. He might write a nice song for him though as a thank you.

#svt #svthub #ceecee sees #seventeen #svt smut #svt x reader #woozi #woozi x reader #seventeen smut #woozi smut #jihoon #lee jihoon #jihoon smut #lee jihoon smut #his underwear isnt pink but his dick sure is #after that clip from the latest gose i couldnt hold myself back #this was so funny to write i loved it

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iguana-braces · 2 months ago

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That sub!Jayce post really popped off, huh?

Ehehe okay here's my rambly thoughts about it (I'm literally sitting at work clocked out writing this instead of going home because THOUGHTS)

Building my theory off of this post:

And this one with all the examples of how Jayce's love language is clearly physical touch

*Disclaimer: there's a lot about season 2 that irked me in terms of plot and characterization so this is me retconning a little bit and picking and choosing what examples make the most cohesive argument. Like, in season one they're like "Jayce has this brotherly relationship with Caitlyn and him and Mel have this deep, meaningful relationship" and then season two was like "No more relationship building, it's time for trauma now" but, I digress*

First things first, he's a people pleaser. He does what he's told, clearly (against better judgment but like). And he's clearly committed to the people he cares about. HE BROUGHT VIKTOR BACK FROM THE DEAD (AND THEN KILLED HIM) AND THEN DIED WITH HIM AGAIN. You can't tell me that wouldn't translate to an "I'll do anything for you" attitude in the bedroom too.

I already did the bed gif but I also have to draw attention to the following:

Okay but season two, post-horrors!

Mr. Dopey Heart-Eyes McGee is NOT the one calling the shots here.

Season one Jayce? That man is whipped. One glance from his partner and he's on his knees like it's a religion. Whoever you ship him with! Mel, Viktor, both, a secret fourth option--

He spent an indeterminate amount of time alone, in the bottom of a pit. He's touch-starved but also! Traumatized!

Imagine, if you will, that he survives the astral plane. Imagine he goes to find Mel, or Viktor also survives, or imagine your own y/n, OC insert scenario here. Whatever floats your boat.

In such scenario, and in the aftermath of his self-awareness epiphany where he realizes that yeah, he's kinda been used (by everyone really), I think that in regards to any potential sexual relationship, he would have to become more dominant, more in control of the situation. Especially if it's with Mel, since he does pointedly blame her, or even Viktor, who has literally shaped the course of Jayce's entire life since he was a child. The man needs to set some boundaries with people and good for him.

So I think dominant, scruffy Jayce does have a time and a place.

However, I don't think he'd stay that way forever. It's kinda like him trying to be a politician-- it's a different role that he can pull off, but it doesn't fully scratch his itch.

BONUS HEADCANON: Wouldn't it be just so interesting if he survived the astral plane and goes back to whoever, and while he's looking for comfort and reassurance and all that physical contact he's been deprived of, he realizes that he really doesn't like people touching his head.

I hypothesize that in regards to canon relationships, Mel and/or Viktor, once they regain his trust and show that they're not trying to use him again, he's 100% going to be simping for them even worse than before. Like, that relationship would've gone through the fire and only come out stronger on the other side. You might even say it's been vulcanized.... 🤭

From the on, he can go back to letting his walls down around them and letting them be the dominant one because he knows there's solid trust and respect there now.

Feel free to agree or disagree 🤷‍♀️ also please feel free to tell me all your thots about this too!!!

He's got all this beautiful hair that needs to be tenderly pushed away from his eyes by a loving hand, but he's a little fucked up from the times Mannequin/Mage Viktor did that little murder mind meld.

Like, he put his head in Mel's lap TWICE, you know it would kill the man if he couldn't do that anymore because having someone's hands near his forehead is too reminiscent of... well, basically his death.

#jayce talis #arcane #arcane spoilers #viktor arcane #mel medarda #jayvik #jaymel #Jaymelvik #meljayvik #arcane headcanon #meljay

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vamptizm · 1 month ago

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iv. MISSION JEALOUSY — p. bueckers

pairing : paige bueckers x clover amar (oc)

synopsis : in which paige bueckers and clover amar, two uconn wbb stars, have an ongoing mission of making each other jealous and outdoing the other.

warnings : hannah hidalgo :/ homophobia. a slur being dropped. that’s all i think?

word count : 4.8k

note : was gonna add smut to this but honestly it’s taking me sooo long and it’d make the chapter too long for my taste so i got y’all next update fr. (on my subby/switch paige shit so.. yeah)

series masterlist

The air inside the Gampel Pavilion buzzed with anticipation. Less than thirty minutes remained before the Huskies tipped off against Notre Dame, and the team was deep into warm-ups. The rhythmic thud of basketballs echoed through the court as sneakers squeaked against polished hardwood. Paige moved through the motions, though her mind was far from the game.

She stole a glance at Clover, who was stretching just a few feet away. Clover wasn't looking at her—of course she wasn't—but Paige found her gaze lingering for a moment too long. She wasn't jealous, not at all. What was there to be jealous about? Clover could do whatever—or whoever—she wanted. Paige certainly didn't care. Her jaw tightened as she shook the thought away, forcing her focus back to her shooting drills.

‘It wasn't jealousy,’ Paige told herself for what felt like the hundredth time since last night. It's annoyance. Irritation. Frustration. The memory of Clover's smug grin from the night before burned in her mind, unshakable. Paige had spent the night tossing and turning, her thoughts spinning with images she refused to acknowledge. Clover and that waitress, the blanket slipping over bare shoulders, the tattoos curling over Clover's arms like whispers of secrets Paige didn't want to think about.

She dribbled the ball harder than necessary. It wasn't like she hadn't had someone in her bed just hours before the game. What bothered her was that Clover hadn't been there to see it. Not that it mattered. It didn't matter if Clover cared—or didn't.

Paige released a long breath, sinking her next shot with a little more effort than usual. The team's warm-ups were nearly over, the energy building as the crowd filled the arena. Just as she began to head toward the tunnel with the rest of the Huskies, a familiar figure caught her attention near the student section.

Clover was standing there, her back to the court, chatting with a group of girls. Their laughter rang out, light and teasing, as they leaned in closer to Clover's confident stance. Paige felt her teeth clench. Clover's charm was effortless, her natural charisma always drawing people in. The way the girls giggled at whatever she was saying only grated on Paige's nerves further, though she couldn't for the life of her understand why.

