#and then it came back to me and i almost passed out

[pucksandpower]

Drunk in Love

Max Verstappen x fiancée!Reader

Summary: in which Max gets drunk, forgets that the two of you are literally engaged, confesses his love for you, and then gets reminded that his ring is on your finger … in that order

Based on this request

The lights from Jimmy’z spill out onto the sidewalk, a dizzying kaleidoscope of reds, purples, and blues. You stand just outside, arms crossed, as your phone buzzes for the third time in five minutes. It’s Daniel this time.

“Hey,” he says, voice just slightly too cheerful to be innocent. “So, uh, Max is-”

“I’m already here.”

“Oh, perfect. He’s …” Daniel hesitates, and you can practically see him scratching the back of his neck. “He’s just a little … spirited tonight.”

Spirited. That’s one way to put it.

You hang up before he can add anything else and glance toward the club entrance. Max stumbles out a few seconds later, propped up by Lando, who looks like he’s trying not to laugh. Max’s head lolls to the side, and when he spots you, his entire face lights up like you’ve just walked out of a movie.

“Hey!” He yells, voice loud enough to make a couple passing tourists glance over. “It’s you!”

You sigh, stepping forward to take him off Lando’s hands. “Thanks,” you mutter to the younger driver, who just grins.

“Good luck,” Lando says, clapping you on the shoulder before disappearing back into the club.

Max leans heavily on you, his arm slung over your shoulders. “You came for me,” he says, slurring slightly. “You’re like an angel. My angel.”

“Uh-huh,” you deadpan, guiding him toward the car. “Let’s get you home, Max.”

He stops abruptly, digging his heels into the pavement. “No, wait.”

You look up at him, exasperated. “What?”

“I need to tell you something.”

“Can it wait until we’re in the car?”

“No!” He insists, voice rising. “It’s important.”

You glance around, feeling the curious stares of a few people lingering nearby. “Okay, fine. What is it?”

Max wobbles slightly, gripping your arm like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His eyes are glassy but serious as he looks at you. “I’m in love with you.”

You blink. “What?”

“I love you,” he repeats, louder this time. Then, almost conspiratorially, he leans closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Like, really love you. You’re … you’re perfect.”

“Max …” You hesitate, unsure how to respond.

“No, listen!” He says, pulling back to look at you. “You don’t understand. I’ve been in love with you for … forever. But I didn’t know how to say it, and now it’s too late, because you probably think I’m some idiot who-”

“Max,” you interrupt, placing a hand on his chest to steady him. “We’re engaged.”

His brow furrows. “What?”

“We’re engaged,” you repeat, holding up your left hand where the ring glints under the streetlights.

Max stares at it like he’s never seen it before. “No way.”

“Yes, way.”

His face splits into a grin so wide it’s almost childlike. “No. Way.”

“Yes, Max. We’re literally engaged. Have been for months.”

He takes your hand in his, squinting at the ring. “Holy shit. That’s a nice ring.”

You snort despite yourself. “You picked it.”

“I did?” He looks genuinely astonished.

“Yes, you did. And you cried when I said yes, remember?”

“I cried?”

“Like a baby.”

He lets out a delighted laugh, the kind that starts in his chest and bubbles all the way up. “I’m a genius,” he declares, throwing his arms in the air. “I got you to say yes!”

“Yes, Maxie. You did.”

He pulls you into a hug, nearly knocking you off balance. “I’m so lucky,” he mumbles into your hair. “Like, stupid lucky.”

“You’re also stupid drunk,” you point out, but there’s no bite to your words.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes wide and earnest. “Do you love me?”

You laugh softly, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. “Of course I love you, you idiot.”

He beams at you, his happiness so pure it’s almost contagious. “Good. That’s good. Because I’m going to marry you.”

“Yes, Max. You are.”

“And I’m never going to mess it up.”

“Not if you keep calling me to pick you up from clubs at two in the morning.”

He looks horrified. “Wait, did I call you?”

“No,” you admit, “Daniel did.”

Max groans, burying his face in his hands. “That traitor.”

“Come on,” you say, tugging him toward the car. “Let’s get you home before you pass out on the sidewalk.”

As you help him into the passenger seat, he grabs your hand again, his grip surprisingly firm. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he says, his voice softer now.

“I know,” you reply, leaning in to kiss his forehead.

He closes his eyes, a contented smile playing on his lips. “I’m going to marry the hell out of you,” he murmurs as you buckle him in.

You shake your head, climbing into the driver’s seat. “You already are.”

And as you pull away from the curb, he’s still grinning like he’s just won the championship all over again.

[summervb]

𝐫𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞 | hwang jun-ho × fem!reader

summary | you have an unexpected reunion with Jun-ho after believing he was dead

warnings | angst, unresolved love, smut, explicit content, p in v, unprotected sex

word count | 1.7 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me thanks ᡣ𐭩

The road stretched endlessly in front of you. You were a police officer, but at that moment, as you drove down that lonely highway, you didn't feel the rigidity of your uniform or the weight of your job.

Your mind traveled back to the past, to moments you would rather forget. Years had passed since you lost him. Since that night when he simply disappeared and you never heard from him again.

Suddenly, the lights of a patrol car reflected in your rearview mirror. The blue glow made your heart leap in your chest. Quickly, you checked your speed, confirming that you had been speeding. You cursed under your breath.

You stopped the car and parked it by the side of the road. The blue light continued to shine behind you, but something twisted in your stomach.

You prepared for a short exchange, a speeding ticket, something routine. But when the driver's door opened and you looked up, something made you stop.

There he was. In a traffic police uniform.

Hwang Jun-ho.

You couldn't believe it. Your mind went blank for a moment, as if time itself had stopped. He was staring at you, his dark eyes reflecting something you couldn't identify. For a moment, the air between the two of you thickened, dense with the memories of a past that had never completely faded.

"Good evening" he said, his voice as deep as you remembered, but with a tone you hadn't heard before. "Did you know you were speeding?"

Your body tensed instantly, but it wasn't because of the speeding. It was because of the surprise. For the feeling that the past had returned to hit you hard. You didn't know what to say, you just looked into his eyes, searching for a sign that what you saw in front of you was nothing but an illusion.

"Jun-ho…" you whispered, the word slipping from your lips as if it weren't yours, as if you couldn't believe what you were seeing.

He nodded slowly, his expression unchanged, but there was something in his gaze, something that made you doubt everything you had believed. How was it possible that he was here?

"Didn't you expect to see me here?" he asked, his tone now softer, but with a weight of nostalgia that seemed to hang in the air. "You thought you would never see me again".

A knot formed in your throat. You had asked yourself so many times what had happened to him. If he would ever come back. But the pain of the separation, the void left by his disappearance, was still fresh in your mind. And now you had him in front of you, alive, real, and in a uniform you had never imagined.

You didn't know if you had been waiting for this moment or dreading it.

"Why... are you in transit?" the question slipped out almost unintentionally, but Jun Ho cut it off before you could finish it.

"I needed to start over. Change of scenery" His voice became softer, as if the words he was saying had too great a weight to let go.

