#White Horse was not an easy song for this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

princessbrunette · 10 months ago

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HOLD ME, KISS ME ♡

♪ the little dippers — forever ♪

WANTED: JOHN BOOKER ROUTLEDGE - SUSPECTED MURDER - $1000 REWARD - DANGEROUS! IF SPOTTED DO NOT APPROACH!

pairing: outlaw!johnb + sheltered!reader ⋆₊⊹♡

synopsis: your wishes come true when a beautiful boy is found sleeping peacefully in your barn. much to his surprise, you don’t care about who he is or what he has or hasn’t done — you just want to ensure he stays forever.

cw: mentions of prayer, religion and god (for plot purpose) reader has two parents, western!au, innocence kink, slight manipulation, mentions of crime, breeding kink, smut ♡

“Please deliver me a man, save me from this loneliness. Make him kind, and strong, and handsome. I vow to make him the happiest man alive.”

Your forehead rests against your clasped hands where you kneel beside your bed, speaking out loud as there was no one else to speak to. Your parents had gone on a trip for two weeks, leaving you in charge of the farmhouse all by your lonesome.

Isolated didn’t feel like the correct term. You were grateful, happy to live off the fat of your father’s land in the middle of nowhere, but sometimes you wished you had someone to share it with. Someone your own age who was there to see you. You had become the perfect host, thrilled when your parents would bring home guests once in a blue moon. You’d tie ribbons in your hair and pick the perfect dress and set the table like your mother taught you. You often imagined setting the table for a family of your own.

Your own farm house. The thought sent you off to sleep each night, walking through the home in your mind as if it were really real, feeling the creaking of the painted wooden porch beneath your feet as you enter, the distant cooing of your baby being comforted by your husband in the next room. White shabby-chic panels across the walls with oak furniture and knitted throw pillows and lots and lots of warm light. The kitchen table would have the perfect lace floral embroidered table cloth draped across it which you’d serve the heartiest dinners on each night. The babies room would be painted mint green, no— maybe pastel yellow, with handmade toys and a music box that played your song and oh, the master bedroom… where you and your husband rest your head would be flooded with natural light. A haven. All yours.

The details to the decoration often changed, new inspiration plucked from the papers that father would bring home and new favourite colours integrating themselves into your home plans but one thing remained the same each time. Your husband. He never had a face, but it wasn’t important. He was warm, strong without having to prove just how macho he was, kind— you could feel his love from the next room on. That was all you really wanted. You could forget the house, forget the land, live in a barn for all you care — you just wanted to experience a love like the ones in the fairytale books stacked high in your room.

It had been a week already of this routine you’d grown used to. You wake up, feed yourself and then the chickens, come inside, clean yourself and then the house, paint, crotchet or read — however the mood takes you, eat lunch, tend to the crops, brush the horses, maybe milk a cow, come inside and cook dinner, bathe, think about your dream husband and grind your wet messy cunt into a pillow, feel guilty, beg for forgiveness and then sleep. It was an easy life, and you couldn’t complain— but you couldn’t help feel the world had more to offer.

Your mother often told you that gifts from above come when you least expect it, you just had to keep your eyes open. You always wondered how one might find these gifts with no idea where to look.

Your gift arrived bright and early the next morning.

Well, not technically as early as it should have been, infact you probably nearly missed it. The roosters calls at 6AM each morning, but on that very day you had decided to sleep in. A few hours wouldn’t kill them, you think as you pull a plush white pillow to lay over your ear— it’s not like the chickens would starve.

At 11:45AM, you stumble bare foot onto the grass outside, setting out on your walk to the barn a little way up the land. Your pert nipples harden, awakened by the cool morning breeze as the thin white fabric of your nightdress blows in the wind. With the sunlight shining directly on it, it was sure to be totally and utterly see through— and you suppose that was one upside to living in the middle of nowhere, yards upon yards from civilisation. No one would see you. Sigh.

You feed the chickens, totally blind before it even occurs to you that anything might be astray. Infact, you don’t even seem to notice that the barn door was left ajar, as opposed to how you usually leave it bolted by a wooden slab to prevent the animals from wandering off or being massacred by foxes. You suppose that’s the price you pay for sleeping in, you live in dreamworld for the next few hours.

The Earth seems to stop turning for a moment when you see him.

You’re more curious than anything, wide eyed, holding your breath as to be totally silent despite having been humming and speaking to the chickens only a moment prior. You tiptoe through the hay, shards of straw sprouting between your painted toes and pin-needling your sole as you draw closer to the man. A fallen angel, your first thought.

He’s half curled up onto his side in the hay behind the stable for your white pony. He has thick-ish arms crossed over his chest, his hat laying over his face seeming to be serving as a purpose to block out the light. You figure as you hadn’t woken up him before, a closer inspection couldn’t hurt. Unhurriedly, you sink down into a squat beside him, knees pointed upwards and feet taking your balance. A real man, in your barn? It couldn’t be. You chew on your bottom lip, goggle-eyed and inquisitive as you cautiously lift the hat away from his face.

He doesn’t wake and you’re for some reason thankful. It gives you time to observe him, the breath all but knocked from your body as you take in just how beautiful he is. He was perfect, and just like what you were hoping for when you wished to be delivered a husband.

Dark eyelashes kissing at the rim of his closed eyes, pale lips and freckles, sunkissed across his nose. Your eyes trail over and across him, now with his face in mind taking in account what he looks like as a whole. You were still in disbelief, a real man sleeping in your barn. But then again, as your eyes skim lower and you notice the blood seeping through his shirt over his stomach — you wonder if he was sleeping. Surely he wasn’t dead? Only God could be so cruel to deliver you the perfect man without a pulse.

So, you press two cold fingers to his neck, searching for the rhythmic beats signifying life. As soon as you do so, the man jolts awake — wide brown eyes meeting yours.

“Jesus.”

This is where the stare off commences— you were sat in a squat giving him a straight shot up your night dress with dome like eyes and parted lips, observing him like he was some sort of alien life form that had happened upon your barn infront of your very eyes. Your chest rises and falls, and his gender fails to betray him as his eyes fall there for a moment, subconsciously noticing the way your bare tits strain against the thin fabric with each exhale. Somewhere in the back of his mind he can’t help but acknowledge that you’re a pretty thing, totally his type. In any other scenario, he might’ve seen you at a local tavern and introduced himself, getting you tipsy and loose, making you giggle beneath his soft gaze and coarse hands in some dimly lit booth before realising he’s far too respectful to take advantage of you like that.

With his eyes open, the picture is complete — and he truly is as beautiful as you thought. He had a puppy like quality to his eyes, they were big and brown but from the sunlight streaming in you could see specks of orange which intrigues you. You wish to look closer, but you feel it’s not the time. His adam’s apple bobs with a thick swallow and he tears his eyes away from yours to look around, still disorientated from sleep. He touches his wound with gentle fingers and he winces, going to push himself up on his elbows.

You open your mouth to speak but he beats you to it, warm deep voice raspy from rest as he dives into a sequence of begging.

“Does anyone know I’m in here?”

“No, I—”

“Okay, that’s— okay, please — hey, please don’t tell anyone. I won’t lie to you, I’m in a little bit of trouble with the law, nothing super bad I swear just — I needed somewhere safe to sleep so I ended up here. Didn’t take anything and uh— and I’ll be out of your hair now that I’m up.” He rambles, continually glancing at the barn doors, expecting Sheriff Shoupe to bust them down and take him in at any moments notice. You say nothing for a moment and he pushes himself to his feet, eyes squeezing shut at the soreness of his injury. “Think it’s easiest if I just—”

He cuts himself off this time, because you slip your hand into his— stopping him from going anywhere. His eyebrows jump up and he freezes on the spot, staring down at your doe eyes with a wide and confused gaze of his own.

“…Hi?”

“You just got here? Why’d you have to go?” You sound sad, and he actually can’t believe what he’s hearing. Not only did he break into your barn, on private land — but he’d totally overstayed his non-existent welcome, and now you didn’t want him to leave?

“P—pardon me? Ma’am?” He tries to be respectful, when what he really wants to ask is along the lines of ‘What the fuck?’.

You scramble to stand up and he helps you using the hand that you’re grasping. “Well, you won’t get far with a wound like that. It could get infected. Maybe you could come inside, let me dress it. You can refuel… maybe stay a few days?” The last part sounds wrong coming from your mouth. He’s a stranger for goodness sake— everything your parents had taught you about safety went against this and plus you were practically begging. You might have been embarrassed, if there wasn’t such a nagging feeling in your stomach telling you that this was meant to be.

He scoffs out a chuckle, because he thinks there’s no way you’re serious— but when he sees your wide eyes bouncing between his own, searching for something he couldn’t quite put a finger on— he realises you’re being completely genuine and his expression melts into a more worried gaze, shuffling a little closer on his feet.

“Look, I really appreciate your hospitality, but you have done more than enough, really. Just the fact you didn’t have the sheriff busting in to drag me away is something I will be very grateful for. Believe me. But I can’t drag you into this. Anyway, don’t you have family? That you live with?”

You sigh, looking down at your intertwined hands that you had yet to release, staring as if you were trying to memorise the feeling of a man’s touch incase you really couldn’t convince him to stay.

“Well yes, but they’re on a trip you see — and they’re going to be away for another week and I’m not sure how much more I can take. I’m awfully lonely, and I know you’re a stranger and all but I could really use the extra set of hands… plus it’s the least you could do… for breaking in…” You feel you’re pushing it with that last part, but decide to proceed with it anyway, any means necessary to get him to stay. He bites his bottom lip in thought as you stare up through your lashes and he thinks screw it. He’s sure you’re not setting him up, a little thing like you would be far too weak to pull that off.

“Okay, I… don’t see why not then.” He doesn’t sound certain, but you make such a good offer he’d be a fool not to accept. He bends down and swoops his hat off the floor, holding it to his chest and you take his hand once more, guiding him out of the barn.

He presses his lips together in an awkward smile at the way you confidently lead him, almost having to break into a jog to match your eager pace. Once nearing the house, you tell him your name and he nods — taking in the scenery.

You’re sitting him down in the living room before he can blink, and he takes in the setting around him. A real cozy place, a family home for sure — with a pale blue couch, a scratchy patchwork blanket draped over the back and floral cushions. There’s photos of you in multiple spots around the room, an only child — he gathers. The main photo sits on the mantelpiece, framed, a set of parents curtaining your smiling face in the image. You seem to be a few years younger, fuller in the face, still cute as a button.

He doesn’t quite realise you’d gone anywhere until you’re returning — the contents of an old first aid box rumbling in your grip. You give him a reassuring smile and lower to kneel by his feet, opening up the container and fishing around for some cotton pads.

“Do you have a name, mister?”

He clears his throat, trying to gage your reaction once he speaks, attempting to work out if the name rings any bells. “Uh, yeah. John B. John B. Routledge. You might’ve… actually heard of me. If you have, uh— I’m sorry.”

You don’t seem to react in any kind of alarming way, a smile grazing your face as you pour rubbing alcohol onto a soft white pad.

“Heard of you how? Are you famous?”

“…You’ve never seen those big ‘Wanted’ posters up in town? Kinda got my picture up on one of them.”

You peel up his shirt revealing tanned, toned skin and a wound that had crusted over with blood. You press the pad to it and he winces, knuckles turning white in his lap and head lulling back against the seat for a moment.

“Sorry.” You furrow your brows apologetically before continuing to mop up all the dried blood. “Oh, and I’m not allowed up in town. Not by myself anyway. So, I don’t keep up to date with all that… stuff.” You pull away, rifling through the box for another clean pad. He nods, eyes jumping to look at his wound and then back to you, watching your face for any discomfort regarding his presence. Oddly, there was none. If it wasn’t clear before, it’s wildly apparent now that you’ve truly been sheltered your whole life. There was this innocence you carried that was hard to come by, a lack of judgement that was sweet but made him worry for you slightly. You were lucky he had a good heart.

“That’s… probably for the best, actually. You know, they like to tell lies. I’m being falsely accused.” He speaks a little slower, and enunciates the last part as if you might not understand, and as expected— you hang onto every word, lips a little parted and wide eyed. It’s pretty cute, albeit inappropriate considering he��s a stranger.

As he speaks, you wrap his wound, pressing the sticky part down onto his skin before gently pressing the cotton covering his injury. “Well I’m really sorry about that John B. You don’t have to worry about that anymore.” You chirp, before leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss over the dressing, pulling back to offer him a sweet smile. The lines on John B’s forehead smooth out, his concerned expression melting into his own gentle smile of disbelief.

He wonders what the odds are that he’d stumbled upon a real life angel. Well, it was that — or you wanted to chop his body into tiny pieces whilst he slept and add it to your cauldron. He couldn’t quite figure it out yet, but you were pretty — and he was a total loverboy, so stupidly he was willing to take that risk.

He pulls his shirt back down over his now dressed wound and you begin to clear your things back into the first aid box.

“Is there anything I can do for you? Like, anything you need help with around here?” He offers and you look up at him, brows furrowing with adoration.

“Goodness, no— I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“Said you needed an extra pair of hands earlier.” He challenges with a smile.

“I only said that to get you to come inside. With your injury, I couldn’t possibly put you to work.”

He scrunches his face a little with a half scoff, half smile and shrugs one shoulder. “Please, this thing? It barely even stings. Come oooon.” He croons with a smirk, and you really feel the full effects of his charm now— the warm timbre of his voice headed straight to your clit giving it a heartbeat of its own.

“Fine.” It comes out airy with a giddy smile and you take his hand yet again, almost getting distracted by the coarseness against your palm, the sight of bulging veins along the backs of them.

Your bare feet are treading lightly over soft wood chip once more as you lead him toward the destroyed fence round the left side perimeter of the farm.

“So… I suppose you could carry all the planks back from the fence that fell down in that awful storm last week. I was gonna wait for my daddy to get home to get him to do it ‘cus I’m much too weak for something like that.” You point, and John B’s brown fluffy head follows your finger to the destination at hand. He nods, a doable task.

“Well a girl like you shouldn’t be lifting a finger anyway.” He turns his head back to face you with a smile, eyes squinted in the sun. He looks radiant, no sign of pain anymore and you look down at your night gown, scrunching it in your clammy hands with an uncontrollable grin at the floor, harbouring such an innocent crush on the boy already that you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

His gaze stays on you for a tick whilst you step quietly and he speaks up again, tilting his head a little inquisitively. “I really, really hope this doesn’t sound rude… ‘cus I don’t mean to be. But… are you not… married?” He trails off, thinking of all the times he’s been walloped round the head in taverns for asking questions of a similar nature. Your smile doesn’t go away, your gentle nature not retiring for a moment.

“Oh no, no. I don’t meet boys often. Thats why I’m happy you came!” You chirp, hand reaching out to softly squeeze his arm. “Can be like husband and wife whilst you stay round.”

He just laughs in response. Not necessarily in a mean way, but the same way you laugh when a child tells you they’re going to be an astronaut when they grow up.

The brutal beating of the sun does nothing to stop the honest work you’d put the self proclaimed outlaw up to, he seems to be deep in thought often — carrying the planks to and fro. You slip inside for a while to change into something more appropriate, a sweet and floral sundress that ties up at the straps and hugs you in a more womanly way. You’d rubbed your lips together as you fixed your hair in the mirror before bringing him a sandwich in the early afternoon. “You are adorable.” He grins when you do so, and it wasn’t quite the reaction you’d hoped for on your dress but it still made you warm in the face. He simply brought out a true primal bodily reaction from you— that’s why you’d skipped the panties under your dress. He was making you excited and slippery down there and you just didn’t see the point. You stay out for hours at a time to chat with him. Your affections grow.

John B. Routledge finally returns back to the house when he’s all finished and you let him lay down for a nap on your couch, finally getting some real rest in. Whilst he does so, you spend hours preparing a hearty meal — the type you reserve for when mama and papa have guests round. As the pie browns off just a moment longer in the oven, you come to the man’s side, kneeling beside him and stroking his fluffy hair back.

“I made dinner. Sure you’re really hungry.” You whisper and his eyes flutter once more, the arms that were crossed over his chest stretching out as he wakes. You sit back to give him space, and when he opens his eyes you’re there with a smile — the orange beam of sunset haloing your head. Something about an angel drafts through his mind once more and he stretches.

“Oh boy, I slept longer than I was meant to huh?” He sits up and you shrug, leading him through to the kitchen where you’d laid the round table. Steaming seasoned vegetables in a bowl, freshly picked by you. Warm bread, baked and scored by you with flowers the centrepiece of the table. A jug of gravy there too. There’s a tray of mashed potatoes waiting, creamy and delicious looking. Routledges stomach audibly growls and he chuckles at this as he sits down, taking in the scenery you’d laid out. “You… have spoiled me. All this for someone who breaks into your barn?” He chuckles as he lowers himself into the seat.

You follow him round the table with a giddy smile. “Told you I like havin’ guests.” You perch your bottom on his leg, an arm wrapped around his neck as your feet swing. It felt right. You’d always wanted to sit with a man this way, you’d seen it before in the picture shows. Man and wife, domestic bliss. His brows jump up and he clears his throat awkwardly.

“Oh… sweetheart, you shouldn’t do that. I am a— a stranger, after all.” He tries to do the responsible thing, even though there was something about your innocent brashness that was turning him on beyond belief. Your eyebrows knit in the centre, a line between them and your bottom lip seems to have doubled in size from how it pushes out.

“But I like you?” You mewl, rejected. It all seems so simple to you, which is probably feels super unfair. No one had taught you how to address men because you were so sheltered, and now it was giving you all of these complicated feelings that John B would have to deal with.

“And I like you — a whole bunch. You know I’m super grateful for you taking me in and… all that good stuff. But sitting right here is gonna… make me excited. Because I’m a guy. Go ahead and hop off for me.” He taps your lower back gently and you huff, feeling upset and rejected about the whole thing. His eyes are all wide and hopeful as he stares at you, like he wanted to make sure you were okay. The way he handles you so sweetly made your stomach stir despite your current mope.

You drag your feet to the oven comically and he stifles a chuckle at how dramatic you were, despite his sympathy. You place your hands into oven gloves and take out the pie— perfect and golden. You walk it to the table and John B sits up a little straighter, eyes darting between you and the food.

“Did this all by yourself? You have got a real knack for cooking. Should put you on the TV.” He grins, switching on the charm to attempt to loosen up your silent sulk. You nod, eyes casted down childishly and he reaches out to touch your arm. “Thank you, pretty girl.”

A small smile slips out, and he flickers his eyes over to the heart shape you’d scored onto the pie, his own lips twitching up into a smirk. “That for me?”

“Maybe.”

“Hmm.”