The team was already halfway to the tunnel when Paige called out, loud enough for the entire court to hear. "C'mon, Amar! You can chit-chat with your fans later!"

The laughter from the student section died down as Clover turned her head, her smile fading into an annoyed scowl. She rolled her eyes, muttering something to the girls before giving them a quick parting smile and jogging back toward the team.

As she passed Paige, Clover didn't even glance her way. Paige's irritation only deepened, her jaw tightening as Clover breezed past, all casual confidence and deliberate indifference.

Once she reached Nika and Jana, Clover grumbled something in Arabic under her breath, her tone dripping with frustration. "I swear to god, she's lucky I don't like to make a scene in front of everyone."

Jana chuckled softly, clearly catching the gist of it, while Nika looked puzzled, though she didn't get the chance to ask for translations before the team was ushered into the tunnel for their entrance.

Jogging out onto the court, Paige fell into the familiar rhythm of the pre-game show. She slapped hands with fans lining the sideline, her game face firmly in place, though her mind still wandered back to Clover. She sat on the bench as the starting lineup was called, her focus sharpening despite the lingering tension from earlier. It was Paige, Nika, Azzi, Aaliyah and lastly Clover as the starting five.

Clover was the last player introduced, wearing her number seven jersey like a badge of honor. She waved confidently to the roaring crowd, her makeup perfectly subtle and the bright lights illuminating the ink on her subtly toned arms. Paige felt her gaze drawn to Clover again, even as she tried to convince herself otherwise. Clover Amar was truly magnetic, and everyone in the pavilion seemed to agree.

Clover made her way back to the bench, high-fiving and dapping up her teammates as she went. When she reached Paige, the usual cocky smirk was gone, replaced by a more subdued expression. Paige hesitated for a split second before returning the gesture. In that moment, the rivalry that consumed them off the court melted away, replaced by a shared determination to win.

But as they settled into the game, Paige couldn't shake the flicker of jealousy that lingered, buried deep beneath her competitive exterior.

And Clover? She could feel Paige's gaze, even if the blonde refused to admit it. A small, private smirk tugged at her lips as she refocused on the court. She always came out on top, after all.

The moment the buzzer echoed through the arena, Clover was in motion, laser-focused on the ball soaring through the air. She leapt, snagging it with ease before sprinting down the court. Her movements were fluid, practiced, and confident. A quick step to the left, a light jump, and she laid the ball into the basket, securing the first two points for UConn within the first ten seconds of the game.

Jogging back, she allowed herself a small grin, slapping hands with Azzi as they regrouped on defense. The crowd roared, the game already electric with intensity.

Six minutes in, the energy hadn't let up. UConn was clinging to a one-point lead, and every possession felt critical. Clover was open in the corner, her position perfect. She waved her arms at Paige, who was caught in the middle of Notre Dame's suffocating defense.

"Paige!" Clover shouted, her voice cutting through the noise. She was wide open, but Paige didn't even glance her way.

Instead, the blonde pivoted, determined to take the shot herself despite the two defenders closing in on her. Paige jumped, aiming for a mid-range shot, but Notre Dame's forward was quicker. The ball was swatted out of the air, stolen in an instant. The break was fast, the Notre Dame player sprinting down the court and sinking a clean three-pointer before UConn could react.

Clover froze for a moment, her frustration boiling to the surface. She wanted to throw her arms up, shout at Paige, demand to know what she was thinking. But she knew better than to cause a scene mid-game. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to jog back down the court, her hands clenched into fists.

By the time the buzzer signaled the end of the first quarter, UConn had fallen behind by three points. The team trudged toward the bench, sweat gleaming on their faces. Paige was visibly fuming, her jaw tight and her eyes narrowed. Nothing about her game was clicking tonight. She wasn't moving the way she usually did, wasn't landing her shots with her typical ease.

Clover, on the other hand, was trying to calm her own annoyance. She plopped down on the bench, grabbing her water bottle and downing it in a few gulps. Her chest rose and fell with deep breaths as she fought to shake off the frustration of being ignored on the court. She wouldn't let Paige's stubbornness ruin her focus.

Geno's voice boomed as the team gathered around, his sharp eyes scanning the group. He jabbed his marker against the whiteboard, drawing out a new play with quick, decisive strokes.

"Paige," he barked, his tone leaving no room for argument, "if you don't start passing that goddamn ball to Clover, you're running suicides after this game. Got it?"

The huddle was silent, the players exchanging wary glances. Clover bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, but a small, amused grin still tugged at her lips. She didn't even try to hide it, leaning back slightly as she sipped from her water bottle.

Paige noticed immediately. Her blue eyes darted to Clover's face, catching the smirk before the brunette could wipe it away. Clover didn't say a word, but the message in her expression was clear: ‘Serves you right’

Paige rolled her eyes, but the faint pink rising in her cheeks betrayed her irritation. She looked away quickly, focusing on the whiteboard and ignoring the way her chest tightened every time she caught that smug grin from the corner of her eye.

The team clapped their hands in unison, signaling the end of the huddle as they prepared to head back out for the second quarter. Clover didn't say anything to Paige, didn't need to. She just jogged onto the court, her smirk still lingering as she lined up for the second quarter.

Paige had told herself she'd get it together. Play fair. Stick to the plan. She'd even taken a deep breath before stepping back onto the court, but her resolve shattered within moments.

Her gaze wandered, drawn to the roar of the student section. The fans were on their feet, waving signs and shouting chants, but one particular poster stopped her dead in her tracks.

‘Clover is our lucky charm!’ it read in bold letters, the name replaced with a carefully drawn four-leaf clover and a dark blue ‘#7’

Of course, it's her. The girl Clover had been hooking up with.

Paige gritted her teeth, wondering how none of them had noticed her—or that sign—until now. The sight made her stomach twist, though she couldn't quite pinpoint why.

Aubrey was the first to notice, nudging Clover sharply with her elbow. "Look, Clo. It's your girlfriend," she teased, her grin wicked as she nodded toward the shorter blonde in the stands.

Clover turned her attention to the sign, her jaw tightening as a shiver ran down her spine. She wasn't exactly thrilled about the grand gesture. It was sweet, sure, but also unexpected and, frankly, off-putting. Her memory of the girl—whose name she seemed to forget every other hour—didn't include this level of commitment.

"Shut up," Clover muttered under her breath. "I don't do girlfriends." But even as she dismissed the idea, she shot the girl her trademark charming smile, hoping to keep things light.

The waitress beamed back, completely oblivious to Clover's internal cringe.