You stared at him, unsure if you could believe his words. The situation was surreal. How had he ended up here? What had happened to him since his disappearance? The last time you heard from him, it was when they found him adrift in the ocean, almost lifeless, recovering from everything he had endured. But now he was here, in front of you, as if time hadn't passed at all.

"I thought you had... died." The phrase came out before you could stop it.

Jun Ho let out a sigh, his eyes softened for a second.

"Everyone thought the same," he said, with a faint smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "But I survived. And here I am".

The silence settled between the two of them, heavy, full of unasked questions, of unmentioned memories. And in that moment, something inside you broke. Something you had tried to contain for so long. The need to understand what had happened, to comprehend how it had all been. And more than anything, the need to feel it close again.

"I didn't think I would ever see you again," you said, almost like a whisper.

Jun-ho didn't respond immediately. Instead, he leaned toward the passenger seat, his face now just a few centimeters from yours. The proximity made you tremble. You couldn't deny what you felt, what you had always felt for him. The connection you shared, even after everything that happened, was undeniable.

Suddenly, he moved closer, his lips almost touching yours. A shiver ran through your body as you felt his closeness, and the air became thick. The memories, the emotions, everything you had kept inside overflowed in that moment.

Without thinking, you kissed him.

The kiss was immediate, as if time hadn't passed, as if everything were back to how it used to be. The touch of his lips on yours ignited something within you, something you had kept extinguished for years. The spark, the fire you shared, had never gone out.

Jun-ho's hands traced your face, as if he feared you would vanish at any moment. The gentleness with which he touched you contrasted with the urgency in his kiss. It didn't matter what had happened, what had occurred in the past. At that moment, only the present mattered.

The car no longer seemed like a closed space. The connection between the two of them was palpable, almost electric. You pulled away from his kiss for a moment, taking a breath, but before you could say anything, he leaned in again. This time, he was more determined, more firm.

His hands traveled down your neck, tracing the contour of your skin, and a shiver ran through your body. You felt how desire took hold of both of you, how the chemistry that had remained between you hadn't faded with time. It was as if it had never left.

"I've missed you so much," he said softly, as he kissed you again.

Jun-ho's words made your heart race even faster. You felt as if you had returned to the past, when everything was simpler, when there were no distances, when you both shared dreams and promises. But that promise was broken, and now only the shadows of what once was remained.

The tension in the air was rising, and you couldn't stop thinking about everything that had happened between the two of you. But in that moment, the only thing that mattered was him. All you wanted was to feel him close again.

Jun-ho looked you in the eyes, and without a word, his hands began to unbutton your uniform. The desire grew with every second, with every caress, with every touch of his skin against yours.

You moved to the passenger side, sliding over his lap as his hands removed your uniform. You nestled against his chest, feeling his lips kiss your shoulders, while his hands brushed against your bare skin. The touch of his fingers tracing your curves made you gasp.

Jun-ho kissed you again, deepening the kiss, and his hands moved to the back of your body, towards your buttocks. The gesture made you tremble, and you felt something within you beginning to give in. The tension you had held for so long was fading away.

He leaned close to your ears and whispered something, words you couldn't quite understand, but that seemed to promise something beyond that moment. And instead of waiting, his fingers slid between your thighs, searching for the spot he knew would drive you wild.

The caress of his fingers was soft, tempting, as if they were about to make a promise. The closeness of his body, the proximity of his mouth over you, the softness of his fingers on you, it was all as if you were returning to the past. Everything was as if they had never been apart.

Your breath caught when his fingers found the spot. The desire intensified in an instant. The excitement had brought you to a point you didn't want to leave, and the touch of his hand on you was too much to resist.

You moved slowly over his lap, feeling the bulge of his pants against your thighs. The friction was inevitable, but Jun-ho didn't seem to mind. Instead, he moved with me, his fingers slowly penetrating you. The moans that escaped your throat were involuntary, and Jun Ho muffled them with a kiss. The rhythm of his fingers increased, the penetration deeper and more rhythmic. You couldn't hold out much longer.

Suddenly, Jun Ho stopped you. His fingers left you with a softness that made you gasp. But before you could protest, Jun-ho leaned closer to your ear and whispered.

"I want to feel you" His words made you lose your composure completely. The air in the car had become dense, heavy with desire.

I didn't need any more stimulation. Quickly, you took off your underwear and sat on his lap again.

You slid your hand between his pants, caressing his erection. The sensation of his skin, soft and warm under your touch, was all you needed. You slid it down, revealing his erection in all its glory. It was just as you remembered, big and thick, ready to be fucked.

You didn't take any more time to think. There was no more time for that. You moved over his erection, the position of the car forced you to be the one on top, and that was exactly what you wanted. The position of control was yours at that moment.

You sat on him, his erection brushing against the edge of your entrance, but without penetrating. The torture was as good as it was painful. The friction was all you needed to reach the climax, but it was also what made you want more.

Suddenly, his arms enveloped you, and he pulled you towards him. The movement was abrupt, and his erection sank into you in an instant. The penetration was stronger than you expected, but also more pleasurable.

The scream that escaped your lips was involuntary, but the pleasure was undeniable. Jun-ho moved beneath you, pushing his erection inside you over and over again. Each thrust made you tense a little more, made you sit a little deeper on his cock.

The position of the car made sex a bit more uncomfortable, but that was the last thing on your mind. At that moment, all that mattered was the feeling of having him inside you again, feeling his breath on you, having his body in contact with yours.

"Tell me you haven't forgotten me," you whisper in his ear.

The request was simple, but what lay behind it was much more than just words.

"I have never forgotten you," you replied sincerely, your words coming out in gasps. "I will never be able to do it".

Jun Ho smiled at you, his eyes shining in the darkness of the car. His arms tightened around you, and he pushed a little deeper inside you. Your breath caught for a moment, the pleasure rising to a new level.

"Then, tell me that you will always love me" he whispered again.

The words slipped from your lips without thinking.

"Yes, I always loved you. I always will".

Jun-ho smiled again, but this time, there was something in his eyes, an emotion that seemed to shine like fire. His arms tightened around you a little more, and he began to move beneath you again. The position was uncomfortable, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was the rhythm, the feel of his cock inside you.

Their breathing became labored. The pleasure intensified with each thrust, but it wasn't just the sex that made you lose your composure. It was the closeness of having him there, of having him back in your life.

Their breathing became labored. The pleasure intensified with each thrust, but it wasn't just the sex that made you lose your composure. It was the closeness of having him there, of having him back in your life.

When you reached the climax, the scream that came out of you was not just one of pleasure. It was one of liberation, of having released everything you had been holding back for years.

Jun-ho arrived just a moment later, his body tensing beneath you as he came. The warm fluid spilled inside you, and you felt his erection pulsing within you.

Both of your breathing became gentle, and for a moment, there were no words between you. Only the sound of the air moving in the car was audible. Jun-ho gently stroked your hair as you leaned on his shoulder, feeling his skin against yours.