You end up giggling, his smile too infectious and your bad moment is all forgotten as you serve him a slice, plating up for him and then yourself before you eat. John B digs in ravenously, it’s almost erotic — the way he’s groaning at how good it all tastes, gravy dripping from his lips as he licks more off his fingers. He was clearly less proper-mannered than you, but you liked that. Table manners were for boring old people anyway. Maybe everything about him got you going, but you had to really concentrate on getting some food inside you instead of just watching the show of eating he was putting on.

Once you’re finished, and he’s finishing up on his third helping — you let your giggles die down from the wild goose chase story he relayed for you, one where he of course wound up the hero which only made your heart beat harder for him. Your socked foot begins to prod at his ankle, sliding up his leg until it rests in his lap. He doesn’t seem to mind, the food having lowered his guard just that bit as he leans back in his chair, undoing his belt. He adjusts his hips on the seat as he does so and your thighs clench.

“So what did you think?” You ask, though you think it’s clear that he liked the meal from the empty plates and unbuckled belt. He lets out a long satisfied sigh, gazing at you for a moment with a kind smile.

“I think, whoever gets to marry you is a lucky son of a bitch.” He presses his lips together, almost like he was disappointed about the idea of you with another. You blink, the hands resting beneath your chin dreamily slowly falling to play with eachother on the table.

“Why not you, John B?” You question sadly, giving him those eyes again. The ones that tug on his heart and made him wanna give you everything and anything you ask for. He lifts a napkin, bringing it to his mouth as he shakes his head dismissively, closing his eyes with a frown.

“Mm—mm.” The tissue fabric muffles the sound. “You don’t wanna marry me, believe me — okay, I’m an outlaw. Your parents would never in a billion years accept me. Anyway you… you deserve someone less rough and tumble, you know? Like a prince from a storybook. A bubblewrap life. Not… whatever this is.” He gestures to himself, more so the browned blood stain on his shirt.

You sigh, determined. “My parents would understand. They’re — they’re generous people.”

“Really? ‘Cus they don’t even let you leave the house.” He quips quickly in response, smirking at your naivety and you fall silent for a moment. His face flattens just a tad from guilt. You were far too soft for that kind of tone.

When you look up at him again, your face is more solemn — wide eyes searching his for a shred of understanding. “You don’t understand, John B. There are actual scary, dangerous men out there that would take me and do terrible things to me.”

The outlaw leans his elbows on the table, his lips stretched into an amused smile at the irony. There wasn’t an inkling of threat about the gesture, pure amusement coursing through the energy between you from his side alone. “And how do you know I’m not one of those scary, dangerous men. Hm?” His voice is warm, it seems to rumble straight from his chest. You release a shaky sigh.

“Well you haven’t hurt me yet?” Your voice lilts out, and you engage in a long stare off. There’s a different kind of tension in the air now, it’s hot and feels heavy on you. It oozes into the nooks and crannies of your balmy skin and slithers between your thighs. You can’t take the heat and you stand, beginning to bring his dishes to the sink to wash. It’s quiet for a while, John B watching you with this thoughtful and almost knowing smile as you tidy up around him. Even he couldn’t run from how good ‘domestic bliss’ felt.

You let yourself indulge in the fantasy too. Wife cleans up, husband sits behind at the table and sips at the drink she poured him. You wanted nothing more than to experience this everyday, and your heart sinks sadly at the fact that this will probably be the last. You lose yourself to thoughts and daydreams as you scrub away, to the point you nearly don’t hear him stand up, slowly walking to lean against the sink beside you.

You smile at him politely as he eyes you, and return your gaze to the plate in your hand. You mustn’t dwell. He moves, and soon he’s behind you, a hand resting against the sink beside your hip, head craning round to look at you from the other side. “You’re really serious about this husband and wife thing, aren’t you?”

“Very serious, sir.” You bat your lashes at him earnestly and his cock stirs in his pants at the title, unexpected but not unwelcomed. Bless your heart, you were only being courteous. He presses his lips together in thought and the side of your face warms with his slow exhale. Turning your body, you face him fully now. “I just think it was divine intervention that you wound up in my barn. You’re like an angel sent to take away my loneliness.” You’re shy, a little bashful about your beliefs and without thinking he cups your cheek in reassurance, thumb swiping slowly over the skin.

His eyes take in your every detail, and your lips part with a wobbly breath, nervous. “May I kiss you, John B?” You address, just as his thumb strokes the delicate skin below your eye. He grins, slightly amused by your formality and simply nods his head.

You stand on tip toes to reach him, socked feet almost knocking at his boots as your body presses to his, lips meeting. You’re a little messy, inexperienced— which comes as no surprise to the boy as he tilts his head, welcoming your mouth at another angle and taking control in order to guide you. You’re mostly a quick learner, slowing your pace to something much more sultry and he nearly can’t contain his excitement. He wants to be a gentleman, but as soon as he introduces his tongue — you lose composure, needy and all but panting into his mouth right then and there in the kitchen. He pulls away and breaks the string of saliva that connects your lips with his thumb, stroking it over your moist bottom lip as you stare at him readily.

He tilts his head, eyes wide and almost innocent as he gestures away. “You… want me to show you what husbands do with their wives?”

You nod so hard your eyes nearly roll back like one of those baby-dolls.

John B is the one to take your hand this time, leading you slowly and carefully through the house. You partially think he’s giving himself time to rethink what he’s about to do, but from the way your pussy is drooling into your panties — it feels set in stone. He finally reaches your bedroom and you watch his head move left and right as he takes it in, cheek lifting with a smile at the China dolls on the wall and the frilly white bedsheets. It’s clear your room hasn’t changed since you were a little girl. The sun is just starting to disappear behind your lace curtains and he switches on the lamp, sitting you down.

The man joins you, easing himself down at your side and cupping your cheek as he begins to kiss you again. He takes it slow, but the passion and need only grows as the splayed hand on your back begins to slide upwards until its cupping the back of your head and he’s beginning to slowly lower you to lie down like you’re made of glass.

Naturally you shuffle up the bed and he follows, hovering over you and leading with his tongue this time — the wet muscles wrapping around eachother languidly making you moan, legs falling wider apart.

“I wanna make you feel really good, okay? That okay with you?” He asks gently and you nod, sucking in a breath. You’d waited for something like this since you knew what pleasure was, craved the touch of a man with strong coarse hands and a wet mouth. Routledges thumbs swipe across your tits through your dress, massaging them until your nipples were poking painfully through the fabric as he burrows into your neck, licking and sucking.

Your whole body feels like it’s on fire as he tugs gently at your dress, eyes meeting yours once more.

“Let’s get this off, yeah?”

He tugs the garment up and over, puffing out his cheeks as he blows air out his mouth, brows raised at the sight of your naked body. You look so soft, so pliable beneath him. He was already hard just from kissing you, but this made him feel like he might combust. “Took your underwear off?” He smirks, pressing kisses to your stomach and between your tits before bringing his face up to eye level with you, same kind but teasing smile on his face. “Have you been needing me aaall day? Hm?”

You turn your head to the side, flustered and clammy with a whine— eyes screwed shut. He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Oh, now you’re shy?”

“No, s’just — when you speak like that— n’say stuff like that… makes me hurt…” You’re breathless, hips twitching and bucking slightly as he grins, pearly whites showing.

“Aw.” Is all he manages before continuing his descent down.

He’s a real tease, spending an ungodly amount of time on your tits— sucking, licking and biting your nipples until you’re arched off the bed, teary eyed and wincing from sensitivity. It’s then, and only then he starts to kiss lower, pushing himself down your pristine sheets until he’s settling between your legs, gently easing your ankles upwards so that your knees faced the sky, your cunt fluttering and open right infront of his face.

“Well she’s very pretty.” He smiles up at you, thumbs coming up to spread you. He leans in slowly, hot breath fanning over your heat before he simply presses the softest kiss to your clit. He draws back again as you whimper, running the pads of his thumbs up along your spread folds. “Hear that? So wet, pretty girl.” He marvels in a whisper.

“Just want you to make it better.” You mewl and he nods slowly in understanding, tongue swiping over his lips as he observes you.

“That I can definitely do.” He confirms before leaning in, licking and sucking at your clit as his thumb automatically rolls downwards to massage your hole. You gasp, knees shooting up towards your chest as he eats you, similarly to the pure fervour and passion he only recently devoured the meal you cooked for him. You wondered how any appetite remained.

When he sinks his middle finger inside you, your stomach tenses — a high pitched noise of relief and utter devastation leaving you. You had no idea how badly you’d craved fullness to this very moment, and you weren’t even halfway there. He’s smiling against you, glancing up as you flutter around his single digit and make plenty of noise for him. “Yeah? Think you’ve really been needing some of that, little girl.” He nearly laughs at your extreme reaction. He had to admit, it was fun doing this with someone so inexperienced. Everything to you seemed like the best thing ever.

He eats and eats away, proving himself to have quite the monstrous appetite for your slick . Your feet rest on his shoulders at one point, lost in pleasure as you whine and writhe and to keep you out of the way, the outlaw pushes your legs up and pins them there, nose deep in your gloss.

“Feels too good— feels— hurts!” You cry, because you don’t know how to put that you’re simply aching to cum.

“Doesn’t hurt, sweet girl. Just let it happen.” He corrects in that low reverberation that you’ve grown to love. After a series of ‘Uh’ and ‘Mm’s, you feel yourself hitting that peak — the one you usually reach all over the soft cotton of your pillow, but ten times the strength.

As soon as he senses this happening, he doubles down and continues repeating the same action with his mouth over and over until you’re squealing and pushing him away, curling into a ball as your completion dribbles out of your quivering hole.

He grins, real proud of himself as he pushes up on his hands to near you, gently shushing you the same way you would to soothe a baby to sleep. “I know, that was a lot huh?” He coo’s, rubbing your back with his warm hand as you suffer the aftershocks, clenching and whimpering, a smaller clammy hand reaching out to his shirt to grab a fist of it.

He forces you softly onto your back, stroking a hand over your warm forehead. For someone so convinced the two of you shouldn’t be together, he sure did look at you like you were his entire world. By the gaze shared, you would never know the two of you only met that morning.

“What now, hm?” He smiles, quiet. You open your mouth to speak, and your voice rasps from the loud and explosive release that had you calling out.

“Wanna… make you feel as good as you made me feel, John B.”

He licks his lips, thinking over it. If it wasn’t already clear, his dick was throbbing in his pants just from pleasing you— and had you wanted to end things there he would be sure to take a trip to the bathroom to finish in his hand. Maybe swipe a pair of your underwear from the basin for inspiration, but that made his stomach tense with guilt.

“Think I can manage that, yeah.” He nods before reaching slowly for his belt. “Sure?”

“Mhm.”

“Good, good.”

His belt is still undone from after dinner so he slides the snakey leather from its loops with one hand, the act more attractive than you anticipated which made you clench once more with need. He sits on the edge of the bed and you usher up beside him, pressing your naked body to him and ghosting your drooly lips over his jaw line as he sighs, working his length out of his pants.

“Oh my.” You breathe, as soon as you look down. Now you hadn’t had much experience in dealing with the male anatomy, clearly — but you knew for certain John B had to be miles larger than the average man. His cock stood tall, straight — slightly mauve towards the tip with a beautiful blue vein drifting down his shaft like a river on a mountain. His balls sat beneath, heavy and pink — inviting in a way that made your mouth water primally.

“Yeah? This is… what m’working with.” He chuckles, sounding a little nervous.

“How do I…” You mutter after a moment and he’s quick to take your hand, pressing your fingers so that it forms a cup and bringing it to your mouth.

“You wanna spit for me, pretty? Right here.” He encourages and whilst you don’t understand, you do as he wishes, letting a bubbly glob of saliva drool out into the cupped crevice of your hand. You look up at him with wide unsure eyes, searching for praise or reassurance that you’d done as he asked. He presses his lips together at the sweet and submissive expression, shifting his hips a tad in excitement. “Mm, fuck.” He punctuates with an airy chuckle, ticking his head in a single shake.

He brings your hand down and begins to smear it all over himself, releasing a shaky exhale as he does so. “So, uh… you’re gonna wanna move your hand. Just like this.” He sighs as he works your hand up and down his shaft, slowly jerking him off. Your eyes flicker between his face and pretty dick to make sure you were doing it right. As you do so, he presses a lingering kiss to your lips, muttering a “So sweet, bubba.” Against your mouth.

This only encourages you to gain confidence, doing whatever feels right. You twist your hand— squeezing just a tad harder towards the tip as that seemed to be what made him release that heavenly groan, jaw constantly agape as he watches your hand.

“Theeere you go sweetheart. Easy right? Like milking a cow.” He kisses your temple briskly once more before his eyes screw shut, chest heaving with quicker breaths. You get carried away, fascinated by the pearly precum that seeps from his slit as you work him with your hand and following your own judgment you lean down. You figure if he used his mouth on you, you could return the favour.

His eyes open with a loud shudder when you tentatively wrap your plush lips around his tip, working your hand up and down to try and squeeze more of the interesting salty flavour from him. You let out a long drawn out moan of your own as you feel your clit throbbing with desire, liberating his precum from your mouth to let it dribble back down his shaft in messy bubbles.

He winces, placing a hand on your shoulder and removing you with such an abrupt speed that you nearly flew off the side of the bed. You sit up straight, slick mouth pouting as your eyes flicker between his, worrying that you’d done something wrong. There’s a second of just looking at eachother, before you stumble over some words.

“S—Sorry. Did I hurt—”

“No, no God no. I uh— I just wasn’t sure if I should make a mess all over that pretty face just yet.” His wide eyed expression melts into a reassuring smile, thumb rising to swipe lovingly at your cheek. You lick your lips, savouring the taste of him and nod — not quite sure where to go from there.

Your silence makes him question, and he eyes you. “Is there… anything in particular you want now?”

You think, blinking your doll-like eyelashes off into the distance before nodding once more— pushing off away from him and scurrying to the head of the bed where you lay yourself gently on the pillows.

“Hm?” He follows up in confusion, craning his neck round to watch you.

“Would… like a baby now, please.” You spread your legs a little, shy and bashful in your request like you wasn’t sure if you’d asked impolitely. His face falls as he stares at you for a moment before closing his eyes, rubbing over his face with an exasperated chuckle, elbows on his knees.

As you stare at him with with an upset little pout, already ashamed by your forwardness. “Like husband and wife?” You try to justify and he sighs out his nose, turning his body fully to you.

“Oh sweet girl.” He tugs you gently lower toward him by your hips, rubbing his thumbs at your waist. “We just met.”

You launch into full fledged begging, whiny and high pitched with tears threatening to dive over their trough. “I’ll make you so happy John B, I’ll make all your problems go away and you won’t have to run anymore. Please?” You were deadset on this man giving you your dream life, and you’d officially pushed shame to the side in order to get this. His brow is permanently creased, staring with those big wide puppy dog eyes, continually stroking your skin in hopes to calm you.

“Are you… sure that’s what you want? You’re still young. So much time for all that.”

“Just want it now. I’d never be lonely again.” You sound defeated, staring down away from him now. He felt bad, he’d always hated disappointing people. Once upon a time he was a fixer, always running to his friends aid to make their problems go away. That urge never died, just burned low and quiet like an old candle flame. He wanted to make your problems go away too.

“Okay.” He presses his lips together. “I’ll give you what you want, sweetheart.”

He watches your devastated expression lift into a radiant grin, and it was like watching the sun appear from behind a grey cloud after weeks of downcast weather. “Yeah?” You chirp toothily as he crawls over you, leaking tip grazing your tummy and then your folds as he buries his face into your neck.

“Uh-huh.”

When he pushes his tip inside, John B says a prayer for the first time in his life.

He’d never really followed any religion. His father had been the type to say it was all a bunch of ‘Mumbo jumbo’ and that he should believe in the human psyche instead, or something like that. But as your wet folds swallow him and you release that high pitched mewl at the inevitable stretch — he finds himself asking God — please, please don’t let me knock this young girl up.

There’s a warm blanket of chills that cover his spine as he slowly sheathes inside of you, feeling like he was pushing deeper and deeper into a black hole that would selfishly keep sucking him inside for the rest of his life. It felt too good, calming — like falling asleep. He was euphoric.

“So — so big inside me!” Your cry knocks him out of his thoughts and he kisses your shoulder before looking down to watch himself push in all the way to the hilt.

“Feel okay, gorgeous?”

You nod, a pained whine falling from you as you dig your nails into his skin, walls fluttering around him like they were constantly trying to accommodate for this thickness. “Fuck.” He groans, before sliding back a little and starting to thrust. Yeah, he wasn’t gonna last too long— he needed to get to work on you fast.

As he gently fucks into you, your plush tits recoil with the movement and he can’t close his mouth, sounds and sighs leaving him without permission. A hand slides between the two of you, the other pulling his shirt up to grip between his teeth— giving himself a better view of the way he strokes at your clit — your legs being spread exposing it, making it easier for him.

You clench, and shudder — that sweet face contorting with each time his tip ever so slightly grazes your cervix, careful not to bruise it. You really were beautiful, that type of homely beauty he’d thought of marrying in his lonely nights of travelling through desert and grass. The type of girl you work for, the type that deserves spoiling, princess treatment. The more he fucks, the more he’s convincing himself that impregnating you might not be the most awful thing after all. Why should he chase away security?

Your fingertips grace his chest, and he takes your hand — pinning it to the bed as your fingers intertwine, using the grip to aid his rolling thrusts— speeding up the pace and force now he knew you could take it like a champ. His mouth opens to speak, and his shirt drops out of it.

“Taking me real good baby. You like getting fucked, don’t you?” He coo’s and you can only nod, tears gathering in the corner of your eyes before rolling down to your temples. Poor thing, lost for words.

There’s a wet slapping sound with each thrust, your cunt equally gushing as it was thirsty — hungrily welcoming each inch of his, and even demanding more by locking your ankles around his lower back. Perhaps you did it for comfort, or perhaps because you suspected a hesitance, the threat of him pulling out last minute too much for your baby-crazed brain.

“Jesus. Sweet little puppy.” He breathes like it’s a revelation beneath your ear, the curly tuft of hair above his shaft tickling you as he continues to rub your clit.

“S’gonna happen again, John B. The big feeling.” You strain, eyes clamped shut and sniffling— too overwhelmed by your impending orgasm. He kisses each eye lid and watches you closely, experiencing you unfold once more.

“Thats my good girl. Let me have it, pup. Gimme a good one.”

You’re an explosion of whimpers and moans, thrashing under his firm grip once more— and he’s not sure when your orgasm ends, if it even ends at all— he doesn’t care, the release pushing him close to his own. He speeds up his pace, hand that was at your clit now wrapping around your lower back, forearm pushing your lower half up and against him, forcing you to just keep taking him.

He was like a beast from a fairytale book, fucking wildly into you with a primal determination that had you struggling to breathe. You’re crying now, full out crying because it’s just so much. There’s still one last thing you require, and only he can give you it.