Paige caught the exchange and, to her surprise, felt a faint flicker of relief at Clover's clarification. But the flirtatious smile Clover had thrown at the blonde? That sent a different kind of twist through her gut, undoing any momentary comfort.

When the game resumed, Paige's frustration bubbled dangerously close to the surface. She wanted to play better, to prove she wasn't shaken by something as stupid as a sign. But her irritation spilled over into her play, and it didn't take long for Clover to notice.

Whenever Paige had the ball, she either forced shots or passed it off to anyone except Clover. And every missed opportunity gnawed at Clover's patience.

Paige attempted another contested jumper, and once again, the ball didn't even come close to sinking. Notre Dame snatched the rebound, and Clover's restraint snapped. As she jogged back, she passed Paige with a glare sharp enough to cut.

"If you're gonna hog the fucking ball," Clover hissed venomously, "at least make sure it goes in."

Paige barely had time to process the sting of Clover's words before the ball was back in play. Notre Dame's Hannah Hidalgo received the inbound pass, but Clover was already one step ahead. She lunged, intercepting the ball with a burst of speed that sent the crowd into a frenzy.

Dribbling down the court, Clover moved like she was on fire, weaving past the slower defenders. She paused just outside the three-point line, her instincts sharp and her movements confident. The ball left her hands in a perfect arc, and the net barely moved as it swished through.

The scoreboard lit up, and the gap between the teams narrowed, but Clover didn't stop to celebrate. She jogged back down the court, her focus entirely on the next play. She wouldn't waste time with tacky antics like Hidalgo, who seemed to cheer herself on after every shot.

Paige, however, lingered a second too long, watching Clover with a mix of frustration and something uncomfortably close to admiration. She clenched her fists, her chest tightening as she forced herself to refocus. This wasn't about Clover—or whatever storm of emotions that sign had kicked up. This was about the game.

‘Get it together, Paige,’ she thought bitterly. But as her eyes drifted back to Clover, the determination she tried to muster kept slipping through her fingers.

The second quarter had been a disaster. Missed shots. Airballs. Awful foul calls. Notre Dame was practically being handed free throws, and the sheer frequency of it felt almost rigged. Every whistle sent another surge of frustration through the team, but none more so than Clover.

When the buzzer sounded for halftime, Clover's glare shot up to the scoreboard: 34-45. Her fists clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms. She didn't care about the sting; the anger bubbling inside her made it impossible to focus on anything else. She wanted to scream, maybe even throw something, but instead, she swallowed the rage, holding it in her chest like a ticking bomb. She hated losing—more than anything.

The locker room was no refuge. As soon as the team entered, Clover dropped onto a bench, gripping her water bottle so tightly it looked like she might crush it. She didn't bother speaking, her body language screaming for everyone to keep their distance. The team, well aware of her temper, complied.

Clover Amar's temper was no secret. She'd heard it countless times: ‘You've got to rein it in,’ they'd say. ‘Control yourself.’ But right now? She didn't want to.

Geno's booming voice tore through the room like a thunderstorm. His words were relentless, ricocheting off the walls and into every player's ears. CD stood beside him, arms crossed and nodding in firm agreement.

"You're playing like a bunch of amateurs," Geno growled, his tone like gravel. "Is this how you want to be remembered? By playing like imbeciles?"

No one dared to respond, their silence only fueling his fury. He stalked across the room, barking instructions, correcting plays, and assigning positions for the next half.

"And you," he snapped suddenly, his eyes locking on Paige.

Paige straightened reflexively, her shoulders stiff as Geno marched closer.

"What do you think you're doing out there?" His tone was sharp enough to cut glass.

"I—" Paige started, but no words followed.

"Exactly. You're not thinking," Geno barked, his face hard with disappointment. "You're sitting out the first half of the third quarter. And if you don't start passing that ball when you're back on, you'll be benched for the rest of the game. Got it?"

Paige's cheeks flushed red, a mix of embarrassment and simmering anger coursing through her. She forced herself to nod, biting her tongue against the retort burning on her lips.

Her gaze flicked to Clover, who hadn't even spared her a glance. Instead, the fiery brunette sat with her head bowed, steam practically rising off her skin. Paige's jaw tightened, heat building behind her eyes as she sat in silent fury, as if Clover's frustration was somehow her fault.

Geno stormed out not long after, leaving the team to recover and regroup. The air was thick with tension, every breath heavy. As they trickled back toward the tunnel with a couple of minutes left before the third quarter, Clover hung back. She had other plans.

She grabbed Paige's arm without warning, her grip firm and unrelenting as she dragged the blonde a few feet away from prying eyes and ears. Paige's body stiffened immediately, her posture defensive, but she didn't pull away.

Clover spun her around, her expression livid. "I don't know what the fuck your issue is, but I swear to god, if you don't leave that shit off the court—"

Paige yanked her arm free, cutting Clover off. "Then what? What are you gonna do?" Her voice was sharp, defiant, but her breathing quickened.

Clover's jaw tightened, her teeth grinding together so hard it hurt. Before she could think, her hands shot up, gripping the collar of Paige's jersey with an intensity that made the blonde freeze.

"Stop fucking playing with me, Bueckers," Clover hissed, her voice low and venomous. Her fingers curled tighter into the fabric. "Before I smack that attitude out of you." She leaned closer, their faces just inches apart, her fiery gaze locking with Paige's. "If you're the reason this team loses to our biggest rivals, do you think you'll be able to look any of them in the eye again?"

Paige stared back, her usual sharpness dulled by the proximity, the heat of Clover's words, the anger radiating off her in waves. She hated it—the way her brain scrambled, the way her chest tightened, the way Clover's touch sent an unexpected rush through her.

"No," Paige muttered, her voice quiet and uncertain. She sounded more like a scolded child than a college athlete.

Clover's gaze swept over her, taking in the flushed cheeks and tense posture. With a slight scoff, she released her grip, letting Paige's jersey fall back into place.

"Good." Clover's voice was firm, unwavering. She tapped Paige's cheek twice, condescending but not without purpose. "Now, when you get back on that goddamn court, I better not see you play like an idiot again."

And with that, Clover turned on her heel, leaving Paige standing there, stunned and silent.

The frustration in Paige's chest was still there, but now it mingled with something else. The tall blonde was undeniably turned on.