"You won't give me a ticket for having sex in the car, will you?" you joked a moment later.

Jun Ho laughed softly, his lips brushing against your hair.

"No" He smiled in the darkness. "I think you've already paid me in full".

You laughed softly and leaned a little more into his arms.

[sb-essebi]

Hi @owwllly I loved this comic so much I wrote fic about it!

(Some angst slipped in, sorry about that)

Me and my ✨genius partner✨

Jayvik | Teen and Up | 1k | Complete

No Archive Warnings Apply | Tags: #Fluff #a dash of angst #Getting Together #Friends to Lovers #First Kiss #Pent-up Feelings #Insecurity #Self-Worth Issues #internalized ableism #(Viktor thinks something very ugly about himself) #Author is disabled #Implied Sexual Content

[Read on AO3]

OR

“Incredible,” Viktor said, awed, staring at the newly-refined, perfectly round gem.

“It worked. We finally turned the crystals into gemstones!”

The excitement in Jayce’s voice was palpable. Even if the experiment hadn’t been as successful as this, that alone would have been enough to make Viktor happy. Jayce’s shoulder was amazingly warm against the back of Viktor’s.

“See,” he said gently, extricating himself from Jayce and taking off his goggles. “Your theory was solid, it was just the execution that needed some refinement.”

“Amazing…” Jayce’s eyes were exhaustion-soft and joy-bright, and Viktor had to force himself to look away. “And we pulled it off a week ahead of Progress Day!” Viktor put his goggles down on the workbench, and felt the air behind him shift as Jayce rose and bolted for the door. “Sit tight! I’ll bring Heimerdinger over and show him our new invention.”

Turning to watch Jayce go, Viktor spotted the thick, scruffy stubble that had taken over Jayce’s face in the days and nights spent working ceaselessly in the lab.

It looked quite fetching on Jayce, and Viktor felt some heat rush to his cheeks at the thought.

“Eh, Jayce, wait!”

Jayce stopped at the door and looked back, smiling.

“Yes, V?”

Viktor pointedly tapped a finger against his own cheek to signal Jayce to check his.

Jayce’s eyes and mouth went wide.

“Oh! Almost forgot.”

Puzzled, Viktor watched Jayce walk back over to him.

Then, Jayce planted a firm, resounding kiss on his cheek.

“I’ll go tell the professor what me and my genius partner have created!”

With a wave and a wink, he left.

As if nothing had happened. As if Viktor’s cheek weren’t burning still from the touch of his lips. As if he hadn’t left Viktor speechless with his whole face growing hotter and hotter by the second. As if Viktor’s right hand weren’t glued to the spot Jayce had kissed as though to keep that easy affection trapped against his skin.

“I… I meant your beard,” Viktor said to the empty room.

Next thing he knew, Viktor had bent over the workbench, face buried into one of his forearms while the other clutched at the back of his hair, shaking, with a blush searing itself down his neck and chest.

Normally, he could handle his feelings for Jayce. He could handle Jayce’s unfairly good looks and his utterly perfect body. He could even handle Jayce’s tactile nature, the hands on his arms, the shoulder touches and the half-hugs.

But this… this casual intimacy, however accidental, this he couldn’t handle. Not on three hours of sleep in as many days. Not when it ushered in thoughts of what if. What if it could be intentional, what if he were Jayce’s life partner, what if he could have Jayce-

He curled in on himself until it hurt, and a horrendous, needy whine left his throat.

“Viktor, I am so sor- Viktor, are you okay? Oh God, you’re breathing so fast-”

It was humiliating, to be caught wanting so viscerally. Especially to be caught wanting as someone like him, defective and deteriorating and dying, wanting someone like Jayce, who was— everything. Who was perfect. Who deserved better and more and longer, who Viktor had vowed to leave alone, to spare him an even worse heartbreak when Viktor would inevitably pass—

Viktor thought he might start crying.

And that was when Jayce decided to put both hands on his shoulders.

“Viktor, are you okay? Please, talk to me. Do you need medical attention? I’m so sorry about- that was so out of line-“

Later, Viktor would not know what came over him. He would blame the lack of sleep, temporary insanity, arcane influence, anything but the fact that he just couldn’t take it anymore. Couldn’t take the gentleness and concern in Jayce’s voice. And his every resolve crumbled to dust.

He straightened up, swivelling on the stool when Jayce recoiled in surprise, punted his good leg on the floor to stop himself once they were face to face, grabbed Jayce by the tie and kissed him squarely on the lips.

Jayce stood stock-still. For some reason, presumedly out of shock, he let Viktor kiss him long and lingering and desperate, and catalogue the heat of his body and the taste of his lips and the feel of his beard against the corner of Viktor’s mouth while the rest of the world faded from Viktor’s awareness until—

Until Jayce kissed him back.

Cupped Viktor’s face in his large, warm, calloused hands, melted into him and kissed. Him. Back.

Viktor’s breath was promptly punched out of his lungs. He kissed Jayce breathlessly then, needing him far more than air, pressing his tongue past Jayce’s parted lips and kissing him until black spots were dancing behind Viktor’s eyelids and he had to forcibly pull himself back with a gasp.

Jayce was breathing hard, cheeks and ears crimson.

“I was gonna say I was sorry for kissing your cheek,” he said with a chuckle, one hand rubbing the back of his own neck. “But, um-”

Viktor took a great gulp of air and kissed him silent.

Surely, when he ran out of oxygen again he would know what to say. Something that wasn’t ‘I love you’. Surely, after this kiss.

Or after the one that followed.

Or the one after.

Surely he could face Jayce then, question him as to why he was even indulging Viktor.

Certainly, after they’d finished putting the lab’s workbench through new and unspeakable abuses, Viktor would be able to field Jayce’s inevitable inquiry of his behaviour, respond with something that wasn’t that he adored Jayce and wanted to spend every second of his however short life with him.

Surely.

Definitely.

Doubtlessly.

Doubtlessly, there was an explanation for Jayce lying on the floor and gathering Viktor into his arms and on top of him to spare him the cold hard stone, holding Viktor tight and frantic and gentle, alternating between peppering his face and neck with kisses and whispering sweet nothings into his ear -my partner, my beautiful perfect partner, my Viktor- that didn’t include mutual, requited, wholehearted romantic love for one another.

Wasn’t there?

sleepless nights

[faithsotherhouseofchaos]

Could I please request max x female autistic! reader (childhood friends to lovers if possible) where reader is nonverbal. I’ll leave the rest of the plot line to you because I’m not a very creative individual.

For me||Max verstappen x fem!nonverbal autistic!reader

summary—max has known you his entire life and never heard you speak until three little words to him.

Word count -570

Max Verstappen met you when he was a little boy at the karting track, just starting to chase his dream of being the fastest. You didn’t talk, but that didn’t bother him. From the moment you smiled and pointed at his kart with a curious glint in your eyes, Max decided he liked you.

“Do you want to see how fast it goes?” he asked.

You nodded eagerly, and Max grinned. That was how it started: Max showing off his karting skills, and you cheering him on in your quiet, unique way.