“You wanna make me daddy, huh?” He demands, that gentleness in his voice gone. It’s nearly unrecognisable from him, and you preen beneath the rough touch.

“Mhm!”

“Words.” He barks. He didn’t mean to be mean, he just got a little bossy when he was close. You’d come to learn that.

“Please give me a baby. Please just — make you a daddy! Need it!” You’re squealing, voice shaking from the hard ‘plap plap plap’ of his balls slapping against you. You feel you might pass out if this goes on much longer.

He releases with a long groan, lips dropping to the centre of your chest and back arching upwards. You register his sounds before you feel it, hot slimy ropes of him— shooting up inside you, warming your walls. You moan too, because it feels so good to be full. It feels right, like this was what had been missing after all.

Everything is a blur for the next few minutes. It’s like you black out a little, because maybe you forgot to be breathing like you should have been. You briefly recall John B scooping you up and helping you through that, ignoring the gooey seed dripping from you to cradle you like a baby, humming a calm “Breathe, sweetheart. In and out. With me, c’mon.” Your gentle boy was back, and through your haze you smile.

Once you’re tucked at his side beneath a soft cotton blanket, his hand stroking over your head after cleaning you up, a whispered conversation ensues.

“Do you really like me John B? Like, you really think I’m beautiful?” You inquire, gazing up at him with stuck together black eyelashes. The question was so innocent, yet he could tell it was so meaningful.

His expression doesnt falter, a gentle smile sat comfortably on his lips as he continues to pet you. “Baby, I think you’re the ponds swan. Just… gotta get to know you a little better, okay? ‘Specially if I really did put a baby in you.” Only then his smile falters, brows knitting as the reality sets in. Oh Lord.

“Okay.” Your eyes flutter closed, happy to leave it at that, happy to fall asleep right by his side under his watchful eye. It was unnerving how safe a lonely girl could feel with a stranger.

“Okay. Good girl. It’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out.” He quietly reassures, watching you drift off. He’s not sure if he’s trying to dispel your fears, or his own.

#outlaw!johnb #john b fic 🎀

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leovenuslatina · 3 months ago

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𝒍𝒆𝒕'𝒔 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒐𝒏 ✶⋆.˚

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

THIS READING IS 18+ MDNI

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

💓what you FS does to turn you on💓

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

-trying something new here-

₊˚⊹ ᰔ౨ৎ₊this is just a reminder that tarot isn’t permanent or set in stone YOU decide how your life goes no one or nothing else now take a deep breath and choose the pile that calls to you ₊˚⊹ ᰔ౨ৎ₊˚⊹

(dont worry i’m still answering asks ill just i’m sending them privately now)

💋 tip ur reader 💋

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Pile One - Ace of Wands, Wheel of Fortune, Knight of Wands, Six of Pentacles

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

- Right off the bat your FS is always horny i don’t even know what it is it could be you or it could be that they just have so much pent up energy and you’re the only one he feels comfortable letting it all out with.

- there’s so much wand energy here and i keep hearing that song “thinking with my d!6k” like literally he just cannot keep it in his pants for you.

- to turn you on he gets all up in your space he’ll come up behind you and grind himself on you make sure you feel just how excited or horny he is for you

- your FS will whisper all the things he wants to do to you and what he wants you to do to him he’s very good at telling you what to do. very dominant

- your FS will give you gentle touches all over your body he’ll tell you how pretty or gorgeous you are and how much he’s so in love with you

- he’s very obsessed with being touchy-feely with you to turn you on

- he may even give you long massages to turn you on. he’ll probably want to relax FA you and make you guys feel close he wants you to know that it’s not just about sex when the two of you are being intimate he genuinely just loves being close to you 🥹💓

- to turn you on he’ll hold you very close he’ll definitely loveeeeeee love love having you in his lap. i just keep seeing his hands all over you. squeezing and touching and grabbing at whatever they can.

- i’m also getting your FS is such a freaking tease ! to turn you on your FS will literally touch you all over EXCEPT for exactly where you need him most.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Pile Two - Page of Wands,Queen of Wands, The Fool, Judgment

ᡣ𐭩₊˚.⋆⁺₊

- Your Fs is very golden retriever vibes when they wanna turn you on there’s sloppy kisses all over your face and neck they’ll tell you how much they love and miss you and how they want to be near you and in you.

- their hands will be all over you trying their hardest to get your close off when he’s wants you to want him they’ll be so rushed to get you under them

- the two of you will have a very exciting and active sexual relationship and you’ll always be all over each other people around you think it’s gross but you guys are just so physically attractive to each other.

- to turn you on your future spouse will use your kinks and fantasies to his advantage he knows them very well because he knows you very well and use them to get you in the mood

- they’ll use your fantasies and kinks to get in your head and make you melt under him

- Pile 2 your FS will take turning you on as a game (not in a bad way) they’ll think it’s so easy to get you all excited and needy for him.

- they take a really relaxed approach to turning you on he likes to take his time he likes to make you feel as needy for him as he can as much as possible

- i think your FS knows you so so well that they’ll know all the little things that turn you on

- for example if you like his arms he’ll like roll his sleeves up slowly or if you like his voice he’ll whisper random things in your ear you know just to get you going

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Pile Three - Justice, King of Cup, Page of Cups

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

- Your FS IS FINE ASF 😤😤 like literally straight outta romance novels like riding on a white horse shirtless kind hot 🥵

- they’re very equal when it comes to freakin anything you do to them they’ll wanna do to you but 10000x better

- i think you’ll always be pretty turned on when you’re with or around your partner just because of how beautiful they but to get you going anymore they’ll pretty much follow your lead

- your Fs is the type of person to mirror you exactly they won’t do anything they think you don’t like or aren’t 100% into

- Your FS may or may not be your first sexual encounter or partner if so they teach you and show you what kinda things you like and they’ll help you explore your sexuality in all ways

- if your FS isn’t your first time they will definitely be your best and will show you just how good sex can be

- To turn you on your FS they will massage you calm you down relax you.

- you maybe the kind of person that has a specific set of needs before hopping right into bed and your FS will be very understanding about that

- Your FS Will always make sure you’re comfortable and happy and consenting before getting anything started

- Your FS is very understanding about any sort of situation you come from they won’t judge you or make you feel bad for your past or anything you make like or want him to do for you or with you.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

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callmearcturus · 5 months ago

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The vinyl comes with... this. This is not the lyrics to the songs. I'm gonna transcribe it, because I think the first time you listen should be with this.

You are about to listen to an album by the Glass Animals. You don't always listen to albums from beginning to end, but maybe you will this time. It was written for you. (Linear Notes by Gabrielle Zevin)

SHOW PONY

You are a child. Before you were a child, your parents were children. Most origin stories begin with love, and yours is no different. Once upon a time, two people fell in love, and then it ended. It's the first love story you were every told, and it teaches you the one certainty in life is that all things end. From this point forward, you are not a romantic. They call you the cynic, and to protect yourself, you take on many forms.

WHATTHEHELLISHAPPENING

You are kidnapped. You are in the trunk of a moving car, fetal position, darkness, screech of the tires against the road, the scent of gasoline. You don't know how you got there, but it isn't the worst place you have ever found yourself, and in a way, it feels inevitable. You know you could die, so you find yourself thinking about all the people you have ever loved. The trunk is like a womb. You could live here forever but eventually you'd get lonely. Your relentless need for company is your hamarita.

CREATURES IN HEAVEN

You are a psychic. You ask your lover if they want to know the hour and the day that the two of your will part. They laugh at you, and they say they don't believe in psychics. You suspect that their failure to believe in your gift might be the problem that leads to the demise of your relationship. But who cares? This relationship ends in three months, and you may as well enjoy it. Evanescence can sometimes be a profound pleasure.

WONDERFUL NOTHING

You are a prizefighter who is in love with a boxer. You say, "It's a bad idea." (JAB, JAB, CROSS.) And the boxer says, "It's only a bad idea if it gets in the way of our work." (SLIP.) And you say, "Promise me you'll never pull any punches." (CROSS. CROSS. HOOK.) The boxer swears they won't. (SLIP. JAB.) But when you fight, the boxer always pulls their punches, and you never do. You're pretty sure this makes you a bad person. You're a prizefighter, and you do not love this boxer or anyone enough to pull punches. (JAB. CROSS. HOOK.) Just before throwing the knockout punch, you whisper, "I love you so fucking much."

A TEAR IN SPACE

You are a sock. You are an earplug. You are a miniature glass horse. You are easy to misplace. You are you, so you think you matter. You are nothing. No one even notices when you left the party.

I CAN'T MAKE YOU FALL IN LOVE AGAIN

You are an astrophysicist. You believe you can use sound waves to control time and space. A song is a time machine, you tell your colleagues. If you sing the right song, you could transport the lover to a particular time and place. You could reverse time, and if you could reverse time, you could make them love you again. Your belief in science occasionally makes you pathetic.

HOW I LEARNED TO LOVE THE BOMB

You are a damsel, and you are in love with a monster. You're not sure how it happened. You'd been warned about such creatures by the fairy tales of your youth. But in bedtime stories, the monster always presented as monster. The beast was hirsute, the vampire had fangs, the wolf in your grandmother's clothing was clearly not your grandmother. But your monster is clean cut and has good teeth. They knock at the door. You invite them in, and just like that, you are fucking a monster. You should be upset about it, but you aren't. The thing they don't tell you about monsters is that they are sexy as hell.

WHITE ROSES

You are Proteus. You are a god and you can change forms when the situation calls for it. This is hand for work, but difficult when it comes to relationships. You have occasionally been guilty of taking a form that you knew would make you lovable to some unsuspecting mortal. But it always ends the same way. A terrible row at an inconvenient time-- say, just before you're about to leave for the airport-- and then, you're forced to reveal yourself. You don't always mean to change forms, but it's second nation for you to shift a bit here and there-- pretend you like a certain band, express an enthusiasm for sport. Are you shapeshifting, or are you concealing yourself, and is there a difference in the end? Still, you love making people fall in love with you. Every time you do it, you promise you'll never do it again. And they you do it again.

ON THE RUN

You are an escape artist. You are handcuffed, straitjacketed, loaded into a zipped and padlocked duffle bag, wrapped in chains, tossed into the bottom of the ocean. It is billed as "The Greatest Escape of the Greatest Escape Artist, and the Culmination of a Career of Death-Defying Acts!"

The spectators on the pier anticipate your deliverance. They are sure you'll surface because you always surface. They aren't fearful; they are waiting to be dazzled. What they cannot know is how bored you are of dazzling.

You exit the bag, careful to take the props of your confinement so there will be no remains. You swim to another, distant pier. You don't see the people on the pier cry. You don't read your obituary. It's no longer your concern.

A week later, you are homesick, and you concede that your plan has failed. You miss the people on the pier and your cat and your bed and your favorite restaurant and your wristwatch. You don't remember what problems your faked death was going to solve so you can't say if it solved them.

The greatest power in the universe is nostalgia, and it that's true, maybe the people on the pier will forgive you. maybe you could come back from the dead. Now wouldn't that be the greatest escape ever?

LOST IN THE OCEAN

Who are you, anyway?

Why are so many songs addressed to you?

It's simple, you think. The songs are for you because I love you so fucking much, and when you say you, you mean all the yours: the parents and the child, the damsel and the monster, the escape artist and the crowd on the pier, the sock and the one who forgets the sock, the prizefighter and the boxer, and the world that contains all these people. You are all the lovers you failed, and all the ones who failed you. You are the lovers you haven't yet encountered-- there will be many because this world is filled with people to love. You are the singer, and you are the song. And you conclude that the only way to resist the ephemerality of all things is by singing love songs to you, whoever you are, wherever you are in the universe.

#glass animals #ilysfm #reposting as its own thing so it can go in the main tag #bc its important

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pookieace · 7 months ago

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you belong with me

✰ . . . bridgerton au, gojo is meant to be a viscount, fem!reader / fem!pronouns used, secret relationship kinda???, mention of arranged marriage, secret meetings (no cheating though) fluff & smut, fingering, ooc gojo idk he’s lovesick and shit, kinda olden day language that i don't think is 100% correct but idc the brainrot is too strong at this point for me to care therefore you shouldn't either <3

✰ . . . 2.5k words i don't know how we got here

✰ . . . i uhhhh binge watched bridgerton in less than a week and i am having the most scandalous thoughts and scenarios about it.. like i am vibrating at the speed of light waiting for the second part to drop tonight LMFAO this is just pure word vomit and brainrot and it's probably shit because i don't remember the last time i sat and wrote smth this long... but oh well !!! i also SUCK at titles thanks taylor swift for having this song

Satoru Gojo loves a good thrill. The thrill of betting his money on horse races or boxing matches. The thrill of playing pranks on the maids or the cooks. The thrill of having all eyes on him as he walks into a room. He knows everyone will stare considering his wealth and the status of his family but it still feels good, feeds his ego. His favourite thrill however? The one where he meets with you in secret. Just thinking about sneaking away from the public eye, trying to find a quiet place where you two could have time alone, where you could kiss and touch each other, sent goosebumps all over his body. It excited him.

You're not sure why you let him coax you into it though. As a lady, you should be prim and proper, present at the balls or social gatherings. You're meant to be talking to your friends or making conversation with respectable suitable gentlemen, or in the midst of getting courted. Perhaps it is because Gojo Satoru is a breath of fresh air in such a repetitive lifestyle that you keep sneaking off in the middle of the gatherings to see him, and it's certainly no different tonight.

In the middle of the ball, you see Satoru’s tall figure slip past a group of people and off into the shadows. To avoid being seen as suspicious, you need to wait a few moments before you too find yourself following after him. The minutes of waiting around feel like hours however, your feet are itching to just walk off and run to him, but you can't. It would be seen as outrageous for a lady to be seen with any man alone, it would cause an uproar within the community, spreading amongst the partygoers and even the ones who didn’t come within a matter of hours.

Then finally, after what feels like eons, you excuse yourself from the people you were chatting with. You're glad the ladies you were with are attempting to woo the gentlemen that had approached the group by fluttering their hand fans and blinking excessively. Quietly, you make your way towards the corridors. The females are too busy trying to gossip and the men are trying to prove their wealth or talk about their mistresses which makes slipping away into the shadows easier.

You are quite lucky that it was your family who was responsible for today's ball. It made it easy to find a secluded place where you and Satoru could meet without having to worry about a member of the ton or one of your maids accidentally finding the two of you alone, god forbid that from happening. You hold your dress up so you don't trip over it, walking briskly to one of your many gardens at the back of your family's estate. It is dark outside and the air is now chilly, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as you slow down and try to squint in the darkness, attempting to spot your favourite white haired male.

"Oh? What do we have here? A rather fine young lady, all alone. With no one around... but me." You'd recognise that teasing voice anywhere and you're immediately spinning around to face him with a smile on your face.

"Lord Gojo." A pout on his face grows almost immediately as you bend at your knees to bow at him, a gesture of respect that has been conditioned into your very being since you were a little girl.

"I thought I told you to call me–"

"Just Satoru, yes. I am well aware of that." The use of his first name has him smiling almost as quickly as he had pouted, and in only a couple of steps he is directly in front of you, chest in your line of sight. You have to tilt your head upwards to get a good look at his handsome face.

"I have to say, I rather enjoy the way my name falls from your lips." He's not slick with his eye movements, tongue darting over to lick at his plump pink lips while his eyes glance at your mouth and back to hold your gaze again. "You make it sound... Pretty."

"Well, it is a pretty name for a pretty boy. Your mother did well at picking it."

"Darling, as much as I adore my own mother, I did not ask you to meet with me so I could listen to you praise her."

"Oh Satoru!" You have to cover your mouth so you don't laugh out loud and garner unwanted attention. "Are you jealous of your mother?"

"I am not!" He hushes you, thankful that you are meeting in darkness and the only light is from the moon so you don't see the blush of embarrassment on his cheeks. "Not of her at least."

You are about to open your mouth to ask what he means but he beats you to it. "Lord Basset was rather close to you... Was he not?"

"He spoke to me for a mere two minutes, if that, Satoru. Besides, all he asked was how my family was doing, nothing more."

"Two minutes too many if you ask me." There is a slight growl in his voice as he mumbles unhappily, large hands pulling you close to his frame by your hips.

"Perhaps you need to start courting me in public."

"Sweetheart." He sighs, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. "The sooner my father realises I do not wish to marry the woman he has chosen for me, the better. It is torment trying to stay away from you in public. Mother is attempting to talk to him now, I think she may know I have someone else I would rather be courting."

You feel him furrow his eyebrows, scrunching them up as he speaks and thinks about the marriage his father is trying to get him to agree to. His father is a businessman, and the marriage, If Satoru agrees, would give them more wealth and more power – Something that the Gojo family already has ample amount of according to Satoru but it was not enough for his father.

"Toru," You begin, voice barely above a whisper. "I can wait for you. I will wait, do not worry about that."

"What did I do to deserve such an understanding woman like you?" Satoru exhales deeply, letting out a breath of air he did not realise he was holding all this time.

"For one, forcefully drag me to meet with you secretly."

"What a strange way to say I wooed you with my charms."

“What charms exactly?”

“Oh, you know. My pretty face, my sense of humour, how witty I am– oh! Lets not forget how tall I am.” You’re holding back a laugh as he lists off his so-called charms to you.

“Let us not forget how you were looking not so subtly at my hands when we first met either. Or my pants, not very ladylike of you, is it?”

“That is not my fau–”

“Oh so you are blaming me for your pervertedness?!” He gasps rather too loudly and you’re quick to cover his mouth with panic.

“Satoru! Please… Keep it down!” You’re whisper-yelling at him, heart pounding as you look around with fear.

He just hums against your hand over his mouth, rubbing your waist as he removes it and kisses the tips of your fingers gently. “You are afraid of being seen with me.”

“Unchaperoned, yes. You are well aware of how everyone will talk about a lady being seen alone with a man such as yourself.”

“Would it not be for the best if we were seen by someone though? Then, I would be forced to marry my little secret, and my father would be forced to give up on his ridiculous quest to marry me off.”

You can’t find yourself to talk back to him and put his crazy idea to rest because he did have a point, unfortunately.

“Sweetheart,” He began, peppering kisses on the tips of your fingers to your wrist, all the way to your inner arm and eventually leading his lips to your neck. “Please, let us be caught.”

“S–Satoru– We can’t… The public scrutiny, the ton–”

“Fuck what the ton has to say. I feel as if I am dying from not having you by my side. Do you know how bad I want to kiss you? How I want to promenade with you, to show you off to the men, to let everyone know you are mine and mine only just as how I belong only to you?”

Satoru’s hands wander to the curve of your ass as he speaks his heart out, large hands groping the flesh best he could over layers and layers of your clothes. You feel him breathing heavily against the skin of your neck, which is soon followed by him inhaling your scent with his eyes closed shut. Then, he’s cupping the side of your face, thumb rubbing over your bottom lip which has him gulping as he waits for verbal consent.