The second half of the game began with Paige seated on the bench, a towel draped around her shoulders. She watched the court intently, arms crossed, biceps flexing, though the tension in her posture betrayed her frustration. Geno had decided to actually go through with benching her, at least for the time being, to reassess how the game would unfold without her. Paige wasn't thrilled, but she trusted Geno's instincts, even if they stung her pride.

Her gaze flickered toward Clover, who was already moving fluidly up and down the court. Paige could tell immediately—something had changed. Clover played like a spark had been lit inside her, ignited during halftime. The hesitation from the first half was gone; Paige wasn't there to hold her back anymore, she was unafraid to go for deep three-pointers whenever the opportunity presented itself. Her confidence radiated, and for once, Paige wasn't actively critiquing her every move in her head.

Clover wasn't just good—she was unstoppable. Notre Dame's defense couldn't seem to keep up with her. Even Paige, reluctant to admit when someone else stole the spotlight, felt the flicker of a grudging pride watching her teammate dominate. She always knew that Clover could carry the team in ways Paige hated to applaud, even if it was in her head.

Six minutes into the third quarter, UConn trailed by only two points, the score 49-51. The Huskies had clawed their way back, thanks in large part to Clover's determination. It was almost poetic, Paige thought, how much better Clover performed without her there to get in the way.

Then it happened.

Clover moved with precision, intercepting another pass meant for Hannah Hidalgo and knocking the ball cleanly out of her possession. Paige's focus sharpened as she watched Clover pivot and send the ball sailing toward Aaliyah, who sprinted for an easy layup. The crowd roared, and Paige allowed herself a small, satisfied nod. But the celebration was short-lived.

Hannah caught the rebound as it fell into her hands and charged back down the court. Clover was already on her, sticking close, her defense tight. Paige knew how competitive Hidalgo was, knew she hated being shown up. And Clover, so naturally irritating just by existing, had clearly pushed her over the edge.

The words were quiet, barely audible beneath the buzz of the crowd and the squeak of sneakers on hardwood, but Clover heard them as clearly as the girl spitting them.

"Fucking dyke."

Hannah's voice dripped with venom, her expression smug as she threw a shoulder into Clover's path, causing her to lose balance, stumble and trip backwards. Clover hit the court, her palms slapping against the floor to catch herself.

Paige's stomach dropped, a small flame immediately igniting to life inside her chest. Clover pushed herself up quickly, but her face was a storm of fury. She stalked toward Hannah, her movements tense, her fists clenched at her sides.

"The fuck did you just say to me?" Clover spat, her voice sharp enough to cut through the noise in the arena. Her eyes blazed, her entire body practically vibrating with rage.

Before Clover could get any closer, Aaliyah and Nika were there, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her back, their words a quiet blur of attempts to calm her down. Hannah just stood there, unfazed, watching Clover's reaction with a smug smirk.

The whistle blew, and to Paige's disgust, the refs didn't call a foul on Hannah. Instead, a technical foul was issued against Clover for the altercation.

Paige was on her feet before she realized it, her towel falling from her shoulders as Geno called a timeout. The team gathered on the sidelines, and Geno immediately pulled Clover out of the game. She sat on the bench, still seething, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she struggled to calm down. Paige stood nearby, watching her with a mix of frustration and concern.

"Can you control your goddamn temper for once, Amar?" Paige snapped, her voice low and cutting as she looked down at the girl, shaking her head. She wasn't sure why she said it—it was instinct, the same dynamic they always had. But the words felt wrong the moment they left her mouth.

Clover's head shot up, her eyes burning with a fury that nearly matched what she'd shown on the court. "This isn't about temper," she hissed through gritted teeth. "That vertically challenged leprechaun just called me a fucking dyke."

Paige froze. Her world seemed to tilt for a moment as the weight of Clover's words hit her.

"Come again?" she said, her voice sharp but quieter now. Her fists clenched tightly at her sides, nails digging into her palms as she processed what had just been said. The rage she'd felt earlier was nothing compared to what surged inside her now. Any irritation she'd felt toward Clover, any lingering frustrations from the past few weeks, vanished instantly.

No one had the right to speak to Clover like that. No one.

Her jaw tightened, and she turned her head slightly, glaring toward the Notre Dame bench where Hannah now sat. Paige's blood boiled. She wasn't used to feeling protective, not like this—not in a way that consumed her so completely. But the idea of someone hurting Clover, of targeting her so cruelly, was enough to make her see red.

For the first time in days, Paige didn't care about winning, losing, or whatever petty feud she and Clover had going on. The only thing she cared about now was making sure Hannah Hidalgo regretted ever stepping foot on the court.

As Geno barked instructions to the team, preparing to send Paige back in, she locked eyes with Clover. Her voice was steady but low, almost a promise.

"I'll handle her."

Clover raised a brow at her, surprised by the shift in Paige's tone. There was no teasing smirk, no playful jab. Just a quiet, unyielding determination. Paige turned away, stepping onto the court with a newfound purpose.

If she had to play 'dirty' to make her point, then so be it. No one messed with her team—not on Paige's watch.

The whistle blew, signaling the resumption of the game. Paige strode onto the court, her focus sharper than it had been all night. The noise of the crowd faded into the background as her gaze locked onto Hannah Hidalgo. The Notre Dame guard might have been fast and agile, but Paige had years of experience on her.

Every move Paige made was calculated, fueled by the fire burning in her chest. Her defense became suffocating, her presence impossible to ignore. Every time Hannah touched the ball, Paige was there, her hands in the way, forcing turnovers, drawing offensive fouls, and making Hidalgo visibly uncomfortable.

The crowd erupted as Paige stole the ball from Hannah and passed it to Azzi, who sank a clean jumper. Paige didn't celebrate—her eyes were glued to Hannah, whose smugness was beginning to waver.

"Not bad for a dyke, huh?" Paige muttered under her breath as they jogged back down the court.

But Hannah wasn't one to back down. She shoved Paige slightly as they crossed paths, earning her a warning glance from the refs. Paige smirked, her satisfaction growing. She didn't need to escalate things further—not yet.

Clover sat on the bench, her leg bouncing with restless energy. She hated not being on the court, hated feeling sidelined. But as she watched Paige systematically dismantle their game, something inside her shifted.

Paige was relentless. There was no pettiness, no grandstanding—just a raw, focused determination. It was a side of Paige Clover had rarely seen, one that made it impossible to look away. One that made her unconsciously press her thighs together.