Years passed, and Max’s career skyrocketed. Karting turned into Formula 3, and then Formula 1. But no matter how far he traveled or how busy he got, you remained a constant in his life. You supported him from afar, watching every race and texting him your congratulations after each one. Max relied on you in a way he didn’t with anyone else. You understood him, even when he couldn’t find the words to explain himself.

He never minded that you didn’t talk. You communicated with gestures, expressions, and the notebook you always carried. It was your way, and Max respected that.

But then came that night.

Max had just returned home to Monaco after winning a grueling race in Japan. Exhausted but exhilarated, he invited you over to celebrate. You sat together on his couch, sharing a quiet moment as the city lights sparkled outside.

“You were incredible out there,” you wrote in your notebook, showing him the words with a proud smile.

Max chuckled, leaning back against the cushions. “Thanks. You always know how to make me feel good about myself, huh?”

You nodded, then hesitated, fidgeting with the pen in your hand. Max noticed the shift in your demeanor immediately.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asked, tilting his head to look at you.

You glanced at him, your eyes filled with something he couldn’t quite read. Then, for the first time in all the years he’d known you, you spoke.

“I love you.”

The words were soft, almost a whisper, but they hit Max like a thunderclap. His eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to process what had just happened.

“You… you spoke,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, your cheeks flushing as you looked away, nervous about his reaction.

Max reached out, gently turning your face back toward him. “Say it again,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe.

“I love you,” you repeated, a little louder this time.

Max’s face broke into a wide grin, his heart pounding in his chest. “I love you too,” he said, pulling you into a tight hug. “I can’t believe it. You spoke—for me.”

You pulled back slightly, shaking your head as you pointed to yourself.

“For you,” Max corrected, understanding immediately. “Because you wanted me to know.”

You nodded, and Max laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You didn’t have to say it for me to know, but… hearing it? That’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

He held your hands tightly, his eyes never leaving yours. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

You smiled, tears pricking your eyes as you leaned into him. In that moment, words didn’t matter again. They never really had. But now, Max knew just how much you loved him—and he’d never forget the moment you chose to say it.

[oneforthemunny]

Janitor Eddie, camera, smut

minors dni. smut ahead ;)

"Hey, baby, I finally got some film." Eddie's hip bumped against the front door, letting it fall behind him with a heavy latch, fumbling with the Polaroid film in his hands.

"You know where I found it at? Melvald's." You clicked the mute button on the remote, looking up from the spelling tests you'd been grading in front of the couch when Eddie came before you.

"Told you they'd have it." You grinned, head tipping back when he leaned in, kissing you sweetly. "Have you tried it out yet? Does it work?"

The classic Polaroid camera, you'd found it at a second hand store, still in the box. Eddie had mentioned once, in passing, that he'd wanted one- that his mom had one, always taking photos and capturing memories, and he wanted to do the same. You'd looked endlessly for one to surprise him with on Christmas.

"Just put the film in." Eddie hummed, stepping back, lining the camera up to his eye. "Don't move."

Your eyes rolled, leaning back into a soft smiled pose before the blinding flash went off, the whirr of the photo slotting through the printer.

"Seems like it works to me." Eddie smiled, taking the photo between his fingers, shaking it lightly, the faded etching of you beginning to show.

"Good, I was worried it wouldn't. Felt like it was almost too good to be true that I found it and it works." You admitted, sliding over so Eddie could sit beside you.

You watched him as the picture became clearer and clearer with each flick of the film. "You look pretty." Eddie muttered, thumb brushing over your smile that was becoming clearer and clearer. "Beautiful. Gonna keep this in my wallet."

"Stop," You groaned lightly, head dipping to hide bashfully in his shoulder. "I look awful."

"What're you talkin' about?" Eddie's voice vibrated through you body. "You're always beautiful. Prettiest fuckin' thing I've ever seen, you know that."

Your body burned, thrilling with excitement, cheek pressing to Eddie's shoulder, his weight shifting back towards you. His head tipped back, nose nearly brushing yours. "So pretty." Eddie's gaze dropped from your eyes to your lips, head tilting, leaning in to take your lips in his fully.

The soft kiss turned steamy quickly, your bodies twisted onto the couch, hands grabbing, pulling at clothes, tangling in hair through messy, needy kisses until you were bare. Eddie's hands between your legs, fingers curling inside you while his thumb expertly worked your clit, his lips still trailing hot, wet kisses over every inch of your fevered skin.

You were close, could feel your head beginning to rush, tummy tightening with need until-

"W-What?" You gasped, eyes flying open, blinking through bleary, pleasure filled vision. Eddie's touch had left you, sitting up and leaning towards the coffee table. It wasn't like him to tease you, to not give you what you wanted.

"Ed, why did you- what are you doing?" You frowned, pushing up on your elbows when you saw it, the camera in his hands.

"Just a second," Eddie muttered, tongue poking out in concentration, lifting the camera to his eye again. "Lay back f'me, sweetheart. You just- fuck, you look so pretty. So fuckin' good, I just- I gotta have a picture of it."

Your head was spinning, dizzy with need, with the rush of praise, clouding thoughts when you lied back, arms by your head. The bright flash stunned you, blinking at the shock, only for a moment. Eddie hovered above you, shaking the camera for a moment, eyes roaming over your frame before he swallowed, tossing the film to the side.

"Perfect," Eddie hummed, his hand sliding over your thighs, back to your slick, sensitive center. "You're just perfect."

Your shy smile was taken before you could give it fully, body jolting at the feeling of his fingers sliding through your slick folds, ghosting over your clit.

Mouth open, your strangled on your own moans and breathy whimpers, hands scrambling for his shoulder that was no longer there, fisting the throw pillow behind you instead. Head tipping back, your eyes began to blur with the same starry eyed look that Eddie adored.

You were too consumed with your own pleasure, returned and now heightened even more than before, lashes fluttering, gripping the pillow behind you as your hips swiveled and bucked. Your orgasm coming closer and closer, until you finally felt yourself give into the pleasure, at the same time, another flash went off.

As if Eddie knew at that very moment you were going to cum, maybe he did. He had to, it's how he got his perfect picture of you, orgasming around his fingers, positively fucked out from his touch. Forever captured in the Polaroid, that he kept in the bottom of his sock drawer, treasured for his eyes only.

[httpuckdrop]

ashes – day 1

his eyes were stuck on you from the second you entered the club.

it wasn't a completely uncommon thing for you to have men staring at you in public places, especially not when you were out with your hot girlfriends, all wearing tiny dresses with hair fixed to perfection. nonetheless, you were more used to the men only ever entertaining the most gorgeous members of your friend group, and men losing interest after an hour of you not giving a shit about their longing gazes.

this specific one, however, didn't seem to understand the meaning behind your actions. nearing three hours after you first stepped into the room, you still caught him eyeing you up whenever you accidentally looked his way. could he not take a hint?

it wasn't like he wasn't hot enough for you – quite the opposite, to be honest. with his defined jaw speckled with just a faint hint of stubble, a smile that made something tighten in your stomach without him even trying, and those baby blue eyes (so bright they could blind you across the room), he could probably bag any girl in the world. he probably has, too, judging by the way he and his friend seem to think that they own not just the club but the rest of the world as well.

you're familiar with the type; likely some type of spoiled sports guys, celebrating a good game or season or whatever. caps on their heads, beer glasses in their hands, top buttons of their shirts undone. you truly couldn't care less.

the guy left your brain for a few moments when it was suddenly your turn to get your group a new round of drinks. you waited by the bar for a minute or two, and when the bartender was done mixing your round, he calculated the price for you before running off to get the card machine.

you really shouldn't have been surprised by the figure appearing by your side. you definitely should have figured out that he would see this as his chance.