“Satoru. Touch me.”

And he wastes no time in doing so, capturing your lips in a rather messy and sloppy kiss that you are sure will do nothing but mess up the expensive lipstain you are wearing.

You push him further into the shadows where you know not a soul will be able to see you two from the lack of light. He’s against the brick wall and he lets out a small grunt into the kiss but makes no effort to pull away from your mouth. Instead, he takes a hold of your waist and spins the two of you around so now you are hidden in the shadows. By chance, if someone was to see the both of you, your body would be hidden and you wouldn’t be exposed.

Satoru always kisses you with passion, as if there’s a fire burning inside of his body that only you can put out but something about this particular kiss feels far too different to any kiss you have shared before. It feels more urgent. More desperate, you can physically feel it with how hard his lips press against your own. How he grunts and groans into the kiss, how his hand is now cupping the nape of your neck to keep you in place while the other pulls your waist into his own crotch. It allows you to feel the hardness in his pants against your stomach and has you letting out your own set of whimpers.

Momentarily, he pulls back to allow you to breathe. “Let us be caught.”

“Do not try and convince me when you have made my head go dizzy with lack of air.”

“Perfect time, is it not? Come on sweetheart, do you not want to have all of me? To feel all of me?”

“You are a disgusting pervert.” There’s no bite behind it however. Not when your thigh is being wrapped around Satoru’s waist and you feel his hands inch further and further up your thighs.

“Yeah? Why don’t you say that again, you know I love it when you call me names.”

If you weren’t seconds from being fingered, maybe you would have hit his shoulder but you feel the pads of his fingers rub your mound over your undergarments before you could do so.

You’re sighing in pleasure as he continues to tease you over the fabrics but you grow impatient. It’s not as if you haven’t been in this very compromising position before, you’re well aware of how long the white haired male can tease you for, how much he loves it. But when you are in public, only a couple of hundred yards away from the partygoers on your own estate, it is not the time for hours upon hours of teasing, especially not against a brick wall.

“Toru, please. More…”

He pretends not to hear you, keeping a straight face as he keeps on holding your thigh up as the other hand continues to touch you but not really give you what you truely need.

“Toruuu, now is not the time to be a tease.”

“Oh? What’s that? I couldn’t quite hear you sweetheart. Would you mind speaking a little louder for me?”

“Satoru!”

“Y/N!”

Your head tilts back out of anger, hitting against the brick wall behind you with a gentle thud. You despise how he’s choosing to act with you right now.

“Say it.” He speaks, but it’s not using that annoying, teasing tone of his he usually gives you when you want him to touch you more. It’s serious. “Say you are mine.”

His eyes lock onto yours, keeping eye contact as he waits for your answer.

You do not keep him waiting, cupping the side of his face as you speak with sincerity. “I am yours, just as you are mine.”

Satoru feels his cock twitch in his trousers, wanting nothing more than to be balls deep in you right after you said that, but not yet. He can wait, he will wait for you to marry him before taking away your virginity. He’s a gentleman, albeit that gentlemanly honour is hanging by a mere thread when you speak about belonging to him with that pretty voice of yours.

But his fingers are quick to push your undergarments to the side and allow you to truly feel his touch in all its glory. Even in the darkness, he knows exactly where to touch, and he finds the little nub that makes you feel good with ease that it’s almost scary. He allows his fingertips to make circles on it, and you’re burying your face in the suit jacket he’s wearing to drown out your noises that you know will get louder and louder.

His digits have you so riled up and wet in a matter of minutes that his fingers are easily buried in your warmth with one swift move.

You always feel full, how could you not when he has such large hands and long fingers. “Feels— so good, ‘Toru.”

“I know sweetheart.”

“Much better than when I do it to myself…” You know he loves hearing words that boost his ego and god, did it make him feel things. It garners a low growl from him, and he’s pumping his fingers into you with such vigour you swear you two will be caught with just how loud the skin slapping and sloppy noises are.

It does not take long for you to reach your high, two digits in your pussy whilst one rubbed your clit and you’re cumming with shaky thighs and a soft cry of the man’s name, thankful that he’s holding the back of your head and pushing your face into his chest so you don’t accidentally moan out loud.

“Marry me.” He whispers, forehead resting against your own as you pant and come down from your orgasm.

“Get me a ring and I will say yes in a heartbeat and fight your father for your hand in marriage, Satoru.”

i also can’t write endings for shit rip me </3

#im going crazy anyways!!!!#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #gojo smut #jjk smut #jjk fluff #gojo fluff

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marvelouslizzie · 1 year ago

Text

Why Are You Doing This To Me?

summary: Your ex-boyfriend Bucky Barnes wrote two songs about (for) you and you don’t know what to do.

pairing: Ex!Rockstar!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

warnings: Angst, a past failed relationship, pettiness, jealousy, anger, a lot of emotions, no mention of y/n.

word count: 2.3K

A/N: I have been away for a while because I was busy learning another language aka Dutch. I still am but at least I am done with my big exam. As soon as I was done with it, I found myself writing again.

This is a random idea that just popped into my head while listening to music and taking a walk. Pure angst for some reason. Usually, I go for smutty ideas but bear with me.

>> indicates incoming messages and << indicates outgoing messages in this story.

Thank you @notafunkiller for proofreading and editing this so fast ❤️

All work is mine, please do not repost or translate without my permission.

Keep reading tag starts after the second paragraph of the story.

>> Hey! I know you don’t want to hear anything about Bucky, but I think you should check these out. I think he wrote these songs for you.

Two links from Spotify follow the text you received from one of your best friends, and you stare for a while, trying to decide what to do. You really don’t want to hear his voice. Not because you don’t like his singing or his songs, but you wanted to get back on your feet. It would be impossible if you kept listening to his songs. Besides, hearing his voice has always softened you. And your best friend knows this. She knows a lot about your relationship, how everything went down, and how you two eventually broke up. If she didn't think you should listen to these songs, she wouldn't be sending you these links, right?

You take a deep breath and click on the first link. The song starts to play, and you notice the soft vibe right away. It’s not particularly Bucky’s style. He sounds like he’s in pain but he's singing with such clarity that surprises you.

He talks about how much he regrets the things he didn’t do when he was with you. How he misses you so much every day. How much he wants to call you, but he’s afraid that you won’t pick up the phone or worse, you will talk to him like a stranger. He says he always knew how precious you were, yet he took you for granted.

The lyrics flow flawlessly. It sounds like poetry to your ears. The way he expressed himself so beautifully… You can’t believe he wrote such a heartfelt song about you, and it’s not even his style. He’s a freaking rockstar. He usually writes about sex, rock and roll, and drugs. Not feelings. Then the song finally reaches the chorus and his words make you freeze.

“You are the love of my love.”

Did he really just say that? Did he just call you the love of his life? You feel this rush of emotions, and it’s hard to distinguish what you are actually feeling. It makes it harder to think, harder to focus on anything else other than the fact that this song is for you. That’s when you notice the name of the song. It’s the Love of My Life.

Suddenly, you start to feel angry. Every other emotion just takes a backseat. You hate him. So fucking much! Why is he always like this? Saying everything a little too late. Was it so hard for him to tell you this when you wanted to find just one reason to stay with him? You begged him to communicate with you maybe a million times. He always said it was not easy for him to put his feelings into words. Good or bad. It didn’t matter. He always struggled with his emotions. You tried your best. You tried to show him that he could trust you, that you would always be there for him, but it didn’t matter in the end. You felt like you were the only one trying to make this relationship work.

That’s when you decided to give up. It felt like he just didn’t care enough. He didn’t put any effort into changing things or making you feel like you weren’t just beating a dead horse.

You hoisted the white flag and moved on with your life. That’s when he decides to put whatever he feels into words. Instead of talking to you, he makes a song about it. Then he puts it out into the world.

What a fucking asshole!

It takes you a while to realize the song is over as the silence fills the room. As much as you hate how he chose to do this, the silence disturbs you. It might be a little too late, but you still want to hear what he has to say. Your own rules about not listening to any of his songs instantly go out the window.

You open the messaging app and click on the second link. This one sounds a little bit more like his usual style. The name of the song though, instantly catches your attention this time. It’s one of the nicknames he used often for you.

He starts the song by saying that he knows how selfish he is. That he has no right to feel this way, but he just saw you with someone else and he hated how it made him feel. He talks about how jealous he is. How he can’t help but imagine you in that guy’s arms. Then he realized you might call him baby, just like you used to call him. Then he continues by begging you not to call him baby, how he wants you to save that pet name for him even though he’s not in your life anymore.

There are so many details throughout the song that indicate he’s talking about you, there is no mistaking. He calls you by your nickname, saying how he loves the way you talk passionately about your interests, how compassionate you are, and how much effort you put into maintaining your relationship but he was too stupid and pathetic to appreciate them.

Every word that comes out of his mouth makes you even angrier. How dare he? How dare he write a song like this for you? After everything you have been through, after all the effort you put into your relationship, after every heartbreak… He realizes how much he values you just because he saw you with someone else.

Selfish bastard!

He has no right to put these words out there. He has no right to feel jealous. You are not his anymore. You can call someone else baby if that’s what you want. How dare he try to dictate to you like this? It makes you wanna call someone up and go out on another date and call him baby, just in spite.

The problem is, it’s just your stubborn nature talking. Before this song, you didn’t even think about calling someone else baby. You didn’t feel like it. Subconsciously, you were reserving that pet name for him. And that fucker knew it. He just knew it!

You exhale deeply, trying to calm yourself down. The song is over, but you can still hear him singing in your head. The song is so beautiful. Petty but so fucking beautiful. He sounds like he poured his heart out without caring how vulnerable it makes him look.

Another deep breath, you try to understand which date he is talking about. You have been on a couple of dates since you two broke up. You were so dedicated to moving on. You didn’t care if it would hurt him. Because he didn’t care about how much he hurt you all those times you tried your hardest to make things work. So you went out with a couple of gentlemen. Some of them were decent, and some of them were downright horrible. Dating is just as tedious as you remembered. A lot of assholes out there who don’t care who they are hurting. You didn’t get hurt, though. You didn't care enough about any of them to give them the power to hurt you.

Then it finally hits you. He’s talking about your date with that motherfucking movie star! That one was big news for a while. You got photographed two, maybe three times together.

You really looked like you were having fun in those photos. Truthfully, you were, he was such a funny guy. He knew how to make fun of himself. You were just so tired of pretentious asses. It was refreshing. That’s why you said yes to a second and a third date. Then he was off to a European country to shoot his next movie. You had a fun and it was more than enough for you.

You precisely remember that tabloids started to talk about how perfect you two were for each other. God, that must have gotten under his skin. You can’t help but laugh. He’s so predictable. He just couldn’t bear to see you with someone else, but can you blame him?

You remember seeing something similar about him, but in that case, he wasn’t on a date with the girl. They were just working together for some lame-ass project he would normally despise. Maybe he was trying to keep himself busy, who knows? You remember so vividly how she was looking at him like she wanted to eat him up. As if that wasn’t enough, she kept praising him, calling him the best rockstar of the century just to get in his pants. You have no idea if it worked or not, but it was enough to make you feel jealous. So can you blame him for feeling the same?

It just makes you realize you want to listen to those songs again. It’s maybe too little too late but you still want to hear him. You wanted him to talk about his feelings for such a long time and he’s finally doing it. Through a song but still, he’s doing it. It isn’t exactly communicating because communication must be two-sided, right? That’s what was missing in your relationship. You were talking, pleading, trying while he was keeping everything in. You feel like the roles are reversed. Now he’s the one talking, pleading, and trying, and you just don’t know what to do. How the tables have turned.

The second time around, you notice other details you missed the first time. Like peaceful walks you took together whenever you had the time or how you always used fake names when you two traveled together. You can’t help but miss those days. Even though you had problems, being with him always felt so safe and peaceful. You have no idea how he managed to make you feel that way. Maybe that’s why it took you so long to end the relationship. You still miss the way you felt back then. As if you two could overcome anything together, yet you couldn’t. Because you didn’t work together. You were alone, struggling to make him talk.

Then he talks about how he still speaks to your friends, and that makes him miss you even more. That part surprises you because none of your friends mentioned that they were still seeing Bucky. Is that because you didn’t let them ever talk about him? You feared if you let yourself talk or think about him, you would go back to the point zero.

He ends the song saying he doesn't want you to be a distant memory, and this sticks with you. Do you want him to be a distant memory?

The second time you listen, you notice how desperate he sounds. The way he pleads doesn’t anger you anymore. You find something you feel in his words. Your own fears, your own selfishness and oh, how much you miss him. You didn’t let yourself admit that you miss him. You thought acting like he never existed, he was never a part of your life would make everything easier and it did. Just for a while. Lately, it was just a burden. You tried so hard to keep everything inside. Just like he did. You are still trying to do it… to act logically, not emotionally. Does it mean you are making the same mistake he did? Shutting yourself down, not talking about your feelings. Is it the solution or is it a part of the mistake? You can’t tell anymore. You just know that your heart is aching. The sound of his voice makes you want to cry.

God, you hate him so much!

How could he do this to you after all this time?

Is it that easy to get under your skin or was he always there?

You feel like you are about to explode because of all the emotions you are going through. On one hand, Bucky communicating with you is everything you wanted. On the other hand, isn’t it too late? And why did he write not one but two songs about you? Declaring his love to the world…

You repeat that last bit in your head. He’s declaring his love to the world.

He’s no longer afraid to talk about his emotions. He wants you to hear them, millions of other people are just the bonus. He’s not afraid to show how fucking miserable he feels. He just wants you back.

He’s doing his bit in communicating, but unless you don’t do something about it, it won’t matter. It will be another attempt in vain. You aren’t sure if you want to repeat the same pattern. You notice the song is over when your phone chimes. It’s your best friend again.

>> Did you listen?

<< Yeah.

>> How are you feeling?

<< Confused.

<< Are you still talking to him?

>> Yeah we all are.

<< Why didn’t you tell me that?

>> You said you didn’t wanna hear anything about him and we just respected your decision.

Just like you thought. You can’t blame them. Anytime someone mentioned anything remotely related to Bucky, you either changed the subject or found a reason to leave. So you can’t help but wonder…

<< How is he doing?

>> Not great. He misses you.

<< I miss him too.

>> Are you gonna call him?

You look at the message for a long minute. Are you gonna call him? That’s the question. Maybe you should. Maybe you shouldn’t. Both of the options sound equally wrong. You have no idea what to do.

<< I don’t know what to do.

>> Just give him a call. He’s the love of your life.

You have no idea how long you have looked at that text. Maybe for a couple of minutes, maybe for an hour.

He’s the love of your life.

He’s a bastard, but he really is the love of your life.

And you are the love of his life.

Where do you go from here? You look at your phone once again. You finally know what to do.

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ichorai · 8 months ago

Text

the wolf and the beast ; toji fushiguro.

part of the A SONG OF CURSES AND CROWNS collection!

pairing ; assassin!toji fushiguro x stark!f!reader

synopsis ; nobody told him that his target had a direwolf.

words ; 3.3k

themes ; fantasy, asoiaf au, assassin au, prisoner au, enemies-to-???

warnings / includes ; mentions of murder, descriptions of injury/blood, classism, foul language, toji hates your wolf, toji stealing from a whorehouse LMAO

main masterlist.

Lannisters paid good money for their dirty work to be done by someone other than them. Toji was more than happy to comply once he heard the price for your head was enough to last him a few years, maybe even more if he stopped betting on jousting events. He asked no questions, and didn’t bother dwelling on the reason why they wanted you dead. Though, if he had to guess, it might have been because you were the most eligible noble lady to be married off to the king (a white-haired cunt, Toji liked to call him). Being Queen Regent of the Seven Kingdoms was clearly a position the Lannisters were hungry to get their claws on.

Toji didn’t really care. He was just happy to get the gold.

It was supposed to be a simple, easy task. After all, you lived in a cushy castle, draped in expensive furs and coats, eating the softest of breads and drinking the sweetest of nectars. The spoiled brats were always the easiest to take out.

Getting into Winterfell went smoother than he’d expected. A few miles down the road leading to the castle, he’d killed two men driving a horse-led cart full of wine barrels—meant to be delivered right to Winterfell.

And so he got through the South gate with ease. The guards interrogated about the wine, and Toji prattled on about the aging process of the alcohol, the special concoction of grapes and infused spices, the sweetness of the reds, the tartness of the gold wines, and whatnot. None of it was really true, of course. Toji just spoke out of his ass, pulled out product papers he found in the satchels of the men he killed, and smiled charmingly when the guard waved his hand to let him pass.

A gangly, young stableboy with red hair and blue eyes escorted him to cellars, where the wine barrels would be stored. And, after asking the little boy, Toji realized, to his utter delight, the Great Keep was just above him.

Up the cobblestone staircase he went, far louder than a mouse, but Toji moved quick enough for it not to matter.

There was one problem, however. He hadn’t taken into account the possibility of you not being in your chambers. Which, you clearly weren’t. The entire Keep was silent and vacant, save for a few handmaidens he spotted collecting soiled laundry. He made sure to keep out of their sight.

And so, Toji settled for waiting in the largest chamber—which he assumed was yours, being the Warden of the North and all. He glanced around, inspecting all the trinkets laid about on your desk: silver jewelry, shoddy wooden carvings of wolves, and, interestingly, various scabbarded daggers. He pocketed what looked to be of some value. He inspected some more, lazed around on your large bed, and rifled through the many furs and fine garments in your closet. Many of the dresses he held up to his chest spanned only half the width of his broad shoulders, much to his amusement.

Hours later, once footsteps echoed down the hall, Toji sprang up from the polished wooden chair (he totally hadn’t fallen asleep) and hid behind the door.

You strode in, covered in dirt, snow, and dried blood. There were leaves clinging to your hair. It seemed that you’d just gotten back from a hunting party. You had yet to spot the tall, burly man in your chambers, your back still to him as you began to shirk off your boots.

That was when Toji moved.

Curved blades in hand, Toji surged forward and aimed to stab you right through your heart—

You turned around just in time to see your direwolf lunge at the figure, her sharp teeth sinking into Toji’s shoulder. The man let out a startled cry of pain, the weight of the wolf sending him careening down to the ground, his head cracking against one of the posts of your bed. Stars danced about his vision as pain shot down from nearly every part of his body.

Its teeth tore through the musculature of his bicep and collar, its claws tearing through his tunic and the skin of his abdomen with each swipe. Toji landed a poorly aimed strike to the direwolf’s midriff, but she merely grew more aggressive in her ministrations.

Nobody had told him you had a fucking direwolf.

If he’d known, he would’ve reconsidered taking the job. He still would have agreed, in the end, the gold was too much to turn down, but it would’ve been good information to know beforehand.