For the first time in a while, Clover felt something other than irritation toward the blonde. Maybe it was gratitude, or maybe it was something deeper, something Clover wasn't ready to name. Either way, the sight of Paige defending her honor—however indirectly—sent a warmth through her chest and core, she hadn't expected.

By the time the fourth quarter began, UConn had pulled ahead, leading 65-60. Geno subbed Clover back in, and the energy on the court shifted once again.

Clover and Paige fell into an unspoken rhythm, their usual animosity replaced by a surprising cohesion. Paige started passing the ball to Clover without hesitation, setting her up for open shots and helping her navigate Notre Dame's aggressive defense.

It wasn't perfect—they still bickered during timeouts, their competitive streaks clashing over strategy. But on the court, they were unstoppable. Clover's sharpshooting combined with Paige's vision and defensive tenacity turned the game on its head.

With less than a minute on the clock, UConn led by three points. Notre Dame had possession, and Hannah had the ball. Paige didn't hesitate, closing in on her with suffocating pressure.

Hannah tried to fake left, but Paige anticipated the move, her hand darting out to tip the ball away. Clover was there in an instant, scooping up the loose ball and sprinting down the court. She didn't stop, weaving through defenders before leaping for a layup that sealed the game.

The buzzer sounded, and the arena erupted. UConn had won, 78-73.

Clover and Paige didn't immediately celebrate together—they weren't there yet. But as the team gathered at center court, Paige caught Clover's eye. There was no teasing smirk, no sharp comment—just a small nod of acknowledgment.

Clover returned it, her lips curving into the faintest of smiles.

In the locker room, the team celebrated their hard-fought victory, their earlier frustrations replaced by relief and camaraderie. Geno offered his usual gruff praise, and the players began to unwind.

Clover was at her locker, peeling off her jersey, when Paige approached.

"You played well," Paige said, her voice quieter than usual.

Clover looked up, surprised. Paige rarely gave compliments, and even when she did, they were usually laced with sarcasm. But this felt genuine.

"So did you," Clover replied, her tone softer than usual. She hesitated, then added, "Uhm... thanks. For earlier."

Paige shrugged, but her cheeks flushed slightly. "Nobody talks to you like that, except me." she said simply.

Clover scoffed with a faint smile. "How sweet. Guess there's hope for you yet, Bueckers."

Paige rolled her eyes, but there was no bite behind it. "Don't get used to it."

As she walked away, Clover couldn't help but watch her go, a small, curious smile playing on her lips.

Something had shifted between them. It wasn't forgiveness, and it certainly wasn't friendship—not yet. But it was something they supposed.

#⇢ ˗ˏˋ vamptizm writes ࿐ྂ #mission jealousy #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #uconn huskies

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thelostconsultant · 6 months ago

Text

Stay with me

pairing: Max Verstappen x shifter!reader

summary: The end of your agreement is getting closer, but Max doesn't want you to leave. You have your doubts about a relationship with him, so you want to go.

part two

There was a knock on your door, but not a single cell in your body wished to open it. You had been in your room for most part of the day, focusing on work instead of the quiet drama in this household, and so far it helped to avert your thoughts. Despite asking several times, you still didn't know why Max had been so grumpy lately.

He didn't even want you to sleep next to him, and sometimes he closed his door as a sign that you should keep out. So you locked yourself into your room and became a workaholic again, spending hours and hours doing the job you once loved so much. Because ever since you moved in, work became a nuisance, something you were expected to do.

He knocked again, and this time he didn't stay quiet. “I need to talk to you, could you come out?” he asked, his voice sounding strange. Sad, or maybe disappointed.

With a sigh, you went out to meet him in the awkward silence that settled between you the moment you stopped in front of him. He took a deep breath to prepare himself, then reached out to cup your cheek, his thumb absentmindedly drawing gentle circles.

“What will happen after the race?”

“I guess I'll move back home,” you replied quietly.

Max nodded as he nervously licked his lips. “And what if you didn't? Why don't you stay with me?” His voice was dripping with desperation, and his eyes were silently pleading to make you change your mind.

It was heartbreaking, partly because you hated seeing him like this, and partly because at the bottom of your heart you didn't want to leave him alone. But having no idea which you was the one he liked more made things complicated.

When he realized you weren't about to answer, he leaned closer to you, his gaze so intense you were afraid it would burn a hole in your head. “I love you. I need our evenings on the couch when you fall asleep next to me, and I need you there in my bed to sleep well. Stay with me and give me a chance to prove we would be good together. Please.”

You had to remind yourself that it's impossible to fully get to know someone after just a few weeks. Yes, you liked the version of him you spent time with, but it was just the two of you here. You didn't go out together, you didn't meet his friends, he stayed with you ninety percent of the time, and so you had no idea what you would have to face in the long run.

Your train of thought was interrupted when you felt his hand move to the back of your neck so he could pull you closer for a kiss, and when you automatically returned it, he pushed your back against the wall to trap you there. He was seemingly hell-bent on making you weak in the knees, even managing to get a lustful moan out of you when his fingers tightened around you throat a little.

Why did he have to make things hard for you? Why couldn't he let it go and look for someone else? Someone who would be more comfortable with the idea of living under a microscope thanks to him.

When he finally pulled away a little, you flashed a sad smile at him. “One last weekend, Max. That's all I can offer,” you told him. Did it hurt to say this? Sure. But you didn't want the changes in your life that he would bring around. You wanted to remain a normal girl, you wanted to be known for what you achieved, not for being the girlfriend of one of the best drivers of your time.

For long seconds he watched you in silence, but eventually he nodded and let go of you. “If you don't want to come with me, it’s okay. You can go home anytime,” he told you before heading to his room, leaving you there to think about whether or not it was a good idea.

You had known he was attracted to you since day one, after all he told you he wanted to kiss you back then. But you wanted to stay true to the agreement that brought you here, you didn't want complications, so you kept a certain distance as long as you could. He made it hard, but you managed quite well. Or so you thought.

Going with him after this conversation would have been awkward, you knew that. The only thing you could do now was packing your things and leaving as soon as you could, hoping he would be over you soon. He deserved to be happy, but he should be happy with someone else.

You: I guess you need some alone time so I don't want to bother you. But I'm leaving. Thanks for everything, and good luck for the weekend.

You put down your phone and went back to closing your suitcase, not expecting a response to your message. But then, a mere half a minute later, there was an unmistakable beep that filled the room.

Max: I'm not okay with you leaving and not coming with me after all, but fine, I'll respect your decision. I hope one day you'll tell me why you can't love me.