"let me pay for the round." you hadn't heard his voice before, but you didn't need to – or want to, for that matter – look at him to know who it was. a mere shake of your head should've been enough, you thought. apparently not. "you're a group of like, what, six people? can't be too expensive, i'll handle it."

"i can handle it, too," you countered.

"i'm sure you can," he started with a chuckle. "but you shouldn't have to."

taking a deep breath, you finally turned to him, feeling the frustration building up in the pit of your stomach when your eyes met his because who allowed him to be this breathtaking up close? "i'm not looking for some sugar daddy, so you can leave."

his jaw dropped slightly at this, eyes widening and cheeks growing pink – or were they always that color? was it due to the alcohol or just the proximity to you? – but then he shook his head slightly to recover. "that's not what i meant," he said, and you almost believed the genuine glimmer in his gaze. "i just wanted to do something good, i don't know. i'm sorry if that came out wrong."

you couldn't help but nod at this, the corners of your lips curling up at the sight of his hand scratching the back of his neck. "don't worry about it," you assured him, wanting- needing to look away, but not finding yourself able to. he looked young, probably around your age instead of the typical nasty old men who liked to pick up pretty girls and brag about their wallets. his eyes were kind, gentle, the different shades of blue swirling around like a rough sea; easy to get lost in. the brown curls that poked out at the back of his cap were unruly yet soft, and in a weak moment, you found yourself wondering how it would feel to pull your fingers through them.

the bartender interrupted your moment – you weren't sure if only seconds had passed or if it had been minutes, hours – and a breath of relief escaped from you at the beep from the card machine after you tapped your phone against it. at the same time, you really didn't want to go back to your friends. you could spend your whole lifetime just staring at the man in front of you without being bored for even a second. you hadn't yet realized the spell you were under, or just how willing you'd be to agree to anything for him.

after making sure that the drinks were safely transported to your table, the man managed to lure you with him to his own table instead. most of his friends were gone by now, searching for single girls on the dance floor, and the three that were still sat there were too invested in a heated discussion about football to care even the slightest about you two.

he introduced himself as jack, 23 years old but turning 24 in the spring, the middle of three brothers. when you questioned him about sports, wanting to confirm your premature suspicions, he laughed and confirmed that he indeed "works with hockey", but never went any further than that. instead, he asked for your name, told you that it was beautiful and asked where you got it from. he asked to hear about your studies, seemingly authentically curious about your boring homework and annoying lecturers. he asked about your family, your childhood, your dreams.

no matter what story you told, he listened with great intent, that boyish grin permanent on his lips and a laugh never far away. jack looked at you like he was already in love with you; a look you're sure he has practiced for ages.

but at this point, you honestly didn't care.

after this, everything went by in a blur. one second, you were still just sitting on that couch in the club, chatting about anything and everything. the next, you were making out in the back of an uber, his calloused palms searching every inch of skin they could reach under your shirt. the next, your back met the covers of the bed in his apartment, dazed eyes watching as this masterpiece of a man climbed on top of you and leaned down to seal his lips against yours yet again.

his fingers left imaginary traces along your skin, his lips then following the path they'd drawn. you'd been in this position before, sure, but this sensation was new – something about him made it so different from anything you'd felt before. his touch drew out shallow breaths and sweet noises from you as he discovered your body, helping him understand how to please you the way you wanted.

the time spent with jack went on for hours, yet it was over in mere seconds. when he held you against his chest, you wanted nothing more than to stay there forever, to rest your head against him until the world collapsed under your feet, to feel his skin against yours until the end of time.

but you knew that couldn't happen.

so as soon as his low snores filled the air, when his breath became steady and you were sure he was asleep, you swiftly fled from his grasp.

getting dressed in a tight dress and your previously discarded underwear after a night like this was always awkward, and leaving a gorgeous man alone in his big bed always sucked. but you had no other option.

after closing his front door behind you quietly, you let out a deep sigh, as if to let go of what had just happened. you couldn't afford to let it stay on your mind, you couldn't obsess over it. there was no point. if you were lucky, you would never have to see him again.

unfortunately, luck has never really been on your side.

[keyaho]

Heyyyyy!!! HERE ME OUT 🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾. Terry x reader went out for the night and he gets a lil tipsy and by the end of the night he need dat😏😏. So so very nasty cuz he get real nasty after a few drinks🫣🫣

I Get Filthy

.summary. sanai and terry go out with their friends. between shot and music, terry let's loose, or was it all a game?

His breath was hot on the back of her neck and if it had been anyone else she would have cursed them out. Instead she was trying to push off her slightly drunk man and his wandering hands. They were in the middle of the club, bodies pressed together, while he downed another shot she had no idea he went and got. They were out with friends, celebrating a milestone for one of them and their career in medicine. She hadn't expected Terry to let loose, but when the third drink came to their table, and the two shots the flirty ass bartender passed were drunk, liquid courage filled his veins as the animal surfaced.

Currently swaying side to side, Terry had one hand on Sanai's breast, occasionally squeezing in time to the music. His thumb flicked across her nipple through the satin low cut material. 

"Terry!" She hummed, turning her head to look up at him.

His eyes were low, a little bloodshot and his full lips were parted as he breathed and sung to the music. He looked down at her and tried to wink, both eyes closing instead of one. She let out a laugh and patted his leg.

"You're drunk,' she says. "Are you ready to go home?"

Instead, Terry let her go and found his way to the dance floor, hyped up by his equally drunk friends. 

"I need that,' he grunted, ripping at her dress as soon as they stepped into their hotel suite. 

Sanai almost tumbled backwards in her heels before he caught her, hoisted her up over his shoulder, and half stumbled to the bedroom. Sanai landed with a thud and Terry began a slow strip tease as she watched. No music, but he sung the lyrics to I'm In Love With A Stripper. The last song the club had played as she tried pulling him from the dance floor to the exit. His Marine friends, along with her girlfriends had hyped him up, passing him shots because they all knew Terry didn't get this lit.

"Need what?" She said, teasing him as she pulled the straps down of her dress. 

"That pussy,' he slurred, giving her a cheeky grin. 

He dropped a knee to the bed and began a slow crawl to her. His cheeks were flushed, face slightly tinted red from the alcohol running through his veins. The was the last thing they needed to be doing. Terry was an animal any other time in bed, able to flip her up and over at his will. But drunk Terry? A demon. 