Curse the Lannisters. Curse their gold. Curse you and your stupid pet—

“Down, Reika,” you ordered, which had the accursed beast backing away from him with snarling, bared teeth, dripping with what he assumed was his blood. “Good girl.”

Toji made a strangled noise of pain as he attempted to sit up.

“It’s been a long day,” you stiffly told him, eyes narrowed as you knelt down and pressed one of the daggers from your desk—now unsheathed—right over his jugular. The cold metal kissed his skin and he immediately stopped moving. He could see his weapon scattered an arm’s length behind you. There was no way he could possibly reach it without you slitting his throat first. “Hunting party gone wrong. I wanted nothing more than to come home and take a long, hot bath. And what do I have to deal with? A sad attempt at an assassination, and my carpets covered in your blood.”

Toji scowled, but said nothing in return.

“Guards,” you said, strangely calm for someone who had nearly (if not for your wretched, overgrown dog) been assassinated. “Take him to the dungeons.”

As Toji was dragged away, leaving a dripping trail of blood in his wake, he caught a glimpse of you kneeling by your wolf, your hand shaking with adrenalized fear you hadn’t dared show in front of him. He was glad he was able to see it—just a glimpse of weakness was more than enough ammunition for him.

The dungeons were cold and dreary. Much like the rest of the North, Toji bitterly thought. It was hard to see as well, for the sparse few torches hanging on the walls only barely lit the walkway.

He could hear everything, though. Dripping of water in the distance. A raven cawing outside. The torch’s flame whispering greed to the air. Footsteps growing louder—

Toji sat up against the wall when a figure stepped in front of the wrought metal bars, dark with decades of use and age.

“Food,” came your voice. “I don’t usually do this, you know.”

The man, your prisoner, lazily tilted his head up from his position on the ground to look at you, his gaze dropping down to your hands where one carried a bowl of braised meat and the other held a chalice of wine. The chalice alone was probably worth more than anything he’d ever owned in his life.

“Bring food to a man? I can tell,” Toji dryly responded.

Your expression remained unchanged. “Bring food to a prisoner.”

It was then that Toji noticed a pair of glowing eyes by your legs, the beast’s tale curling over the back of your knees. The maester might have bound him up nice and clean (though not without pursed lips of obvious disapproval), but his wounded shoulder still throbbed with terrible pains.

“You brought your dog,” he observed.

“Wolf,” you corrected. “Her name is Reika.”

“Wretched thing,” Toji half-heartedly snarled.

The beast snarled back at him. Its eyes, amber and sharp, only grew brighter with agitation.

You decided to ignore his comment. “Do you want to tell me what you were doing in my chambers?”

There was clear disdain in your features, from what little Toji could see of it anyway, but he could also pick up on the evident curiosity there—it wasn’t every day you had to deal with a Southern commoner.

“Won’t make much of a difference now, would it?” he drawled, kicking his feet out so he could rest his elbows over propped-up knees.

“Your choice of words could very likely spark up a war between houses,” you said. It was said as a jest, though you knew it was a large possibility.

“Would be no fun to start a war if I’m not there to partake,” came his reply. His stomach cinched as he inhaled sharply, the warm smell of peppered venison wafting through his cell. “You came here to give me food and yet you’re still clutching onto it like a babe with its mother’s teat.”

“You have a foul mouth,” you said, now slightly amused. Who knew the Warden of the North had a sense of humor? “Tell me who sent you. Then comes the food.”

Toji glowered some more. For a minute, he considered what you’d do if he simply refused to say anything. But his tummy grumbled, and his resolve dissipated into mist.

“The Lannisters paid me a pretty sum to have you dead,” he said.

To his interest, you didn’t seem a single bit surprised. “Ah. Yes, I suspected so. Jenna Lannister was particularly prickly to me last we met.”

“Are you going to give me the food or what?” Toji barked, words heavy with irritation. He really couldn't care less about your snooty endeavors.

“I don’t want the throne,” you went on, much to his chagrin. Though, you did lower yourself to his same position and slipped your wrists through the bars to place down the bowl and chalice. “Not the Iron one, at least. The burden is heavy… and the North is enough for me. Marrying the king means I’d have to sire heirs, and I have no interest in doing so. Winterfell is not short of Starks—my brother and his lady wife have had enough little children for our name to carry on the family legacy for centuries.”

Toji could have easily grabbed at your wrists and slammed your head bloody into the bars. Your stinking mutt made him pause, however, and you pulled away before he could make a move.

Besides, he was hungry.

Toji tore at the meat like a rabid animal. It fell apart in a deliciously tender manner. Hot soup dribbled down his palms, which he ravenously licked away. You didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, you took a seat opposite his cell and watched him with clear fascination.

“How’d you get that scar?”

Toji chewed at a particularly large chunk of meat and swallowed it with little effort. “Not everyone grows up in a lavish castle eating pastries and meats and sucking squire cock.”

It took you a moment to respond, but when you did, your words were calm and flat. “I’ve brought you meat. If it is pastries and squire cock you require, you need only ask. Give you a taste of a lordly life.”

Now you really must have been japing. Mocking him, even. Toji didn’t find you all that funny.

“Why are you here?” he gruffed around another mouthful after taking a long swig of wine. “Are friends hard to come by in the North? Or is it just you?”

That seemed to strike a nerve. You sucked at your teeth.

“I saw you,” he pressed. “As your guards dragged me away. I saw you looking scared. Cowering by your wolf because I nearly got you. If that beast hadn’t been there, you would have been long dead. It would suit you.” Toji’s eyes gave you an intrusive onceover, despite all the layers you were wearing. “You’d make a lovely corpse.”

“Only a fool fights back fear,” you shot back, though it was quite obvious that your confidence had taken a blow. “Fear keeps us alive.”

Toji made a humming noise into the bowl that he picked up to slurp at the last remaining drops of soup.

“More,” he demanded once he pulled his face away, tongue laving over his lips to catch what had smeared over his mouth. The portion you had given him was ridiculously small.

Perhaps that was a calculated choice. Toji only realized that when you spared him a cold little smile.

“Hey!” he growled out when you pushed yourself back onto your feet. “I’m fucking starving here!”

Silent as a wraith, you strode out of the dungeons with Reika padding along beside you.

Much time passed. Each night (Toji assumed it was night, he could hardly tell since there were no windows anyway), you would come down with a bit of food and drink. You would sit and talk with him about the most mundane of things, the most asinine of topics, and the most boring of subjects. Toji yawned and yawned so you would take the hint, but you ignored him each time.

He was beginning to think you truly didn’t have any friends up there. Other than your stinky mutt, of course.

There was even one time where you had opened the grating. From what he heard, Starks were quite religious folk—slobbering all over their bloody trees and old gods. He’d told you he wanted to see the Godswood as he himself was devout (he, of course, was nowhere near devout and hadn't prayed a single day in his life), and you, with softened eyes, reluctantly agreed on the condition that he remained shackled and quiet.

He killed a guard that night trying to escape. You struck him with a terribly strong blow to the back of his head, and your damned wolf sunk its teeth into his shin. The maester was none too happy to see him again. No milk of the poppy was administered, so he suffered through the pain. It was all worth it, though. He was outside of the dungeons for a grand total of two seconds, and the air had never tasted so clear and so sweet.

You were angry at him for quite a while but still found it in you to visit nearly every day, which Toji found highly amusing. Then you grew soft on him again (which took many moons), and Toji oft wondered if you usually pardoned prisoners this quickly.

“Why haven’t you killed me yet?” Toji asked on the seventh moon of him being your prisoner. Of course, he had asked this question multiple times before, but your answer seemed to always vary.

You may be of value. You do not deserve death. The gods smile at mercy. Reika likes you.

Those were all reasons you’d given him before. Though Toji had a very hard time believing the last one.

You regarded him with knitted brows. “If I’m being honest… I’ve grown quite fond of you.”

Toji drew his head back in surprise. Then, an arrogant, flirtatious smile flitted over his scarred mouth. It was the same smile he used to use on whores in the Street of Silk so they would take him to their seducing chambers—he could never understand how the drawers and shelves of whorehouses seemed to always have an abundance of loose coppers and silvers.

“But—” You began to continue but Toji quickly cut you off.

“I know what you’re going to say,” he said, lifting a hand up. You frowned. “You’ve fallen in love with me. And you’re thinking that if the circumstances were different, we’d be pawing at each other’s bodies like there was no tomorrow. And you worry that your people wouldn’t approve. You needn’t worry about such matters—I’m sure Northern folk would regard me as your equal if you let me out of the cell and force me into marriage. That would make me their liege lord, wouldn’t it?”

An indignant look settled over your features, your skin flushed as if you’d downed a heady drink.

“Are you mad? Of course I’m not in love with you, you imbecile,” you retorted, crossing your arms. “Besides—I’m not looking to marry anyone. And if I was, you’d be the very last on my list, thank you very much.”

Toji didn’t even have the gall to look embarrassed at his bold assumption.

“I had to try, didn’t I?” He gave you that lazy smirk once more. “Being Lord of Winterfell sounds like a cushy life. Cushier than this one, at least.”

“Well…” You toyed with a frayed thread on your robes. “I can offer you a life cushier than prison.”

Toji snorted. “I’m not going to be a glorified stableboy or a squire. I’d much rather sit here and have you bring me food than the other way around.”

“I considered sending you to the Night’s Watch,” you admitted with a ponderous look. “There are plenty of men like you there—I’m sure they would welcome another good fighter.” Toji didn’t have time to snark about how you’d complimented him before you were already speaking again. “But then I realized that you might still be of use to me.”

“I’m a good bed warmer,” offered Toji. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laid on a plush bed. Not since yours, at least. He thought about your bed often. Usually without you in it. The times he did imagine you there, your wolf always came in and ruined his entire lovely daydream.

You spared him an unamused look. “I want you to be my spy. Ears and eyes for me down South. Particularly in the West, where the lands crawl with Lannister cock-sucking houses. I need to know what they plan so I can be five steps ahead.”

A moment of silence passed by. Toji’s upper lip curled into a sneer.

“No,” he began to protest. “Why in the seven hells would I—”

“I’ll pay you with enough gold to sink you to the bottom of the ocean. And once you have tired of gold, I’ll fill you with as much venison stew as your heart desires. And once you get sick of that, I will find you a Northern castle and grant you the title of a lord for your services. You’ll live the rest of your days comfortably. Granted you do as I tell you, of course.”

That made Toji pause and consider your offer.

“Why me?” he finally asked. He drew nearer to the bars, nearer to you.

“You’re a Southerner, aren’t you? You know the lands better than any of my loyal Northmen. You’d… fit in.”

Toji wanted to laugh. He wasn’t ever very good at fitting in.

“How do you know I wouldn’t just lie to you and ally myself with the Lannisters?”

“Because,” you huffed, nose wrinkling. “You think they’re all cunts. You’ve said it yourself plenty of times. And—I’m not foolish enough to have you as my sole plant. If you lie, I’ll know. And I’ll have Reika hunt you down… and she won’t be held back this time.”

She was holding back the previous times? Toji distantly thought with a scowl.

“What do you say?”

“It’s a far journey down South. You’ll miss me.” Toji’s cheek pressed up against the uneven metal bars. They were so cold it felt as if they were burning right through his flesh.

“I’ll find another prisoner to entertain,” you replied, eyes glimmering. Another jape. You didn’t deny his words, however.

A moment of considerable silence passed. Toji bowed his head ever so slightly. The first time he’d ever done so to you.

“I’m in, Wolf.” It didn’t pass his notice how your eyes lit up, how your back stood a little straighter, how your fingers curled excitedly into the fabric of your riding cloak. You didn’t even seem to mind the nickname he’d given you. “When do I start?”

#toji fushiguro x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #toji fushiguro fanfiction #toji x reader #toji fushiguro fanic #toji fushiguro fluff #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro angst #jujutsu kaisen toji x reader #toji fushiguro imagines #toji fushiguro drabbles #toji zenin x reader #jjk fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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system-to-the-madness · 8 days ago

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Not my King - Éomer x Reader

Pairing: Éomer x Rohirim!Reader(can be read as any gender, no pronouns used) Genre: fluff Word Count: 2 213 Warnings: mentions of war and the Nazgul, Implied, that Reader joined the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, Summary: While you keep wake at the fire throughout the night, Éomer joins you A/N: Part of the winter solstice event 2024

It had been well over half a year, since the ever approaching shadow in the south east had been banned. The darkness that crept now over the green lands of Rohan was of no evil making, but the sun’s seasons. Still, you felt a shiver run down your spine as you stood at the tops of the stairs that lead up to Meduseld, and watched darkness claim the land beyond the city gates, even though it was only early afternoon. It still felt unnatural, the same way any darkness felt unnatural now, ever since you had seen the Nazgul with their winged beasts. Even now, shivers ran down your spine when you had to walk alone at night and thought to see teeth emerge from deep shadows.

Shivering at the thought, you tore yourself away from dark memories. Tomorrow the days would grow longer again, you reminded yourself, but for now you had to guard the fire in the Golden Hall so it may not be extinguished during the longest night, when the shadows felt so much deeper than they usually did.

The door to the Hall suddenly swung open, music and cheering pouring out into the twilight, making you flinch. The feast was in full swing, and you were standing out here alone, drowning in dark thoughts!

Shaking yourself loose, you tore your eyes away from the mountains behind which the sun had sunken and slipped through the closing door into the Hall.

The air inside was heavy with the smell of wooden fire and roasted meat, spilled beer and drunken songs. The shortest day of the year demanded celebration until late into the night, so the nights knew to grow shorter again. For many years the old tradition had not been held under the evil spell the white wizard had cast over the former king. Now the current king, Éomer, had brought that tradition back to life.

King.

You almost snorted at the thought. What a king he was.

It was easy, as always to spot Éomer in the crowd of drinking and celebrating men, his hair the fairest, his voice the loudest, his cheer the brightest. Had you not known him as well as you did, you might have respected him more, now that he was on the throne. But it was hard to take the man seriously, who as a boy had fallen face first into horse dung or been carried off by his mare through half the Riddermark.

The first time you had met him alone after his coronation, you had laughed into his face, at how ridiculous it was to have him of all people on the throne, and he might have been angered had these words been spoken by anyone but you. Instead, a rueful smile had graced his lips, and his dark eyes had glanced at you from under his lashes like a little boy's, who was embarrassed for an objectively failed project he was proud of nonetheless.

Oh no, you had to stop thinking about this moment. Your heart grew all too soft at the memory of his gaze, or the way he had teasingly threatened he would need a queen one day and if you were not to stop mocking him, he might put that crown on your head just for revenge. It had been mockery; you were sure if it. But you were scared your reaction to the thought of getting to be married to Éomer might have been too honest for such jokes. Either he had not noticed or not cared because if anything the time he had spent with you from then on had not shortened but increased instead.

On evenings, when the wind was especially harsh, he had come to meet you by the fire, sharing a loaf of bread and stir-fried vegetables. But when the weather was fair, he had invited you for rides, challenging you for races and never taking a no for an answer.

"Any rider who faced the battle on the Pelennor Fields against their king's and their captain's will shall not turn down a race against me, don't you think?" And when you came back, hands red from the cold, he had taken them between his, rubbed warmth into them, and blown his hot breath against your skin to warm you.

Those were dangerous moments, when he was standing just close enough for you to lean over, press your lips to his and reveal that aching longing in your heart. You never had, but it had always been a hard fight. Especially when he had looked up at you again from underneath his black lashes with eyes as brown as one might imagine, seeming to beg you to close the distance. Maybe you would have, had he not been king. But he was, so you had not.

Now he was clicking his mug against those of his companions, face split into a wide smile, no care in the world seeming left on his shoulders, and you turned away, determined to not pay him any more thought on this night. An impossible task as it would prove.

The Golden Hall had calmed down long ago. The music and singing had ceased, the tables been freed of the weight of food stacked upon them. The people who had celebrated until late at night had retired, most of them more swaying than walking. Parents had carried children, who had spent the whole evening dancing and laughing, now asleep, to their beds, and two dogs had curled up by the fire which you were tasked to guard. Under no circumstances was it to go out or else bad fortune for the coming year would come over Rohan and the beings trapped in the shadows of the longest night would slither over, wreaking havoc in every city and village they would come across.

Why you had been chosen to protect Rohan through the fire in the Golden Hall tonight, you were not sure. In years long past, it had been Éowyn and you together, but with her having stayed in Gondor, it was your task alone now. A while ago your eyelids had gotten heavy, but one of the dogs' suddenly scratching behind his ear had woken you up again, and since then the thought, that failure in keeping the fire burning might lead to another encounter with a Nazgul, kept you more than awake.

You had long lost all sense of time, only staring into the flickering flames and occasionally putting on more wood to keep the fire strong, so when you heard footsteps approach from one of the corridors, you almost assumed it was turning morning. But then the door got opened and the speed and force used told you it was Éomer, which in turn meant it was more likely late night than early morning.

"How's the fire going," he asked, walking over to where you were sitting wrapped in a blanket.

"It's strong. The wood burns well this year," you told him, putting you head back to be able to look up at him. He was wearing a simple red tunic with gold and green embroidery, a pair of linen trousers and light shoes. His hair was freshly brushed and unbound, his beard neatly trimmed. From this angle he did look like a king, majestic and yet kind, the light of the fire dancing in his eyes as he looked down on you sitting at his feet.

"Why are you up," you wondered, "the night is late, shouldn't everyone have gone to bed long ago?"

"Sleep evaded me," Éomer answered, but you were not sure how much truth his words held. He did not look like someone who had spent hours tossing in bed, chasing dreams. His hair was too neatly brushed, his tunic too smooth.

Without another word Éomer sat down next to you, facing the fire, and grabbed an iron poker, moving around in the ashes that had gathered at the side of the fire pit.

"You can think why I tasked you to care for the fire tonight, can you not," he suddenly asked, his voice quiet, lacking the usual force behind his words.

"I cannot," you answered truthfully, "but I shall not complain. Guarding the fire is an honour and allows for relishing old memories."

You left it open, the implication that it was the memories of the nights you had stood guard by the fire with Éowyn, not the memories of the sword-like teeth of the winged creature you had encountered on the Pelennor Fields.

"Can you really not," Éomer wondered.

"You know me, my lord," you laughed quietly. "If I knew, I would tell you with no hesitation."

Éomer turned to look at you, studying the play of light and shadow on your face, the warm light of the fire and the cool shadows of the night.

"It was a selfish act," he admitted, turning away again and fixing his eyes on the fire. "I was hoping to get us time, just the two of us, to talk. And then I spent the better half of the night pacing through my room with thoughts running wild in my head instead of facing you."

"Facing me," you echoed, furrowing your brows. "What kind of creature am I that I am to be faced?"