Did he really believe you couldn't love him? You decided to keep a distance, but it didn't mean you hadn't fallen in love with him along the way. With a groan, you left your suitcase behind and moved over to his room, knocking on the door and waiting for his response with your heart pounding fast in your chest. You heard his invitation, so you went inside and climbed into his bed without saying a word.

Max looked surprised, but he didn't say a word, only watched you patiently, waiting to see what your plan was. And you didn't stop, you climbed on top of him and leaned down to cup his face. “Don't you ever think that I can't love you. I do,” you told him softly before giving him a quick peck on the lips.

“Then why are you leaving?” he asked you hoarsely.

“Being with you would draw attention to me too every time people saw us together. I'm not ready for that,” you explained sadly as you began to place kisses along his jawline. If you were about to part, at least you could make your last evening together memorable.

Max captured your lips as his hands began to explore your body, and he apparently decided to take the lead from you when he flipped you around so he would be on top now. You expected him to say something, but the most you got was a deep growl when he slid his hand under your panties and felt how wet you were for him already.

Sex was great, but there was a chance of staying for good if you spent too much time in his arms, this is why you slowly peeled him off yourself and tried to get out of bed to collect your clothes. But he didn't let you, he just pulled you closer if that was even possible.

“You know I'd tell people who come after you to fuck off, right? I wouldn't let anyone make you sad,” he told you.

“I know.”

“Then stay. I'll protect you.”

You turned around to face him and he took this chance to kiss you again, making you giggle like some idiot. It was so tempting to agree, to stay here with him and enjoy the way he spoiled you with his attention. You let out a sigh as you watched him, your eyes exploring his face as if you were trying to memorize every little detail before leaving. Maybe that's what was happening. Maybe your brain had subconsciously already made this decision for you.

Max probably knew what you were thinking about, and his next words confirmed your suspicion. “We could have so many more nights like this. Just you and me, in the safety of our home. And you wouldn't have to come to every race weekend, only a few important ones if you felt like it,” he tried to convince you.

After a few seconds of silence, you reached for his hand to lace your fingers. “This is your home race this weekend. Must be important,” you began slowly, earning a nod from him, which was soon followed by a boyish smile. “If I receive one hateful comment, I'm out.”

“Noted,” Max said with a laugh before pulling you on top of him. You kissed him again, fingers tangled in his hair as you finally began to let yourself go. “I love you, kitten.”

You smiled at him as you rested your forehead against his, eyes locked the whole time. “I love you too, you maniac.”

#max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #formula 1 #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic

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sollis-occasum · 6 months ago

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you think i'm gone 'cause i left - anakin skywalker/darth vader x fem!jedi!reader (part 1 of 3)

summary: After failing to save you from a painful death, Darth Vader remembers his past with you and realizes why he can never completely leave Anakin Skywalker behind.

warnings: angst, no use of y/n, reconstructive surgery, blood, mentions of major character death (or not who knows), darth vader is his own warning

word count: 3.8k

a/n: First of all, I must say that English is not my native language. Also this is my first x reader format fanfiction. I'm pretty sure I made some mistakes but I hope you don't mind guys. I am always open to your suggestions ♡

part 2

Darth Vader, the master of the dark side of the Force, the legendary lord of the Sith, the tyrannical leader who terrorized the galaxy, remembered very well the moment when he swore to dedicate his worthless life to Lord Sidious, his lord and savior.

While his body, burned and torn apart by the lava, was trying to be fixed by the health droids, he was writhing in despair and moaning in a painful voice. The wave of pain spreading from his lungs to the rest of his body with each breath showed him a type of physical pain he had never experienced before, and even the cold metal hands touching his burned skin were insufficient to alleviate his pain.

"He should be unconscious by now," he heard a distant and very deep robotic voice, which he thought belonged to one of the medical droids. Yes, the pain he felt at that moment would be enough to kill another human being and maybe even drive them insane, and God knows that's what Anakin wanted with all his heart as he lay on the operating table screaming. But how could this be possible when he sees your lifeless body over and over again every time he closes his eyes?

In fact, he had calculated all the possibilities down to the smallest detail while making his plan. There was no war he wouldn't fight, no enemy he wouldn't face to create a future that included you. He was ready to turn his back on the entire galaxy just to see you smile one more time. Moreover, Palpatine had made a promise to him. He said that contrary to popular belief, it was possible to resist death and that he knew how to do it, and that he would help Anakin in trying to save you. All he had to do was accompany him to the dark side. Anakin had done everything he was told. He had given up on who he was, accepted the name his new master had given him, brutally executed separatist leaders, and led thousands of clone troopers in attacking the Jedi Temple he once called home. Even killing those little children who looked at him with admiration with the lightsaber they saw as a symbol of peace was not important to him. Of course, he wasn't proud of himself for betraying what he believed in in his past, but he also knew that what he did was a small price to pay to save you. So why didn't what he did work? Why couldn't he prevent the scene he had seen many times in his nightmares from happening?

He gripped the operating table tightly with his mechanical hand and mumbled your name in a voice only he could hear. He kept saying your name over and over again, as if he was drawing strength from you, as if you could come and save him if he said it enough times.

He closed his eyes tightly and tried to focus on something other than your pained facial expression and bloodied body. If he wanted to survive, if he wanted to rise up and take revenge for what was done to you, he had to find a way to endure the pain he suffered, and what was there in this life that gave him as much strength as you? He tried desperately to remember the moment you first met.

Nearly a month had passed since Qui Gon Jinn's death, and during this time his new master Obi Wan Kenobi had begun training him to become a Jedi. He was grateful for the opportunity given to him and did not want to be ungrateful. However, there were so many moments during his training that he despaired and wanted to return to Tatooine... First of all, Obi Wan Kenobi was not the person he imagined. Yes, it was an undeniable fact that he was a powerful Jedi. He was also smart, very smart. Anakin knew there was a lot of thing he could learn from him. However, it hadn't been long since he had ended his life as a padawan and Obi Wan had obviously not yet fully figured out how to be a good master for his young student. There was no distance or formality between them that there should be between a padawan and a master. They were more like two brothers who fought often. Obi Wan was pushing Anakin very hard to teach him basic things as soon as possible, and Anakin was always managing to drive Obi Wan crazy with his smarty-pants attitude.