A hand grabbing her ankle pulled her from her thoughts. Terry pulled her downwards towards him and planted a long wet kiss to the corner of her mouth. Sanai laughed and adjusted his head, letting his long tongue pushed into her mouth. The kiss was nasty and wet. Their full lips smacking against each other as they took turns stripping each other down. Terry pulled his mouth away and pushed apart Sanai's legs, his dick was hard and heavy between his legs as it slipped free from his briefs.

"I've been wanting to fuck,' he starts, unable to finish as Sanai helps him by guiding his dick to her wet folds. 

She rubs his tip up and down in her wetness, coating his length as she stroked him. She knew his balls were heavy and while he was trying to balance himself she reached beneath him and cupped them, her hand massaging them as precum leaked from his tip into her palm. 

"Shit,' Terry hissed, 'let me, Nai, bay,' he stammered, his mind foggy as he tried to find the words to control the situation and her. 

"Nah, you said you need that. Let me give it to you Daddy,' she purred. "You're so drunk,' she teased.

"No I…not,' he pushed her into the bed and hoisted her legs over his arms, letting them rest in the crook of his elbow. Splayed out, Sanai reached between her legs, playing with her pussy as his hooded hazel eyes watched her. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his stomach muscles clenching at the thought of sinking into her pussy. 

So he did. 

Terry's first thrust was messy and hard. Sanai slapped her hands down on his shoulder, holding on as his hips drove forward. His thrusts were slopping and uncontrolled. The lack of coordination led to Sanai being able to push her thighs forward to drop them from his arms. Distracted, she wrapped them around his waist and flipped them over. Her hands fell on his chest, using him for balance as she began to rock her hips back and forth. 

"Let me be in control,' Sanai says, her voice even as she sinks back down on his dick. 

Terry grabs her hips, holding her for support as she rode him on her tiptoes, swirled her hips, and bounced until a white creamy mess was made between them. Terry was vocal. Panting and moaning about how tight her pussy was. How wet she was. How she wss wetting him up. Sanai reached up and grabbed his throat with one hand, his eyes shot open at her aggressive hold and she felt his dick twitch inside of her. Thick and pulsing, Terry lifted his hips, seeking out her warmth as she rode him. 

"Like a mechanical bull,' he sung, Beyonce's lyrics replacing his moans. "Fuck it,' he giggled, changing the words. This wasn't even sex anymore, this was a show. "Look at that horse, look at that horse, look at that horse,' he said, slapping her thighs each time. 

Sanai squeezed his neck tighter, he choked, and she leaned down to kiss him. 

"I'm riding my steed,' she mumbled. 

"For his seed,' he grunts out just before flipping them back over. 

Terry pushed to the hilt, his hips rotating in circles as his voice deepened. "Aight,' he said, sounding more clear than he had since before they left the house. "Playtime over,' he smacked his lips against hers, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth before biting her lip. 

He pushed his hips forwards, sinking deep into her pussy until squelching sounds fill the room. The scent of their combined sex fills the air around them, choking them both until they were gasping for air in time to his thrust. He laid on top of her, hugging her body close as he rocked his hips, pistoned them between her legs until her thighs were shaking. She could taste the hennessy on his lips, the lemon drop he stole from her lingered in the back of his mouth as her tongue explore his uvula. 

He pulled his head away just enough to whispered in her ear. 

I know my pussy creaming.

Wet that shit up for me. 

That it's baby, take it. Take it. TAKE. IT. 

Sanai was sure the people in the other rooms could hear them. The bed was smacking against the wall as she cried out for Terry to let up, his hips roughly pounding against hers. 

Tears prickled in her eyes and she turned her head into his neck, his sweat dripping onto her body as his hands wandered down to her waist. Brusingly, he held them and pulled upwards, holding her to him and impaling her on his length. 

"Terry,' she stuttered, hands going down to push at his stomach. "Please!" 

He smacked her hands away, his thumb finding her clit as he found his groove. Realization set in as they made eye contact and he winked. Bastard's alcohol tolerance was through the fucking roof. Of course it was, he was a fucking Marine.

"Nah,' he says, eyes never leaving the way his dick slid in and out of her pussy, 'you're gonna take this dick until I nut, then I'm going to fuck it back in until you do." He leaned down, the sudden push forward caused his dick to brush against her cervix, reminding her of how deep he could go if he wanted. 

"Then you're gonna get on your knees and lick all that shit up." 

Sanai's eyes rolled to the back of her head as he grabbed her chin in his hands, forcing her to look at him. 

"I've been drinkin'' he hummed.

This is exactly what Beyonce wrote the song for.

Taglist

@nayaesworld @peachbuttetfly @heauxvibez @avoidthings @mymindisneverhere @eilujion @heytaewrites  @insidefeelingofanadult @captainwithoutmakingitlove  @kindofaintrovert @jimmybutlrr @beenathembo  @virgomess  @theereina @randomhood @ash-ketchumzzz 

@wabi-sabi1090 @iterum-incipi @liquorlaughslove @eilujion @taureanstargirl @mzv11@Disc0fair @prettyfilmz @simplyzeeka @heytaewrites vivaalenaa theogbadbitch

Insertcatchynamerighthere writingsbytee pocketsizedpanther

[pinkolve]

A Spencer Reid Fic- The One Where He Reads Her Diary

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Summary: Spencer Reid gets pressured into reading your diary. How will things end after you find out...

Genre: Fluff, and a little angst

CW: Autistic coded!Fem!Reader, use of Y/N, a bit of dramatic? reader, sad Spencer :(, steamy kisses, slight artist!reader.

Word Count: 2,227

A/N: I'm not the best at writing in a reader's perspective!! I always write my fics with myself in mind, so y/n is usually very similar to myself. I hope you still enjoy this anyways, and let me know if you have any tips for writing x reader fics!! Thank you! <33

Y/N’s always been an honest person, she always tells people exactly what she thinks. She’s blunt, but still kind. Y/N believes that everyone deserves to know the truth, especially when specifically asking for it. But, she also has millions of secrets piled up. Some of them, people know. The others…No one knows, except her diary. 

Y/N had just turned twenty-two a few months ago. Some would argue she’s much too old for a diary, while others would say how beneficial it is for the mind. Like Spencer Reid, for example. He himself had a journal, he just hadn’t used it nearly as much as she did.

He used his journal to talk about important events or changes in his life, while Y/N used it for everything. She wrote everything she ever thought, and drew whatever came to mind. 

The one mistake she had made from the start was keeping her diary in her work bag…That she always left on her desk when she left for the bathroom. 

***

“Reid, man, come on. You need to tell her eventually.” Morgan bantered, standing right next to Spencer’s desk. 

“I’d rather not look like an idiot, Morgan.” Spencer slightly rolled his eyes, still focused on his paperwork. 

“You already do?” Morgan said, confused. Spencer looked up with a scowl. “I’m just messin’ with you Pretty Boy! Just ask her out for coffee, nothing wrong with coffee.” He shrugged. Spencer simply shook his head, staring back down at his files. Morgan shook his own head in disapproval before walking back to his own desk, passing Y/N’s in the process. 