"The fairest of them all," Éomer answered without missing a beat, "the most beautiful being that has ever walked this earth. And not even Master Gimli shall be able to convince me the lady of the woods could ever be more beautiful than you are to me."

Surprised you blinked. Éomer had never been one for sweet words of praise, not when it came to you at least. His words towards you always used to be filled with jest and mirth. Was he jesting now? Your eyes flickered to your hands, rough from cold water and with rims of black under your nails from where you had cleaned your horse around noon. Beautiful he had called you, and even praised you above the fairest of the many races that populated Middle-earth.

"Whatever the punchline to this joke will be-"

"There is none," Éomer interrupted you. "None but my heart. I've known it for too long, and I wish I could have made my heart known earlier. There was fear, of what Wormtongue would do to you if he were to know the extent of my care for you. But since he has been cast out, it has been pure cowardice of your rejection that has kept my tongue from revealing my heart. When I saw you protect my sister's lifeless body against the Orcs, I knew there was no hand I would ever wish to hold but yours. I had hoped the past months had made that plain, but you neither responded nor pulled away, leaving me to hope against hope-"

"I don't know you as one to make long speeches," you interrupted Éomer with your heart beating in your throat. Could it really be he meant the words he had spoken? "Say what you mean to."

A smile pulled at Éomer's lips as he turned to look at you again.

"See, this is one of the countless reasons I love you. Never afraid to put your king back in line."

"You're not my king, never were. Not like that anyway."

"No, you're right. I'm not. I'm just the man asking with a fool’s heart for your permission to court you."

At his words you fully turned to him, finding he was smiling at you fondly, an expression which you had, now that you thought about it, never seen directed at anyone but you.

"Not my king," you repeated, and reached up, brushing your fingertips over the neatly trimmed beard on his cheeks. "But my Éomer."

It seemed like your words had ignited a fire much stronger than that burning before you inside Éomer's chest, because he broke into a smile, his whole body tensing with held back joy.

"You mean it," he asked, disbelievingly, "you really mean it?"

"As much as I have ever meant anything! Had I known that those were your intentions all along, I would never have held back on my own!"

"Oh, two proper fools we are," Éomer cried. "How much precious time we let pass by! All these times I had held back from sharing the sweetest kisses with you!"

"You needn't hold back anymore," you laughed, amused at his despair. "No evil shall befall you were you to kiss me at any time, but perhaps the stares of others."

"At any time," Éomer asked, as if to assure himself of the meaning of the word.

"At any time," you repeated, and only when Éomer lent forward to press his lips to yours did you understand his intention behind asking again.

His beard was rough against your skin, but his golden hair like the finest silk between your fingers as you wove your fingers between the strands, and let his gentle but eager lips guide you.

And so the sun eventually rose in the east in a clear, cold morning without you noticing, as Éomer's kisses kept you distracted by the still brightly flickering flames of the fire in Meduseld.

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vanderwoodlings · 5 months ago

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how do you kill a feeling: a blair/dan playlist (x)

Tracklist and commentary under the cut:

This is also entirely country music, because, uh… I wanted to? And at least one person (hi Liz) seemed into the idea? Generally when it comes to GG, we skew more towards pop than anything else, so it was a fun experiment!

1. “Easy Silence,” The Chicks. And I come to find a refuge in the/Easy silence that you make for me/It’s okay when there’s nothing more to say to me

2. “Walkin’ After Midnight,” Patsy Cline. [dan voice] I’ve been walking around the city all night with one paralyzing, all-consuming thought

3. “Found It In You,” Tiera Kennedy. The confidence to know that I can be happy/Just ‘cause you tell me that you got me.

4. “Friends Don’t,” Maddie & Tae. [Insert obligatory aromantic disclaimer that Friends Do, Thanks, here.] That aside, this is just… so stupid best friends in pining denial dair-coded

5. “I Try to Think About Elvis,” Patty Loveless. When you’re ass backwards crushing on Blair Waldorf and you would like to not be, please

6. “Hey, Good Lookin’,” Hank Williams. This one was one that just clicked as a dair song at random somewhere—something about the I’m gonna throw my date book over the fence bit especially—and sparked this playlist into being

7. “Lay It On Me,” Mickey Guyton. I want the truth and all your lies/I want your perfectly imperfect

8. “I’ll Be,” Reba McEntire. And mayhaps Dan has a white knight complex. I’ll be the rock that will be strong for you/The one that will hold on to you

9. “Marigold,” Paisley Fields. Marigold, bold and bright/Marigold, through spring and summer/You brighten up my night, marigold

10. “After I Fall,” Lee Ann Womack. And mayhaps Blair is a bit traumatized. After I fall, where do I stand/After my heart is in your hands/And you’ve got it all

11. “cowboy take me away,” Brittney Spencer. This one is in the Vibe—because God knows neither of them want to get out of the city and get dirt on their hands—it’s more something wild and unruly

12. “I Can’t Help It (If I’m Still in Love with You),” Johnny Cash. Dan pining moments

13. “This Kiss,” Faith Hill. I always love story imagery with Blair, so of course we’ve got Cinderella said to Snow White/“How does love get so off course/Oh, all I wanted was a white knight/With a good heart/Soft touch, fast horse.”

14. “Wrecking Ball,” Emmylou Harris. This song’s got the narrator offering a first date if the other person is in, in spite of the lack of privacy she’s got/the things the other person might know, which is very Gossip Girl, but there’s also something about the Meet me at the wrecking ball (wrecking ball)/I’ll wear something pretty and white that feels very Blair

15. “Death Of Me,” Reyna Roberts. Took this barely beating heart and brought it back to life/But this love might be the death of me.

16. “Starting Over,” Chris Stapleton. Gotta give them something good. And, honey, for once in our life/Let’s take our chances and roll the dice

17. “Grow Old with Me,” Sunny Sweeney. They all said we’d never fit so well together/Grow old with me, I’ll keep you young forever

18. “Jolene,” Dolly Parton. I’ve used this as a Blair’s Serena complex song before, way back on the blairena playlist and uh… I was right ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯

19. “Milwaukee,” Wyatt Flores. Okay, yeah, wrong city, but—You can hate my eyes for watching you leave/You can hate my should have chased you down feet/…/Please don’t hate my heart

20. “What Brings Life Also Kills,” Kolton Moore & the Clever Few. Dear, I’m writing this for you/As I contemplate tomorrow/Why did it end so soon?

21. “Buddy,” Willie Nelson. S6 dangina hours!!!!

22. “Why’d You Come in Here Lookin’ Like That,” Dolly Parton. Exists in the theoretical Dan slut era of my dreams. He’s out slow dancing with every girl around/I’m a soft-hearted woman, he’s a hardheaded man/And he’s gonna make me feel just as bad as he can

23. “Foolin’ Ourselves,” Evan Honer. Welcome to the dairfair! We get a little chronologically blurry here for the sake of the Sound being right, but I trust y’all to follow along

24. “On the Other Hand,” Randy Travis. On one hand, I could stay and be your lovin’ man/But the reason I must go is on the other hand.

25. “Summertime,” Orville Peck. You and I/Bide our time/And I miss summertime

26. “Satin Sheets,” Tammy Wynette. If Serena gets “Jolene” (or even, sort of, the pseudo-honorable “On the Other Hand”), Chip gets this. Blair canonically sings Wynette’s “Stand By Your Man” about him (which really fucks me up), so I knew she had to be on here somewhere, but I wasn’t expecting something quite so suitable to jump right out. But your money can’t hold me tight/Like he does on a long, long night

27. “Your Someone,” May Erlewine. I thought that I was stronger/I willed myself to be/But love can be so tender/I feel a tenderness in me

28. “To June This Morning,” Ruston Kelly, Kacey Musgraves.

29. “Love is Alive,” The Judds. Love is a man and he’s mine/Love is alive/And at our breakfast table

30. “Love Is A Wild Thing,” Kacey Musgraves. There’s no way to stop it, so don’t try to

#good morning everyone i did it #blair waldorf #dan humphrey #dair #blair and dan #this is a playlist tag #original nonsense #gossip girl #anti chuck bass #nearly forgot that tag lmao

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gingermintpepper · 4 months ago

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Fate-Master I

I did say I would post more wips of my Zeus and Apollo writing so here's a bit from a series I've been writing concerning a young Apollo grappling with being the up and coming Moiragetes - Master of the Fates.

Do let me know if there's any interest for this sort of thing; I didn't originally intend to post this stuff anywhere, but I've just been so frustrated that I feel like it's necessary now 😂

Apollo marks time by etching notches into a clay tablet. He watches from the edge of the mountain’s summit, six of his crows perched three-by-three atop his shoulders and the seventh casting her gaze down onto the maidens all gathered to pick their flowers. He watches them laugh and joke and throw their petals all about, free and fragrant with an easy camaraderie spread thick between them all. He carves his first notch when Persephone lays eyes on the innocent narcissus; in his visions he could never make sense of time’s passing - he did not know how long she would remain swallowed, merely that it would be long enough for her to be missed, searched for, grieved and avenged.

It will be worth it all in the end.

Soon, all the world will delight in the birth of new Seasons, a new system of time to mark the stabilisation of this new era.

He averts his eyes when the earth crumbles beneath Persephone’s feet. There is no way for him to deny it if he truly does bear witness to the act. Apollo cannot see the pitch-black rider on his earth-dark horses as he grabs the maiden. He cannot see those immortal steeds galloping down, down, infinitely down beneath the earth so their rider may delight in his prize. He does not know the sound of her screams as the ground eats her alive. Only the narcissus remains when he once more casts his gaze down, white and untouched. Innocent. Like Apollo. Neither of them have seen a single thing.

(But oh, her screams are loud in his ear. Big, reedy yells, wet with phlegm. A fawn crying for her mother, the tittering of a sparrowling swallowed foot-first by the viper. They never seemed this loud in his dreams, like footnotes easily overlooked at the very bottom of the page. Apollo does not see her go, but he hears her. He hopes he is the only one who hears.)

He calls for his darling crow to return to him, stepping light into the halls of Olympus. His day will continue on as normal but to visit his mother so he can request a particularly thick himation for the coming days. Lemnos clicks next to his ear and Apollo huffs, dismissing his crows in a scatter of bright white feathers and glittering metal. They will watch what he cannot. They will make sure the maiden remains buried deep beneath the earth.

The subtle cold emanating from his father’s quarters curls about his calves - he did not realise he had already travelled the length of the halls. He does not knock before he enters; the women are all busy this time of day and shrewd Athena is still out dancing with his sister, it will just be Father in his room, bent over his table or pouring over one of his maps.

“It is done.”

And Father looks up from his writing, a knowing glint shining in wine-dark eyes. His face remains frightfully still, marble stiff and focused on Apollo with the full weight of his eagle sharp intent. “You did not see it?”

Her scream is the same as the highest note on the aeolian scale. A wonderfully piercing ‘A’. It is similar to the sound that resonates in the sky’s centre, Apollo cannot stop hearing it in his ear. “I did not.”

Father smiles then, like sunlight peeking through the rough edges of the storm, “Good. That’s good.” He puts his hand to his face, scratches his chin as he hums contemplative. “How much time do we have before… well, before.”

Demeter’s wailing will be a much darker sound, phrygian and guttural, discordant. Apollo’s had the score written for months now. He thinks he will hang Persephone’s cry next to it. Maybe he will incorporate their melodies into the song he will play at her return. Maybe it is cruel of him to already be thinking such things. “I know not. Time has never been the clearest to me, even in my most vivid of visions.”

“It is no matter,” Father leans forward, digs a bolt of bright red fabric out of his drawer. “Here,” When he catches it, Apollo feels a denseness in the fibres he has never known. They’re slick yet springy, far coarser than sheep’s wool but unlike any goatskin or leather he has ever handled. “For the cloak you will ask of your mother.”

He is slowly becoming accustomed to his thoughts not being his own, to his father living so closely in his head. The woven string connecting them still bleeds dye if either of them pull too hard on the connection, but in these quiet moments, it is a comfort. A lifeline.

“Chimera skin, so it will not burn when you wear it for your work.” Would Father be this calm if it was Artemis swallowed by the earth? Would Apollo? That watery scream is a persistent ringing, she is still screaming far beneath where none but the rider can hear her. (Apollo hears her. Even now, he can hear the heavy breath of the dark stallions, the ripping winds that sting at her ears. Persephone is a friend, can he really leave her to this fate -?) “Phoebus.”

Father’s broad palm is warm on his shoulder. It pulls him gently from his spiralling thoughts. The heat is unexpected; even now, Apollo can feel his toes going stiff from the room’s chill.

“I am well,” he hears himself say, distant like the clanging stallion hooves which carry the rider’s prize deeper beneath the earth. Father does not let him go when he tries to escape. He does not tighten his hold either. His hand merely remains on Apollo’s slim shoulder, a point to anchor him here and not there. Apollo focuses on the faint hum of his father’s power, the gentle whistle of his cloud-hairs as they flow about his head, the muffled shuffling of his crows’ feathers as they settle in the gables to await his return. He no longer hears her. Not her, not the dread chariot. He cannot hear a single thing. “I am well.”

#ginger writes #greek mythology #Absolutely fascinated by the idea of a young Apollo who must lean on Zeus for support #as he acclimates to the types of tragedies he will foresee and oversee as the one who proclaims his father's will #Persephone's abduction is the first big prophecy that he's overseeing in this #And it's very difficult on him because Persephone is a good friend to him and Artemis #Apollo in all his righteousness and justice - I imagine he struggles a lot with having to close his eyes #and just let what has to happen happen for the sake of the future #Which is what Zeus is there to help him with #In general too I'm just really fascinated by Apollo and Zeus' bond as the masters of Fate #It's definitely very hard work - the sort that no one appreciates you for #pursuing daybreak posting #apollo #zeus #persephone #writing #snippet #fic writing

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heartofwritiing · 1 year ago

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What am I supposed to do, if theres no you?

paring: wilbur soot x fem!reader

authors note: I was listening to soon you’ll get better by taylor swift. I couldn’t get the imagery of this song out of my head and I needed to write some sort of vent. also inspired by a fic that @starsyoubreaklikesugardust wrote called whats it like on the other side of us that utterly destroyed me and I needed a happier version... This is super self-indulgent as hell but I hope you guys like it!

warnings: angst, mentions of an illness, hospitals, heavy topics, mentions of death, reader doesn’t have a specific illness, fluff, hurt comfort, me not knowing about medical terms or hospitals so excuse me lol, unedited!

The hospital bed feels warmer when Wilbur lies beside you, the only sound in the small room is the beeping of the machine monitoring your vitals.

On most days, everything is fine. However, when he's around, it's easy to forget the inevitable fate that awaits.

When he has to leave, he goes home to sleep in an empty bed and never does sleep. In those moments of solitude, he cries until he can't anymore. He tries to distract himself by painting the kitchen yellow, fixing up the garden, going to the studio to record, and hanging out with friends. But he feels guilty he’s not beside you.

The next time you see him he looks horrible. Like he got hit by a bus and you’re wondering if you should be the one in here or him. Wilbur Voice horse, circles under his eyes and red you know is from his tears. That’s when you pull him by the arm so he can curl up next to you so he can finally get some rest.

Stoking your fingers through his hair as he snores softly into your collarbone. You think about how Wilbur would ever function without you. How is he gonna take care of himself -when-if you are gone one day. That pit is building in your stomach along with the small lump in your throat. The burning of your eyes as you silently cry while you hold him close to your body.

Because that was what your life was full of, what ifs, whens, uncertainty, and dread. He didn’t deserve that. The arguments you used to get into when you first got sick. Begging him to leave you because you knew, in the long run, this wouldn’t work out. You could spend the rest of your life in and out of hospitals while he wasted away with you.

Wilbur swore repeatedly up and down that he would never leave you. No matter how much you tried to drive him away or how hard matters got.

Wilbur was constantly worried about your well-being, but he held onto hope that you would recover. This was especially true after the first time he brought you home.

You were happy to leave the uncomfortable hospital bed and small room reeking of antiseptic. You slow danced with him in the living room to Elton John playing from his phone speaker, listened to him write new songs, and slept in because you missed waking up in your shared bed. You felt like your old self again and he loved seeing you that way.

When things got worse again, the bright light in your eyes would soon fade, like water extinguishing a flame, as you had to leave your home and return to that sterile, white-washed room.

When you are back in that hospital bed, with the scratchy sheets and the fluorescent lights that hurt your eyes you’re back to being a shell of a human. The depression hits you harder and Wilbur does all he can to help. make you as comfterble as possible despite the weight of the situation.

You know he’s only trying to provide solstice. The small room fills with his soft voice as he reads your favorite stories. Telling you bad jokes he’s heard from Tommy that get you to at least crack a smile. He feels proud he was the one to grant you some form of happiness.

His hand holds your shaking, cold one as the IV pumps treatment into your veins. He leans over in his chair to be closer to you, lips against your knuckles. Your eyes meet in a longing stare that says 'I'm here, I'm not going anywhere.' You gently squeeze his hand.

“Wil?” You asked hoarsely.

“Yes, darling?” His voice is intimate, making you feel like there are people around even though it's just the two of you. The nickname always makes your tummy flutter with delight.

You want to capture the way he looks at you in a picture. He tentatively waits for your next words, his doe eyes filled with concern. You clear your throat and exhale softly.

“I was thinking... maybe we should find a house in the country,” you say. Wilbur remains silent. "Somewhere quiet, with big fields where we can see the sky, and watch the sunset on the porch."

You've mentioned how you'd love to live out in the country. A cottage large enough for you both to have separate areas. A streaming room for him, and a bedroom and den for you to store all your books and painting supplies.

A place where you can finally be free from confinement. Despite Wilbur's jokes about you being an old soul, you were in touch with life through knitting, painting, reading, and walks. That's what he wanted to give you again.

Your voice is quieter now, creating a moment just for you. The heaviness in your voice made your eyes well up. You could feel his thumb caressing your knuckles. Like a silent ‘take your time’. Your throat closes up as you keep talking. Your breath is shaking, primarily due to the cold temperature of the room and the medicine making you feel woozy. But you and Wilbur knew it was the emotional weight you tried to carry with your words.

Somewhere we can grow old together.

The sentence sits heavily in your mind. You'd like to say it to him. You wanted to share it with him so badly, but it felt painful to have cross your mind.

Wilbur already knows by the look in your eyes. He leans over you, lovingly presses a kiss to your forehead, and wipes away a single tear before it can roll down your cheek. Slowly he moves down, then presses another kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Whatever you want, my love.” he squeezes your hand back.

Wilbur spent weeks searching through countless home-selling websites for your dream house, but none were to his liking or within your budget. A month later, while sitting uncomfortably in a hospital chair with his long legs curled up to his chest, he scrolled through his phone and stumbled upon a house that seemed too good to be true.