He could also sense how the younglings at the temple felt about him as he began to learn how to use the force. Although none of them were directly mistreating him or making a rude remark, Anakin would sometimes catch their gaze. There was displeasure in those looks, obviously his presence disturbed them. A child who appears unexpectedly becomes a padawan without training in the temple and becomes the center of attention of the entire Jedi council... The other younglings must have felt unfair. But one day, he met a young girl who looked at him differently than others: You.

With your bright smile that could light up the whole galaxy and your compassionate gaze, you extended your hand to him and introduced yourself, telling him that he could always come to you if he needed anything. They said you were 9 years old like him, but it was so hard for him to believe it.

You were different from all the other children Anakin had met at the temple, with your confident demeanor and room-filling presence. Your surprisingly mature attitude and wisdom gave those who saw you the impression that you never made mistakes and that you always knew what was right, causing them to respect you.

Moreover, you were beautiful, very beautiful. Even your messy hair waving in the wind, your face dripping with sweat, and your loose-fitting uniform couldn't prevent Anakin from seeing this beauty. When his eyes met your beautiful, understanding eyes, he immediately looked away and wanted to run away. There was no doubt that you were the angel the pilots who came to Tatooine were talking about. However, he could not find the courage in his heart to admit this to himself or to tell you. He felt so small, so helpless in front of the being that he wanted to get away from it as soon as possible and think about what this warm feeling that filled his heart that he had never felt before was.

Yes, he wanted to run away from you when your eyes met. But ironically, this was the first time he didn't want to return to Tatooine to his mother.

For the 3 years after you met, you had no communication other than chance encounters at the temple and furtive glances at each other. Even a life form without eyes could easily understand that you wanted to be closer to each other, but you had neither the time nor the courage to do so. You were very busy with your studies. In the future, you wanted to be a female Jedi as respected as Shaak Ti, or even more so, and you were working very hard to achieve your goal. Anakin, on the other hand, began to go on missions given by the council with Obi Wan, and the difficulty of these missions was increasing. You were so close to Anakin, yet he felt like you were hundreds of light years away from him. You were unreachable to him.

Anakin heard that you were accepted as a padawan by Plo Koon when you turned 13. According to rumors in the temple, the Jedi knight from Dorin noticed your great potential and volunteered to train you. Maybe you weren't as good at using a lightsaber as the other padawans, you might not have been as strong or as durable, but you were smart, very smart. Your dangerously high intelligence level, combined with your composure, easily compensated for your other weaknesses, making you a promising Jedi knight candidate. Even the council had high hopes for you. That's why they didn't interfere with Plo Koon's training style and allowed him to take you out early on missions that could be considered at least partially dangerous.

It was thanks to one of these missions that you came together again. The Senate thought that a small newly established weapons factory on one of the republic's planets was making some irregularities and put pressure on the Jedi to resolve this situation. The council assigned you and Plo Koon to inspect this factory.

It didn't sound that difficult, actually. You would make a short journey to reach the planet in question, tour the factory, talk to the engineers, examine some documents and intimidate the managers.

What could go wrong with such a simple task? To be honest, you weren't known for being lucky, and as usual, trouble had found you.

Anakin and Obi-Wan didn't even need to contact Plo Koon to realize that the Senate was right about the factory producing weapons for Mandolorian terrorists. Less than a day after you arrived on the planet, you reached the council and reported that the factory was completely abandoned, saying that you were trapped and surrounded by thousands of droids and asked for help. The council also assigned Obi Wan and Anakin, who had returned from a mission to a nearby planet, to support Plo Koon and you. Anakin still remembered Mace Windu's explanation word by word when he explained the urgency of your situation to his master Obi-Wan. And how those words filled his little heart with fear.

"You must reach the weapons factory as soon as possible, Master Kenobi." Mace Windu said in a stern tone. "Or it might be too late to save them."

Even if these words had not been spoken, the more serious expression than ever on Mace Windu's face would have been more than enough for even the most primitive creature in the galaxy to understand the situation.

As the spaceship they were on made a sudden return to your planet by order of his master, Anakin was wondering why he was so worried about a girl he had only talked to a few times. While he could keep his cool even during missions where his own life was threatened, why did the idea of you in pain make his heart beat faster and his head spin? He was trying to breathe to calm down, but even his breathing was so irregular that Obi Wan felt the need to turn to him and reassure him that everything was okay. How could Anakin explain to his master that he was afraid for you, not himself? Would he understand if he told him?

While the young padawan was in these thoughts, the ship entered the atmosphere with a sudden jolt and landed near the factory. As the deafening noise of explosions and droid weapons filled his ears, he got off the ship and started running without waiting for his master's command. He could hear Obi-Wan calling to him to stop, but he didn't have the time or patience to wait. This was not a scene they were unfamiliar with anyway. When all this nonsense was over, he would happily hear Obi Wan's scolding and humbly accept his punishment, but right now wasn't the right time to think about that. The only thing that mattered at that moment was saving you, and he was going to do it no matter what it took. Because it was his heart, not his brain, that told him to do this, and Anakin was not mature enough to resist his heart. With a swift move, he pulled out his lightsaber and sliced the first droid he encountered in half.

When he heard the sound of your footsteps mixing with the sounds of the battle droids, he realized how close he was to them, but he didn't even slow down for fear of being late for you. He was destroying all the war machines in front of him, clearing the way and moving towards the direction where he sensed your presence.

When he and his master, who finally managed to catch up with him, arrived at the production facility where you were fighting the droids, he started looking around for you, without even bothering to check how Plo Koon was doing. Plo Koon was one of the most powerful Jedi, someone like him could survive without the help of a padawan, but not you. He could feel with all his being that you needed help, but no matter how much he looked around, he couldn't see you.

While Anakin was looking around the burning production facility to find you, he saw two silhouettes in the smoke. One of these silhouettes, the one leaning on the ground and cowering against a wall, belonged to a young girl. The other was the silhouette of an armed droid, as tall as a human but as skinny as a skeleton. Moreover, this droid's gun was pointed at you and was about to be fired. Anakin knew his feelings were not wrong. You were in a difficult situation and needed his help.

He was sure that he wanted to run towards you, save you by smashing that droid into thousands of pieces, and then kick its ugly metal head and throw it to the farthest corner of the galaxy. But he knew he didn't have time for that. So he did something even he didn't expect and threw his lightsaber towards you, hoping you could catch it in time. He knew that this move was madness. What kind of maniac would give up the only weapon he had among thousands of battle droids and leave himself defenseless? Especially if he doesn't know the other person well?