As he passed by, his hip bumped the half-open bag on her desk, knocking it to the floor. Morgan immediately turned around and swore. He set his mug down on the desk and bent down to grab her bag. He took notice of a surprisingly thick notebook. He picked it up and reveled at how heavy it was. Morgan looked at the cover to read ‘Diary.’ His eyes immediately widened. 

A smirk took over his face as he placed the bag back on her desk and carried the journal back over to Reid’s desk. Once he was close enough, he threw the journal on the desk with a particularly loud ‘thud.’ Lucky for the two of them, the office was mostly empty so they were able to pull more shenanigans than usual. 

Spencer looked over at the cover and looked up at his friend with furrowed brows. 

“What is this?” 

“Y/L/N’s diary. Fell out of her bag.” He gestured behind him. Spencer’s face went white, his jaw dropping, and eyes almost bursting out of his head. 

“You cannot be serious! Put this back!” He jumped up from his desk, journal in hand, ready to bring it back to its rightful home. 

“Woah there, Pretty Boy!” Morgan put his palms against Reid’s chest, pushing him back in his desk chair. “You have a major advantage here. You read that, and you’ll probably know everything Y/N’s ever thought about you.” He wiggled his eyebrows. Spencer’s face was angry. “Look Reid, if Y/N finds out I’ll take all the blame. I’ll tell her I read it to you and you didn’t want anything to do with it.” Spencer looked down at the book in his hands, contemplating. 

“I can’t believe I’m letting you convince me into doing this.” Spencer sighed, shaking his head to himself. He hated the idea of invading his best friend’s privacy but he was also still a man. A man with a terrible crush on said best friend. How could he hold her very diary in his own two hands and not read a single word? “One page, that’s it!” Spencer groaned while Morgan ‘woo-hooed.’

Spencer took notice of just how thick the journal was before opening to the newest page. He held the book open gently, praying he wouldn’t break it since it was falling apart already. He looked at the left page, two messy sketches were drawn there in pen. They both were of him, the specific view Y/N had of him from her own desk. These are actually pretty good…He thought to himself. 

“Holy shit, Reid. Is that you?” Morgan practically gasped. 

“Yeah.” He whispered, too entranced by the book. The right page had an entry. 

11/10/24 Sunday, 6:22 pm

Dear Diary, 

Today hasn’t been very eventful. I came into work to try and finish some of my paperwork. Morgan and Spencer apparently had the same idea. I’ve been feeling so weird around Spencer lately. I can’t quite put my finger on why. Usually I feel fine around him, he is my best friend after all. I think it may have something to do with the wet dream I had about him last night…I can’t quite shake it from-

“Okay! That’s enough!” Spencer shut the book harshly, his face beet red. Morgan looked at him with a wide grin. 

“Why wouldn’t you keep reading? It was just gettin’ good!” He chuckled. Spencer glared at him. “Well, now we know she likes you.” Morgan smirked. 

“This doesn’t prove anything! People have wet dreams about other people when they don’t even like them, all the time!” Spencer almost screamed. Just then, Y/N came in through the large glass doors, letting out a loud sigh and stretching. She took one look at her desk and groaned. 

“Derek Morgan, I told you to stop leaving your coffee on my desk!” She complained, grabbing it angrily. She looked over at the two, their faces covered in guilt. “What happened to you guys?” She questioned. 

“Nothing. Nothing at all!” Spencer yelled, awkwardly covering the journal with both his arms. Y/N walked towards them while chuckling. 

“Come on guys, you look totally guilty. What’d you do?” She smiles at Morgan then looks over at Spencer, taking notice of the large lump under his arms. “What’s that? Did you accidentally buy erotica again?” She shook her head. She reached over to pry his arms away from the object. “I told you to stop-” Y/N cut myself off, staring at her own journal. Her face drained of any color and every feature on her face practically melted. 

“Y/N/N, I’m so-” Spencer started.

“Shut up.” She spit out. She tore her journal from him and slammed Morgan’s coffee on his desk, causing it to spill everywmye. She practically ran back to her own desk and packed her things. 

“Y/L/N, it wasn’t his fault. I’m the one who-” Morgan tried to reason. 

“I said shut the fuck up!” She screeched, her face red with anger and embarrassment. “I never thought you would do something like this to me. I trusted you with everything I had and you broke it like it was nothing.” She was crying now, looking between the two men. But all of them knew she was only really talking to Spencer. 

“Y/N, please-” 

“Don’t ever talk to me again you fucking asshole!” She sobbed out before running to the elevator and making a fast exit. Morgan looked over at Spencer and his heart nearly broke. Spencer looked like a wounded puppy, his eyes were wide and filled with unshed tears. He looked frozen in place, he couldn’t move a single inch. He begged any and every deity he could think of to make Y/N come back so he could explain. They hadn’t listened to any of his pleas. 

***

Y/N lay in her living room on her large corner sofa. The TV was on, playing ‘Gilmore Girls’ very loudly. She hoped to drown out any thought she had with the noise. So far, it wasn’t working. 

She hadn’t been to work in nearly a week, it was currently Saturday and no one had heard from her. She only called Hotch to tell him she wouldn’t be in for a while, sick with the flu. She sure as hell couldn’t admit that the real reason was because her crush read her diary. It felt stupid enough in middle school, she wasn’t about to say it aloud to her own boss. 

Everyone on the team was very worried, getting barely any information and zero replies from Y/N. Penny, Emily, Morgan and J.J had all come to her apartment on different occasions, begging to see her. She never let them in. The only thing she cared about was seeing Spencer, but at the same time, she never wanted to see him again. Funnily enough, Spencer was the only one who hadn’t come over. Y/N was partially glad for this because she knew if he was at her door, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from opening it. 

Spencer had of course sent about fifty-three text messages and made twenty-four phone calls to her. Once again, all of them were ignored. Spencer was the kind of person who liked to talk in person, apologize in person. All his text messages were him begging to talk to Y/N, to let him explain. None of them actually contained any excuses or apologies. She was clearly clueless on any reasoning he had, or how much he had read, because he didn’t want to say any of it in a meaningless text. He had been waiting since Wednesday for the weekend to come rolling around. He planned to show up and explain everything, but he needed to make sure they had plenty of time to talk, hence the weekend. 

Everyone on the team knew of his plan so they all refrained from going over themselves. They just hoped the two would figure everything out. 

*** 

Y/N had just gotten out of the shower when she heard a knock on her door. She rolled her eyes to herself and sighed, looking at the time. 

“Which one of them has the brilliant idea to come over at eight in the morning?!” She yelled to herself. She softly and slowly walked against the hardwood floor, careful not to make a single noise and alert whoever was behind the door. She wouldn’t answer it but she at least wanted to know who it was this time. 