He scheduled numerous appointments to see the house, ensuring everything was in order before making a final decision. Moving his belongings with the help of friends and bandmates was hectic.

He spent weeks preparing for your homecoming, buying new furniture, and arranging your books to your liking, making everything perfect only then he would finally surprise you.

He's there to take you to his car the day you leave the hospital. He takes care of you in the passenger seat, buckling you in and ensuring you're ready to leave before setting off.

As Wilbur drives past your shared apartment, soft indie tunes play through the car's speakers, and you lean back against the headrest, watching the scenery pass by. You realize you passed the turn to your house and Wilbur's hand takes yours.

Wilbur turns to you with a mischievous glint in his eyes and says, "We're not going home just yet." A faint smile is on his lips as if he's hiding something from you. He then drives in a different direction, and you can't help but feel excited about what he has planned.

"Where are we going?" you ask. As you speak, he can hear your worry.

"If I told you that, it would ruin the surprise," he says.

He knows you're antsy in your seat but it'll be worth it. After driving through winding roads and trees, he pulls up to a house with an arched doorway and slanted roof, almost like the one you dreamed of growing up.

Wilbur turns off the ignition, rushes to your side, opens the car door, and with a grin offers his hand to help you out. Wilbur leads you to the front door, unlocks it with a small key, and picks you up to carry you over the threshold.

"Welcome home darling," he says.

You are led through the house, to the hallway to the cozy living room. taking everything in slowly.

The soft pillows on the sofa, your paintings on the walls, your books on the shelf, and Wilbur's record player and vinyl set up. His acoustic guitar set against the wall caused your eyes to well up.

"Wilbur," you began, but tears rolled down your face as the emotions overwhelmed you. Why was he going through all this trouble for a silly dream?

Wilbur frowned as he tried to place you on the recliner, but you clung to him, so he sat down with you in his lap. Speaking softly into your ear with tender words to calm you.

You drew away from him, noticing the worry in his gaze as you locked eyes with Wilbur, he searched your expression frantically, attempting to figure out the cause of your distressed state.

"Are you okay?" he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "I know it's a lot to take all at once, but I wanted to surprise you. I'm sorry for being secretive."

You shake your head, in slight remorse for making him assume he upset you or pushed things too far.

"I'm just so happy." you beamed tearily.

Ease washed over him, and a sigh escapes his lips. Tears well in his eyes. He gently takes the back of your head and brings you to meet him for a kiss. His lips are soft and warm as they enveloped yours passionately. You reciprocated his kiss, bringing your hands to thread in his hair. Your noses brushed as you pulled away to catch your breath.

While holding each other, you remained in that position. Your breathing was slow and unsteady, and tears streamed down your face as you cried onto Wilbur's shoulder. Everything, for the first time in a long time, felt perfect.

Everything you had ever wanted was with Wilbur, and you were never going to want anything else.

Wilbur knew in his heart, soon you would get bette, because you just had to.

End.

tagging: @merakiwi @trashcanduck @addxms @ax-y10

#wilbur soot x fem!reader #wilbur soot x reader #neither c! nor cc! wilbur but my own character of him.#fanfiction #x reader #hospital tw #cc!wilbur soot x fem!reader #c!wilbur x reader #cc!wilbur x reader #wilbur x reader #fluff #myct #wilbur soot

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thebluemallet · 1 year ago

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Pairing Every Bridgerton Couple with a Taylor Swift Song

Netflix finally made the official announcement! We're getting the third season of Bridgerton... but not until Spring 2024. A lot of projects got delayed due to the strikes, so I'm not that surprised. And since I'm bored and it's been a while since we've had any Bridgerton content, here is every major Bridgerton couple paired with a Taylor Swift song.

can't wait for all the comments telling me why all the songs i picked were wrong.

Kate and Anthony- Lavender Haze

I honestly don't have a good reason for choosing this specific song for them beyond "vibes" and "purple was a big color for them in their season." Other songs that could fit them seemed a little too melancholy compared to their happy ending at the end of season 2, so I'm sticking with Lavender Haze.

Benedict and Sophie- Enchanted (Taylor's Version)

The obvious choice for them would be Enchanted since their love story is basically a Cinderella story and the song has some major Cinderella vibes. There are two runner-ups since book!Benedict is a bit of a fuckboy: White Horse (Taylor's Version) and All Too Well (10 Minute Version). Since show!Benedict is more charming and less of a fuckboy compared to the book, the other choices should become irrelevant in his season. (God, I hope they're irrelevant in his season).

Colin and Penelope- Love Story (Taylor's Version)

This one's easy: Love Story. They've known each other since they were young. They're both writers of stories. Penelope has built up this idealistic version of Colin for years now and this song definitely sounds like it was written by someone younger with a more idealistic look on love and romance. The runner-up for these two is You Belong With Me (Taylor's Version).

Daphne and Simon- Wildest Dreams (Taylor's Version)

Is it cheating to pick the one that was used in the show? No? Then Daphne and Simon are Wildest Dreams. A good runner-up for them would be Say Don't Go (Taylor's Version). Specifically in the show when Simon tries to distance himself from Daphne in episode 3.

Eloise and Phillip- Lover (First Dance Remix)

I wasn't expecting to have as much trouble as I did trying to pick out a song for these two. I finally landed on Lover (First Dance Remix). In the books, Eloise puts off getting married for a while because she wants a love story as romantic as Benedict's. And this remix of Lover has some added strings that made me think of the string covers in the show and they added a more wistful feel to the song that you don't get with the original.

Bonus Couple- Francesca and John- Timeless (Taylor's Version)(From the Vault)

She's the only Bridgerton sibling to be married twice and yet I feel like John is easily forgotten. But not on this list!

John and Francesca's love story is cut tragically short, leaving Francesca a young widow. And she mourns him for years before she decides to try to find a husband again. She probably spent those years thinking over what could have been had John lived. So the nostalgia of Timeless (TV) (FTV) seems fitting for the two of them.

Francesca and Michael - This Love (Taylor's Version)

The line "Currents swept you out again" immediately had me thinking of Michael sailing away from England for years right after John's death and how that affected Francesca. Then he finally returns just when Francesca has decided she's ready to get married again. "This love came back to me."

Gregory and Lucy- Speak Now (Taylor's Version)

I don't think it gets any more Gregory/Lucy than making a scene at a wedding. Your honor, I rest my case.

Hyacinth and Gareth- Paper Rings

Paper Rings for the simple fact that Gareth, when he first meets Hyacinth, has nothing to offer in terms of wealth and riches. And, correct me if I'm wrong, but she's the only Bridgerton sibling/in-law that got an actual proposal in the books, right? The rest of them just kind of got compromised into marriage. So she gets this song.

(I almost picked this song for Colin and Penelope while Hyacinth and Gareth nearly got Love Story.)

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sirenjose · 1 year ago

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Theory regarding Kevin's 4th Letter

TLDR:

Orpheus sent Kevin to drug contaminated racecourse

Kevin drugged in basement (like Alice) before able to leave

Both Kevin and Jose have strange headaches that go away soon before they're to leave

Kevin & Jose in Emma's 2nd game?

Alice went to the racecourse. Orpheus has her dig up the box/gem herself (while they not around). Soon after, she hallucinates Mary as Frederick, and shortly thereafter is knocked out (after something flies into her face).

Kevin exits his game after drinking a drug. Orpheus later tasks him with “repairing the racecourse”. Once he’s finished, Orpheus holds a banquet for him, during which Kevin talks about his past. Orpheus presses him regarding whether Kevin remembers Angelina is alive or not. Following this, Kevin discusses having had frequent headaches, but they’ve gone away. He suspects the wine. Despite his headaches having gone away, he says “everything I said grew increasingly blurry in my mind”. In any case, he states he’s leaving “once I wake up in the morning”.

The backstory for Kreiburg Racecourse explains that, on the opening day of Lily’s father’s “expensive new horse racing series”, Cyanus, the “White Steed of Death”, “went berserk and caused a trampling incident” (and potentially scaring other horses as a result). In Ashes of Memory part 1 it describes it as a “fatal stampede”. Before this, it was said Mary Kreiburg would pin a cornflower on Cyanus and the rider as a “victory blessing”.

Both Alice and Kevin go to the racecourse. If there were drugs somewhere at the racecourse, such as in the ground or in the cornflowers (or on/in the box potentially), to make Alice hallucinate, potentially set up purposefully by Orpheus, it’s possible Orpheus did the same thing to Kevin. No, Kevin doesn’t hallucinate, but we do see he’s having issues remembering. Maybe Orpheus just switched out the drugs he was using from Siren Song for Alice to Hydra or Mnemosyne for Kevin.

(I wonder then if Orpheus purposefully sent Kevin to the racecourse, knowing what would happen and/or to affect Kevin even more with the drugs over a longer period of time. I wonder if he sent anyone else that escaped their game to do this before they could leave to do the same to them.)

While comparing Alice and Kevin, Kevin says he plans to leave in the morning, but there’s no proof that this is exactly what happened.

Alice was knocked out twice (likely both times by Orpheus), and after the 2nd time she was sent to the secret basement and given Hydra. It’s possible something similar happened to Kevin. Potentially either he was knocked out before he could leave or was taken while he was out (potentially drugged to ensure he stayed asleep, likely with the Orpheus coma drug) and sent to the basement at the point. Once there, Orpheus could either give him Mnemosyne to forget what’s happened during the game and/or Hydra to reconstruct his memory to make him think Angelina is alive.

We already know Orpheus is quite interested in messing with Kevin’s memories to make him think she’s alive, to the point Kevin says Orpheus “ignored my unhappy silence and pried, trying to force an answer out of me. Shattered glasses, overturned silverware, shaking figures... It wasn't until I expressed my desire to leave that he realized how rude he'd been. After repeated apologies, he returned to his polite self, then nodded with satisfaction and went on listening to the story”. Considering that sort of reaction, it would be easy to believe Orpheus isn’t ready to let go of Kevin yet, and thus would be interested in reusing him in his experiments.

Now I want to go back to Kevin mentioning his headaches. Right after this he says “everything I said grew increasingly blurry in my mind”. Oracle from the 2nd anniversary did have some side effects beyond the main one (namely dizziness, and the manor owner said he wanted to work on eliminating those side effects). And even though it’s not part of the main story, the Eternal Beauty and Delphi drugs from Truth & Inference that are described in the Zinaida anniversary event seem to clearly be meant to parallel or at least relate to Orpheus’ drugs from the main story, and these 2 drugs were described to have side effects (this time hallucinations and drowsiness). So I think it’s likely Orpheus drugs also had side effects, some of which could include “headaches”, while another drug could cure the headaches but at the same time cause his memories to blur.

Actually, the Oracle drug would fit here. If the food at the banquet Orpheus provided had Oracle, while Kevin ate it, there’d be no effects, but once he stopped taking Oracle, he would forget everything that happened while he had been taking Oracle. Only issue is Netease seems to have replaced Oracle with the 4 drugs we know of from the Time of Reunion drug list (Orpheus, Mnemosyne, Siren Song, and Hydra). But who knows. Maybe one of them does something similar (or they could work in Oracle somehow). Anyways.

Speaking of Kevin’s headaches, I happened to notice that Jose actually describes something similar happening to him. In Jose’s 4th letter, he talks about waking up with “another splitting headache”, which implies he’s had more than one headache. His headache though seems to have been “alleviated” once he found the umbrella.

In the letter it states “’You can take everything you find there.’ At least this time, the voice in my head isn't just full of lies”. It’s possible Orpheus was the one to tell Jose this. Jose then says he plans to leave soon.

It’s curious both Jose and Kevin complain of headaches, both after they leave the game, but then the headache goes away soon after they complete their tasks (Kevin fixing the racecourse, Jose finding the umbrella) and soon before they are to leave. Not to mention Orpheus seems to have likely been involved with both.

Kevin we know Orpheus is interested in to make him think Angelina is alive.

Jose we know is someone Orpheus “treasured the opportunity to use”, to the point he considered suspending the experiment when Jose’s mental state seemed to deteriorate too much, and calls Jose a “’gift’ from a friend who passed away”.

Orpheus was the one to throw Kevin the banquet before Kevin leaves, and Jose Orpheus may have told Jose to go to the room he found the umbrella in and that he could take whatever he found.

Either potentially could’ve been drugged before they could actually leave, so Orpheus could ensure he could reuse them in his experiments.

Kevin potentially could’ve been exposed to drugs while at the racecourse, as well as potentially in the food Orpheus gave him during the banquet. Jose could’ve also been subjected to drugs, potentially in the breakfast he ate before leaving, or potentially somewhere in the room he found the umbrella in (what if the umbrella itself had been sabotaged or contaminated with drugs?)

Considering the umbrella is still at the manor when Alice is there, we know something happened to Jose. And if something happened to him when he thought he was able and ready to leave, something similar could’ve happened to Kevin.

If anything, there is Emma’s 2nd game. After she escapes from Arms Factory, we know she was put with another group of people. These “new friends” had “warned me in secret to keep a record of everything, just in case my memories would start to deceive me. They said their memories were like children’s jigsaw puzzles, and there were gaps and parts that did not fit”. This comment tells us that the others Emma is with have had their memories tampered with. They have forgotten some things, meaning Mnemosyne is likely to blame, while other parts “did not fit”, implying Hydra is likely the cause.

We know both Kevin and Jose have memory issues. Kevin is the most obvious, though Jose we know has seemingly forgotten parts of his game, considering he doesn’t seem to remember what happened to the others in his game (Edgar and Vera at least). There’s also how he describes seeing the umbrella “for the very first time” in the greenhouse, even though we know the umbrella was at Lakeside during his game.

At least for this latter issue, it is possible that Jose went to the ship where the umbrella was at and didn’t actually see the umbrella while he was there. Wu Chang’s 3rd letter states Jose noticed an “abnormal watermark”, but never specifically says he saw the umbrella. We know Patricia describes Jose as a “psychic medium” so it’s possible Jose at that point forgot everything, but it’s hard to say.

In any case, the point is it’s possible Kevin and Jose could’ve been some of Emma’s “new friends” in her new game/group. That then just leaves what happened to them and Emma afterwards, by the end of that game.

(This is honestly less of a complete theory and more I just started writing this because I noticed some curious similarities I couldn’t let go of while rereading stuff, even though I didn’t quite know what everything may mean yet due to a lack of info at this time)

(Though it’s possible something else happened to Jose.

It’s possible he disappeared similar to those in game 6 considering Jose’s 4th letter being wet and the parallels/implications from the Christmas event and his skin)

(It’s also possible whatever happened to him during the game happened again considering the heavy rain/storm and how this affects the umbrella/magnetic fields, and we know from Wu Chang’s 3rd letter this did affect Jose, and it ties to his Bobolink skin)

(So for all we know Jose just disappeared, just without the umbrella. Or maybe he is with Kevin in Emma’s 2nd game. For now all I can do is suggest possibilities. Hopefully we get more answers soon)

#idv #identity v #jose baden #first officer #kevin ayuso #cowboy #idv jose #identity v jose #idv kevin #identity v kevin #idv first officer #identity v first officer #idv cowboy #identity v cowboy #sirenjose analyses and theories

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boredzillenial · 1 year ago

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Stargazing

Local ghost stories turn out to be true when a stranger joins you in the creek.

Themes: Western AU, Marc, F!reader (described with short hair), mentions of nudity

Wordcount: 1.7k

A.N.: Really letting my southern roots take over on this one so if you don't like reading southern accents this fic won't be for you. But for the rest of ya, save a horse, ride a cowboy 🤠

It'd been a long few days out on the dusty road looking for a new contract. You and your brothers, the five of y'all, had been doing your best to protect herds of cattle that roamed. Bandits, Cattle rustlers, and the occasional coyote or big cat usually kept things interesting.

Y’all hopped from job to job, herd to herd to keep busy. To keep you hidden as a man under layers of rough cotton, leather, and a wide-brimmed hat atop short cropped hair.

This kind of life, a mans life, suited the needs you and your brothers had to earn a living and keep you safe. Safe from y’all’s past, safe from the hands of abusive and grubby men who tried to cage you. The men who wanted a quiet little wife to birth their children and cook their meals.

Y'all made a pact. You, the brains of the operation, kept them out of trouble, found the jobs and set the terms of workin' agreements. Your brothers were your voice, the rough hands to close deals, the beards and hard stares who made sure to seal those deals you meticulously created.

Although the deal with this most recent family seemed particularly easy. Too good pay for too few head of cattle. A quick trip into the closest town told you why. You’d caught locals swapping ghost stories, and while you usually paid no mind to stuff like that these particular stories caught your attention.

There’d been trouble brewing a year or so ago here. Young bucks coming in to take what wasn’t theirs. Be it money, liquor, or even women. But one night, locals say something changed. That The White Rider rolled into town and beat the hell outta the first group of punks that happened to be tryin to snatch a woman on her way back home.

In the nights that followed out in the pastures you could’ve sworn, way out in the distance, that you’d seen a flash of white here and there. That you’d heard the distinctive sound of hoofbeats and hoots of bandits but they’d disappear with nary a scream in the night.

Once, you and one of your brothers plucked up the nerve to check out where the noise came from the next morning. Only to find an empty camp, and riderless horses.

Tonight however, was like most, one of your brothers stood watch over camp and the cattle grazing nearby while you made your way to the river. How long had it been since you bathed? Since you'd inhabited a lick of feminity? You couldn't quite remember.

You sighed contentedly as you went from the wide open field of camp to the dense brush and trees surrounding the water. Privacy, security to finally take off the layers of leather, dust and grit you called armor. To finally bathe and let your muscles go slack.

You carefully checked the brush and gazed at the opposite bank while crickets chirped around you. Their chorus fueled your confidence to strip down on the bank and wade into the water. A shiver shot through you at the sensation of the cool mud under your feet. Wading further into the mud and stone lined river, the tepid water lapped at your skin. You looked up and caught your breath. A blanket of stars dotted the night sky, accompanied by the thin crescent moon.

The last of your paranoia melted as you glanced around and heard the continued cricket song. You dunked under water. As you came up the cool night air wafted across your skin setting it to goose flesh. You leaned back and ruffled your short crop of hair to loosen the dirt and sweat.

A grin spread across your face as you relaxed and floated, staring up at the stars above. Here in this moment alone, you could just be you. Not a for-hire ranch hand, not a leader keeping your brothers out of trouble, not a woman keeping her identity a secret to protect herself, just you.

You stayed that way for awhile, floating on your back and staring at the stars. Your face and breasts poking out from the surface of the calm water. This was your domain, your safe place to quietly contemplate.

Quiet.... In a rush you realized you'd lost track of your melodic look outs. You sunk with a splash until the water reached your chin, franticly looking around to find what silenced them. Nothin, you couldn't see anyone or anything around. Shit.