But Anakin had never regretted what he had done, not even for a moment. He saw you pull the thrown lightsaber with force and catch it, then slice the droid in half before he could fire to you. Yes, you were safe, but that safety was only for a brief moment. He had no time to relax, otherwise he knew you would be open to attacks from other droids. Without wasting any time, he followed the green lightsaber shining among the smoke and reached him. You were finally in front of him.

To be honest, your situation wasn't looking so bright. You were seriously injured and your body was covered in blood. Anakin had knelt down next to you and gently held your face between his fingers, afraid of hurting you even more. He could feel the warm drops of blood running down your face, flowing from his fingers to his wrists, but he didn't care about anything other than your safety at that moment. "Are you okay?" he asked, trying to hide how worried he was. Just by looking into your eyes, he could see how much the conflict you were experiencing had worn you out, but you put on a brave and determined expression and nodded, trying not to let the pain you were feeling reflected in your voice, "I'm fine." you muttered. "I'm fine, but I think my legs are stuck and I can't move them."

"Don't be afraid, I'll find a way to get you out of here."

He could see a shattering mass of metal pinning your legs. He took the lightsaber from your hand, carefully opened it, and held it up to the metal plate. "I'll try not to cut off your legs," he said, trying to smile to calm you down, and then added. "At least one of them."

You must have liked Anakin's little joke, too, because your lips turned slightly to the side despite your helpless situation. "Don't worry." you said, laughing. "They will break off on their own anyway, even if you don't cut them."

After receiving a sarcastic approval from you, he began to cut and separate the metal pieces with great patience. He made every move carefully and attentively, afraid of hurting you. When your legs were finally free, he took a deep breath and looked at your face again.

"It's not safe here. We have to get out of here."

"But my master is still fighting." Even though you tried to object, Anakin did not accept it. "He can take care of himself, and the support sent by the council is on the way."

His tone and expression were so determined that you gave up and surrendered to Anakin. You didn't have the strength to resist even if you wanted to. He wrapped his arms tightly around your body, stood up and started walking towards the factory exit. To be honest, you were a little heavier than you looked, and your blood was staining his clothes, but as long as you could rest your head on his chest and he could feel the warmth of your body, nothing else mattered.

Your next meeting was in the infirmary at the Jedi temple. 3 days had passed after your unfortunate duty at the factory and you had just regained your consciousness. During this time, Anakin began to help Jocasta Nu in the archives, upon his master's orders. It could not be said that he was very happy with his situation, but he still considered himself lucky that the punishment for his disobedience during duty was so small. Besides, even though organizing the archives was a tedious task, it kept his mind busy, and he definitely needed it.

Every moment he wasn't busy with something, he was thinking about you and what happened at the factory that day and trying to make sense of what he was feeling. That strange feeling that he thought he had forgotten years ago was back. Why did his heart beat faster and his face turn red every time he thought of you? Were these normal? His master had told him that a Jedi should not become attached to anything, but he should also be compassionate. Anakin could not understand this contrast. He was also afraid of being attached to you. But this was very illogical. Could one person become so attached to another person in such a short time? All these questions confused little Anakin more than ever. Finally, he realized that he could not bear these questions any longer and decided to visit you in the infirmary at the end of the 3rd day. Besides, he also had something that belonged to you, and he had to return it to you as soon as possible.

When he came to you, he saw that you were much more cheerful than he expected. You still looked very weak and you were obviously going to be in the infirmary for a while longer. Still, without letting this demoralize you, you were patiently waiting for your recovery, and in the meantime, you were trying to pass the time by reading the war history texts you took from the archive.

Still, you smiled so widely when you saw Anakin that he was convinced you were glad to see him, too. Trying to suppress the uncomfortable feeling he felt in his stomach, he put on a confident expression and quickly walked over and sat on your bed.

"You look better." he said with the light of hope appearing in his eyes.

You smiled warmly at him. "Thank you, Anakin." you said. "I feel better too."

After a brief hesitation, he pulled a lightsaber from under his cloak and handed it to you, "I think this is yours." he said. "I found it at the factory."

Just seeing the familiar blue color of the lightsaber brought peace to your soul. You happily took the saber from Anakin's hand and began to examine it. "God, thank you so much Anakin. I thought I had lost it."

"My master always tells me that the lightsaber is a Jedi's life and they must protect it at all costs."

Even though you lost your lightsaber for reasons beyond your control, what Anakin said made you a little embarrassed. "Of course, I'm not trying to justify my irresponsibility, but what happened that day was unexpected. I must have dropped it during that chaos."

"To be honest, I've lost my lightsaber too many times."

The confession of the padawan in front of you made you smile a little. Actually, what you should have done was to politely thank Anakin for saving your life, and when the time comes, pay him back at all costs. However, owing your life to him placed such a heavy burden on your shoulders that you felt crushed under this weight, no matter how humble the attitude of the boy in front of you. Before you even thought, the words were coming out of your mouth. "Master Kenobi says that our lightsaber is our life, right? So, according to the master's logic, you entrusted your life to me in the factory, and you also saved mine by finding my lightsaber."

Anakin looked at you in surprise, not knowing what to say at your words. Yes, your reasoning based on his master's words was correct, however, he did not expect you to approach the subject from this perspective. Fortunately, you continued talking without a long pause, and he was spared the trouble of finding an answer to give you.

"I am grateful to you for saving my life, Anakin, and I swear that one day I will repay you. Please give me your lightsaber until that day, and you can take mine."

"So you want us to surrender our lives to each other?" Anakin asked with mixed emotions. Wouldn't this agreement create a commitment between you? Anakin could not comprehend the depth of this devotion.

You nodded decisively in response. "Yes. So we can remember this promise between us for the rest of our lives. These sabers we exchanged will be a symbol of our friendship and trust in each other, and one day I will repay my debt to you. Until then, I want to remember the promise I made to you every time I look at your saber."

Then you added timidly, "If you want too, of course."

Anakin thought for a few seconds, then without a word, he handed you his lightsaber and accepted this pact that would bind your hearts and bodies together forever. Thus, a very special bond was formed between you that will never be broken again. Who knew that this innocent bond established between two children would one day bring disaster to the galaxy...

#x reader #hayden christensen #star wars #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #darth vader #darth vader x reader #plo koon #obi wan kenobi #hayden christensen x reader #star wars x reader #fanfic #x you #anakin x you #angst #anakin skywalker angst #darth vader angst

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