You glanced at the bank where your dusty clothes still laid in a heap. If it was a coyote or puma you didn't want to get out of the water, naked and open to attack. If it was someone hidden in the brush.... If they've somehow slipped past your brothers... If they’d seen you strip bare…

You were frozen with indecision, unsure of what to do till a voice called out from the opposite bank behind you.

“Beautiful night ain’t it?”

You whipped around, keeping the water level to your chin. The man you saw before you confused you. He was clad in white, from his cattleman hat all the way down to his boots, turned offwhite from dirt and dust.

You backed away, careful to keep the dark waters around your shoulders as he took off his hat. Black curls fell to just above his collar, catching the sliver of moonlight. His face was, handsome to say the least. Tanned skin stood out against the white fabric.

Panic scrambled your thoughts, “Sure.” A pitiful attempt to throw your voice low.

“You don’t gotta do that ya know.” He chuckled as he took off the long white duster coat and set it across a large boulder next to his hat.

You squinted and tried again “Do what.” You snapped.

“I know whatcha are, I’m not gonna hurt you.” He chuckled, removing layer after layer until he was barefoot in just his pants and a thin white shirt. “Quite the opposite.”

“Opposite?” You growled.

“Well, I’ve been keeping an eye on y’all. Keeping bandits off your back. It’s nice what you’re doing for your brothers.” He shimmied on a rock and dipped his feet in the water, a warm smile spread across his face.

“Why… who hired you?” You said, eying him suspiciously.

“You wouldn’t know ‘em.” He paused for a moment and glared up at the slash of moon. “And I hope you never do.” His dark tone sent off alarms in your mind as his gaze returned to you.

“How enlightenin’…” You grumbled as you watch him. He scratched his head for a moment, then pulled his shirt over his head to reveal his broad, muscular chest.

“The hell you think you’re doin?!” You snap.

“Same as you, the road’s been long and I need a wash.” He smirks, dropping his pants.

Heat rose to your face as you took in his naked form standing on the bank. It took just a little too long before you averted your gaze, “Can’t you do that further off, down the river?” You grumbled.

“When there’s such great company right here?” He teased, “I’m alone most days, save for my own… brothers. Would love the company if you’ll indulge me.”

“Guess I don’t have much of a choice…” You sink up to your chin, watching him make his way further in. Seeing this man, naked under the moonlight as he came toward you…. It set something alight that you thought’d died.

“You ah, usually strip naked around strangers?” You try to awkwardly break the tension.

“I’d hardly call us strangers after savin’ your hide a few times now. But your right we could get better acquainted.“ He waded closer and held out his hand. “Marc Spector.” Your eyes flickered to his hand then back to his face, trying to gauge his motives. “I don’t bite, I mean I do if ya ask nicely but it’s a bit early for that.” He laughed.

You rolled your eyes and took another step back, “ugh men think they’re so funny.”

“And women think they’re so clever.” He smirked, withdrawing his hand as he dipped underwater. He popped back up with a smile and shook his hair out. “That’s better.” He sighed. “So, what’s got you hidin’ amongst your brothers and cattle huh?” He quirked up a brow.

“Take a wild guess.” You rolled your eyes and backed away further, treading water over a deeper part of the creek.

“Parents died young, your brothers aren’t the brightest so you take care of ‘em, and most men probably aren’t to you’re likin’. Am I close?” He ran a hand through his dark curls and rubbed the dirt off his face.

“Close enough.” You shrugged. In reality you parents were alive, but both of them were mean drunks and your brothers had planned their escape and dragged you with them.

“Ahh, you don’t like any men?” His voice lilted as he leaned back again and began to float. “I’ll never get used to how beautiful the stars are.” He sighed.

Your eyes ran across his smooth chest and stomach as it peeked out of the water, crosscrossed with long jagged scars and old bullet wounds. “I didn’t say that.” You said softly.

His gaze shifted to you, a soft grin played at the edge of his lips. “Really now?”

“You’re right, I don’t like most men. Their cruel, ugly, and most of ‘em don’t have much of anything happenin’ between their ears.” You smirk back at him.

“See that’s where you’re in luck. I’m not like most men.” He winked, his gaze shifted back up to the stars above.

This time you held your ground and narrowed your gaze. “Yeah right….”

“Don’t believe me huh?” He chuckled and shifted, swimming back to the bank he came from. Water sluiced down as he waded out of the water, down his shoulders, his back… You bit your lip as your gaze lingered across his ass, then down his legs. He turned to look over his shoulder, “How ‘bout I show ya?” He said with a smirk, and with a blink his eyes turned to a glowing white.

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Moon Knight Bingo Masterlist

Taglist: @moonknight-events @melodygatesauthor @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @ominoose @romana-after-dark @lunar-ghoulie @flowercrownonapegion @howellatme @mooksmouse @ahookedheroespureheart @beezusvreeland @auntiegigi @moonkxit @faretheeoscar

#moon knight #marc spector #moon knight bingo #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight x reader #western au

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itspileofgoodthings · 5 months ago

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Favorite Lines from Every Song on Fearless

Fearless: there’s something ‘bout the way the street looks when it’s just rained

Fifteen: when all you wanted was to be wanted / in your life you’ll do things greater than dating the boy on the football team

Love Story: but I got tired of waiting wondering if you were ever coming around —my faith in you was fading when I met you on the outskirts of town

Hey Stephen: the way you walk, way you talk, way you say my name!

White Horse: I’m gonna find someone someday who might actually TREAT ME WELL

You Belong With Me: laughing on a park bench thinking to myself “hey isn’t this easy?”

Breathe: nothing we say is gonna save us from the fall out!

Tell Me Why: yes I remember what you said last night!

You’re Not Sorry: so you don’t have to call ! anymore! I won’t pick up the phone this is the last ! straw

The Way I Loved You: he’s close to my mother talks business with my father he’s charming. and endearing. and I’m comfortable

Forever & Always: ohh I stare at the phone he still hasn’t called and then you feel so! low you! can’t feel. nothing at all!!!!

The Best Day: past the pumpkin patch and the tractor rides! look now, the sky is gold

Change: you can walk away say “we don’t need this,” but something in your eyes says we can beat this

#taylor swift #fearless #going with standard version #I was feeling nostalgic today so I listened to it all.#please do this and tag me if you feel so inclined it would be fun #🧡 anyway what a good album this is

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the-avengers-ate-my-tongue · 2 years ago

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State Of Disgrace (smut)

Summary: Being a Roy is harder than it looks.

Shipp: Kendall Roy x Cousin!Reader, Roman Roy x Cousin!Reader

Words: 2699k

Disclaimer: SMUT! it's not really proofread, I have to say, but I kinda like the way it came out.

I was five and he was six. We rode on horses made of sticks. He wore black and I wore white, he would always win the fight.

I used to shoot him down.

Being a child was easy enough. Being a Roy child, however, was a bit more capricious than a regular household.

My mother died in childbirth. She was a lovely woman by the eyes of friends, a gold digger by the malicious judgements of others. Nevertheless, for me, she was nothing but a stranger. My father was Alistair Roy, the youngest brother of my uncle Logan, who tragically also died of extreme sadness due the loss of my mother.

Some called it depression. I used to call it his swan song.

I moved in with Logan Roy at the raw age of two. Before that, I'd never even met him. My father, before his tragic passing, was just like uncle Ewan, you see. He avoided any further familiar contact with the capitalist monster and ruler of the empire of disgrace Waystar was to them.

Uncle Logan was not a warm man. His wife, Caroline, was even worse. So, every warmth needed by a two year old was entirely given by my older cousins — whom I had also never met before — and Roman.

Roman and I had the same age, me being just a couple of months older. We grew instantly attached hip to hip, so much everyone else started to call us "the twins". It was not, however, a praise title, but a Shakespearean war name, for ever since we'd got enough motor skills, we began to explore the vast world that extended to the huge grounds of our mansion. Then Siobhan came, a needy, smiley little girl that resembled her father so much. Connor and Kendall were excited with their new sister; I feared the small ounces of attention I gained daily would be threatened by her charming toothless smile and spikey gingerish hair. And Roman, as much as he was also happy with the new sister, shared the same inconscient dread, the crumbs he used to get from his mother as the youngest slowly fading away. That's when we got more and more agitated, gaining a few more reprimands as soon as another nanny would quit.

I particularly remember a day where Roman and I distracted the nannies for one minute, fleeing to the pool area. It was a windy day; the crystal water trembled and rippled, the soft movements catching my clueless attention like Narcissus was caught by his reflection. However, instead of languishing away, I came too close, my balance still in development.

The water received me with the cut of a thousand blades, cold as the feeling of danger that felt like a punch in my stomach. Roman's screams rang in my ears and, after almost half a minute submerged, it began to resemble a sorrowful howl, like a wolf pup. I was four, too young to fully comprehend what was happening, too old to suppress the memory of peace that instilled in my heart. I was no longer the sad little orphan, the spare suitcase that couldn't find its place.

Roman's howls were gone. In an instant, I would lose my sight as well. The deep, vast blue of the pool water and the tiles, the reflection of light on the surface above me were the only things I could see. My lungs, a few moments ago burning up with the invasion of that intruder substance, were now obsolete and dispensable. My body felt feeble and, for a moment, I was only pure conscience.

It was right at that moment that Roman's face came to my mind. How could I ever leave him? We were parts of the same molding, made of the same matter. How could I allow him to carry the guilt of my accidental death for the rest of his life?

That was not my call, though. I couldn't swim. If it wasn't for Connor, who was bringing some girl over to the infamous little pool house and heard Roman's cries for help, I would be dead and buried. I can still remember the feeling of the water being launched out of my lungs through my sore throat, the desperate sound of coughing and the tears that stained Roman's face while he stared at me still in panic with the prospect of losing me. That's precisely when I just knew we belonged together, as kindred souls, platonic or not.

Unfortunately, I would also find out later in life I would do anything in my power to feel that kind of lugubrious peace again. Furthermore, that state of disgrace would also bring me closer to another one of my cousins.

Seasons came and changed the time. When I grew up, I called him mine.

He would always laugh and say

"Remember when we used to play?"

Restless adolescence. I began sipping on drinks when uncle Logan or Caroline weren't paying enough attention, developing quite a taste for neat whiskey. At thirteen, I drank (and cursed) like a middle aged sailor. At fifteen, all the alcohol was locked up and the waiters were instructed to keep an eye on me at parties.

It was also the age of fickle flings and steamy makeouts with any boy who gave me enough attention — or enough booze. Never been much of a fan of stimulants, but the barbiturates… They were my bestest friends, knocking me out sometimes for a whole day, making the world seem distorted and distant from my usual cold reality. There was no one left to acknowledge my problems; Connor had moved out, Kendall was at Harvard and Logan had sent Roman to a military boarding school to try and cut a bit of our almost symbiotic connection. Shiv was penetrating the fearsome gates of puberty, so no one was able to keep a two minute conversation with her anymore. The nannies or maids weren't paid enough to care, and Logan's corporative minions only extended their attention when I used business vocabulary. Once I realized that, I began to read every piece of news, fully understand what meant to rule a media conglomerate and excerpts about corporate business. It was brain porn to me. Knowledge was as addictive as the drugs and booze, and I was a junkie craving attention like a moth to a flame.

Caroline left, leaving Shiv and I as the only girls in the house. I chose to take a step to the spotlight, being able to impress whoever tried to sink in deeper with my knowledge and grownup words. She's so mature for her age. So clever. So smart. She's got class conscience. Little Y/n Roy is all grown up! Logan noticed my sudden interest and stimulated as much as he could without showing any favoritism on my behalf, bringing me to Waystar with him sometimes, allowing Gerri to guide me on whatever I wanted to know and understand when it came to business. That actually brought me closer to the blonde, austere woman; I sought a motherly figure to tend to my emotional needs like a junkie with a needle.

I was also surprisingly good at corporative game. It was like playing poker, the one who pretends the best gets to count the cards and win. Board vision. I began to, as my Sherlock Holmes books expertly instructed, actually observe more than just see.

A peck with the teeth in the nails. A quick lick or bite on the bottom lip. Dilated pupils, nostrils flaring. Avoiding eye contact. All signs of discomfort or vice versa became crystal clear to me, showing up like Christmas lights. That also taught me to be an even better player, and I became a virtuoso of deceit. The difficulty of interaction I had with people I hated had faded completely and now, at sixteen years old, I felt absolutely nothing but a huge void that came with being in control of all my feelings. Sentiments made me weak, I had learned. It clouds the judgment and proliferates like maggots on rotting flesh. If one loses control over it, it's gone.

That should also include vices, so I mannered my consumption, elaborating some sort of twisted diet with small albeit enough doses. Being in control was exhilarating, and I felt as if I was at the top of the world. Drinks? Only in parties of sorts and reunions, and a single glass. Drugs? Just to keep me concentrated or calm, nothing more. Uncle Logan began to see my improvement, and a conversation about business school had been approached.

After a while, however, it started to get a bit dull, always knowing the right thing to say or what everyone wanted to hear. Defiance and rebellion were in my veins. Uncle Ewan told my dad he wasn't going to marry my mom; uncle Logan, so I've heard, forbid him to bring her into family gatherings. Many scenes were detailed crudely by the press over the years, painting my parents as the villains of a dynasty and uncle Logan as some sort of Zeus almighty. For weeks, I expected the perfect opportunity for misbehaving. Nothing serious enough to reach my uncle's ears, but to, at the very least, assure my conscience I was still the same Y/n Roy, daughter of Alistair and Giorgiana Roy. I was in paradise craving the forbidden fruit without even knowing how it would manifest.

Until Kendall came back from Harvard for Thanksgiving holidays.

He looked different then, somehow cooler, more confident and laid-back than he usually was. It was kind of comic how attractive Kendall could be when he wasn't looking like he had a pine tree up his ass. After dinner, I managed to suggest an innocent gathering in my bedroom to talk about college and news from the world outside the golden cage we were usually trapped into.

"Hey, you should try this" he suddenly pulls a small bag of cocaine from his pocket, waving it in front of my eyes like a plate of meat to a starving dog. "Seriously, this is the shit."

I laughed in contained mockery, knowing that, if Kendall somehow felt diminished, he would slip through my fingers like sand. Instead, I watch him prepare some lines to blow using one of my school notebooks as support. Two lines after and I can no longer see the greenish of his irises, black englobing everything. If possible, he looks even more confident, this sort of bellicosity making him even more appealing to me.

I switch my crossed legs from position. His now dark eyes accompany the movement, narrowing. I'm wearing a short skirt, and the way I move my legs makes me look like I'm recreating that one famous scene from Basic Instinct.

He stares in silence for a few seconds, studying my face, seeming to be gathering the guts to do something.

"Do you like what you see?" I suddenly ask, new acquired courage, one of my hands traveling through my dressed body. Kendall shuts his eyes, taking a deep breath trying to restrain himself. I wait for no response, pulling one of his hands and placing it right on one of my breasts, the warmth of his touch allowing a small sigh to escape my lips.

"Y/n… what uh… what game are you playing here?" He tries to organize his thoughts, but I purr like a kitten as if that simple touch of his feels like the grasp of a flame in the coldest winter. "Oh, fuck… don't… don't do that, come on."

"Don't act like you don't want it to happen. I don't see you removing your hand" I crawl in his direction, stopping from inches of his mouth. "I want you, Ken."

"Y/n, this isn't right, I mean, I'm fucking older than you, we're cousins…"

"So? So what? Come on, Ken. Don't you ever get tired of being a fucking model to this family? Daddy's little toy soldier?" I jolted forward, sitting on his lap. He doesn't stop me. "I fucking want you. How many were brave enough to say that to your face?"

I lick my lips as I rub my hips against his and a low grunt echoes on his throat. He looks almost helpless; it's pathetic. I can feel his dick getting hard underneath the dark denim pants, and that gives me some sort of enigmatic power, like I'm a form of Venus. Kendall's hands lift my skirt, moist visible in my underwear, almost staining his pants.

"Fuck, Y/n… how are you so wet already?" He pushes my panties aside, losing his patience and ripping it apart, making me giggle. I start humping against his pants while kissing his jawline, touching his lips with mine for the first time. He tasted like minties, cigarettes and a bit of the whiskey we drank after dinner. After that, he finally decided to let go; his tongue invaded my mouth with passion, and he made me lay down on the floor, towering over me. I pulled his shirt, throwing it across the room, sucking the sensitive spot on his neck that caused him to let out some sexy moans with his deep voice. My cunt was pulsing to the point it started to actually hurt a bit.

"I need you, Ken." I said, starting to unbutton his jeans.

"What a greedy little thing you are" he pulls my hands away, trapping them on the floor above my head by my wrists. With the free hand, he took his dick off his pants, the tip glowing with precum.

He finally rested between my legs, the feeling of his head against my entrance making me a bit nervous for the first time that night. I got even more wet just with the expectation, and just when I was about to rush him, he entered me without a warning, a loud moan escaping my lips. My nails carved the skin of his hand, and he hastily quieted down my whimpers with a sloppy kiss, letting go of my arms and allowing me to wrap them around him.

"You okay?" He questioned, his gorgeous green eyes looking so sweet, so concerned, that I actually felt slightly guilty of using him to achieve my own whims. With a smile, I nod, and he moves painfully slow inside me, my breathing intensifying. It hurt at the beginning, but soon, the pain started to give in, and my hips began to synchronize with his own movements like an intricate dance, sweat accumulating on my forehead. My whole skin felt hot, feverish, and my hands grabbed Kendall's ass to pull him closer, my legs wrapped around his lower back.

His breathing changed, and he squeezed my skin so rough I was sure it would leave bruises tomorrow.

"Y/n… fuck, wait… I'm gonna…" his body began to tremble as he fastened his movements, and a louder grunt came out of him while he poured himself inside me, leaning his forehead against mine.

Our breaths mixed up, sweat dripping out, and a now pleasant and new pain between my legs. He laid on top of me until he became too heavy to endure, rolling his body sideways afterwards, laying on the cool marbled floor. I turn down on my stomach to face him, the cold white marble alleviating the pressure on my low abdomen. He looks herculean with his hair all messed up, face glistening with small drops of sweat and a peaceful manner in his eyes, eyes no longer darkened by the drugs, but clearer like leaves on springtime.

We kissed a few more times, talked about trivialities, and he left soon after, placing a kiss on my shoulder, too hasty to record and too soft to ignore.

The matter was hardly discussed afterwards, and I never mentioned he was my first, not even when it happened again, and again. For many years, I told no one, the secret feeling like a little barb around my lower abdomen every time I saw him.

Until I felt safe enough to share it with Roman. But that's a story for another time.

#Kendall roy #Roman Roy #Kendall Roy x reader #roman roy imagine #hbo succession #succession #succession hbo #Kendall Roy imagine #kendall roy fic #kendall roy oneshot #succession x reader #succession imagine #roy siblings #Kendall Roy headcanons #Jeremy Strong #kieran culkin

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