“Y/N…It’s me.” Spencer’s voice rang out and she froze. “I know you’re angry but I really need to talk to you. Please let me in.” His voice was pathetic and sad, cracking occasionally. Within seconds the door opened in front of him. There stood the girl he’s been dreaming of seeing all week. Her hair was soaking wet and so were her shoulders and arms. A towel was wrapped around her body tightly, showing off her figure. Spencer watched a single droplet of water pass down between the valley of her breasts. 

“H-Hey.” Spencer choked out. 

“Hi.” Y/N greeted shyly. 

“I need to talk to you.”

“So I heard.” She nodded a little. “What about?” 

“You know what about…” 

“Okay, fine. What specific part of that interaction would you like to discuss? What, did you just come over to make fun of me? To ridicule me for the way I feel? Did you come over here just to humiliate me even more?!” Y/N’s voice raised the more she spoke. 

“No!” Spencer yelled, cutting her off. “I don’t want to do any of that!” He sighed to himself. “I…I never should have read your diary. Morgan convinced me, and I know I should have reacted better, and not listened to him. He just kept telling me how…Convinient it would be. I’ve been scared to tell you how I really feel for the last two years. He told me that reading your diary would be the perfect way to see how you feel about me before I confessed and made an idiot of myself. I just…I had a weak moment and I hate that I hurt you in the process.” A couple tears fell from the corners of his eyes. “I’m so…So sorry, Y/N/N.” 

She looked up at him with an expressionless face. Spencer looked back into her eyes with the saddest look on his face. He was about to ask her what she was thinking when she told him instead. 

“Do you like me? Romantically?” She asked, voice monotone. 

“Of course I do. I genuinely thought it was obvious, I can never stop how flustered I get around you. All I’ve dreamed about since we became friends is spending my life with you. Whether we spend it as best friends or more, I couldn’t care less. I just want you with me every step of the way” Spencer spoke honestly. 

“Kiss me.” Y/N blurted out. Spencer’s eyes went wide. 

“W-What?” He stuttered. 

“Please.” She breathed out. “Kiss me.” Her eyes were heavy and clouded. Spencer was quick to reach down and grab the sides of her face in his hands, pushing their lips together roughly. Y/N whimpered the minute his lips touched her own. Just as fast as the kiss happened it turned sloppy. Spencer’s hands travelled down to her waist, gripping tightly. She had wrapped her arms around his neck, her breasts pushing up against his chest. Their tongues collided and twirled against each other. 

“I love you, Spencer.” She whispered against his lips. 

“I love you more, Y/N.” He sighed.

[novaursa]

Legacy (the north and the south)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: homesick

- Next part: sisters

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal @butterflygxril

The raven arrived early in the morning, its cries echoing across the stone corridors of Dragonstone. The castle was shrouded in mist, the waves crashing relentlessly against the cliffs below. You were sitting in your chambers, cradling Maelor in your arms while Damon played with wooden soldiers on the floor. The warmth of the fire contrasted with the chill that lingered outside, but the peace of the morning was soon interrupted by a knock on the heavy oak door.

A servant entered, carrying the sealed letter. "My lady," he said respectfully, offering the parchment.

You handed Maelor gently to his wet nurse and took the letter, the seal unmistakable—the direwolf of House Stark. Your heart quickened as you broke it open, your eyes scanning the words written in Jon’s unmistakable hand.

“From Jon?” Tywin’s voice came from the doorway, calm yet piercing. He entered the room, his keen green eyes narrowing as he studied your expression.

You nodded, rereading the letter before speaking. “Winterfell is his again. Sansa is safe.”

Tywin approached, standing beside you. “And?”

A shadow passed over your face as you continued. “Rickon… he’s dead. Killed by Ramsay Bolton.” Your voice caught, and you paused to compose yourself. “Jon says there is still no word of Bran or Arya.”

Tywin remained silent for a moment, his jaw tightening. “The boy was a casualty of war. The North would have suffered greater losses had the Boltons not been stopped.”

You turned to him, your eyes sharp. “He wasn’t just a casualty. He was a child. My family.”

Tywin’s gaze didn’t waver, though his tone softened slightly. “I do not diminish his loss. But this is the cost of reclaiming Winterfell.”

Your fingers tightened around the parchment as you continued reading. “Jon plans to come here. He wants to meet Damon and Maelor.” You paused, the next part of the letter weighing heavily on your heart. “And he intends to speak with you, Tywin.”

A flicker of something crossed his face—curiosity, perhaps, or annoyance. “To what end?”

You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “Jon says he will demand justice for what has been done by your family to his.”

Tywin’s expression hardened, his features a mask of control. “Justice,” he said, the word laced with cold amusement. “The Starks have always had an idealistic view of the world.”

“Jon is no idealist,” you countered, your voice firm. “He’s been through too much to cling to fantasies. If he seeks justice, it’s because he believes it’s owed to him.”

Tywin exhaled slowly, his hands clasped behind his back as he turned to the window, gazing out at the misty sea. “He may demand what he wishes, but justice is not so easily defined. What does he expect? For me to undo the past?”

“He expects accountability,” you replied, your voice softer now. “He’s lost so much—almost his entire House. He blames you for what Boltons did and for the death of his father.”

Tywin turned back to you, his gaze piercing. “And do you?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. You met his eyes, your heart torn between loyalty to your husband and the pain that lingered for your family. “I don’t know. Roose followed your orders for the Red Wedding, the rest of it was done by him alone,” you admitted quietly. “But Jon deserves to be heard.”

Tywin regarded you for a long moment before nodding once. “Very well. Let him come. I will hear what he has to say.”

You nodded, your shoulders relaxing slightly. “Thank you.”

Tywin’s gaze softened, and he stepped closer, his hand brushing against your cheek. “I understand what this means to you,” he said quietly. “But do not let sentiment cloud your judgment. The world is not built on fairness.”

You placed your hand over his, your heart heavy but grateful for his understanding. “I know.”

As the day stretched on, the letter weighed on your mind. You found yourself watching Damon and Maelor more closely, their innocent laughter a reminder of what was at stake. Tywin’s words lingered, but so did the promise of Jon’s arrival.

The North and the South would meet again, but this time, it would be in the halls of Dragonstone.

The war council convened in the Great Hall of Dragonstone. The dark stone walls, lit by flickering torches, seemed to absorb the heated conversations as lords and knights debated the many pressing issues facing the realm. At the head of the long table sat Tywin Lannister, his presence as commanding as ever. Beside him, you occupied a seat of equal prominence, your gaze steady as you listened intently to the discourse.

Maps and reports were spread across the table, but the topic dominating the room was not one of politics or armies—it was the juvenile dragon that had made its home in Dragonmont. The beast had eluded every attempt at capture, growing bolder and more dangerous with each passing week.

Tywin tapped his fingers against the polished wood of the table, silencing the room. “The creature cannot be ignored any longer,” he began, his voice cutting through the tension. “It is a liability, one that poses a threat not only to this castle but to our control of the realm.”

Ser Jaime Lannister, seated further down the table, leaned back in his chair, his golden hand resting on the edge of the table. “A liability that breathes fire,” he quipped, though his tone lacked his usual humor. “If we can’t trap it, how do you propose we deal with it?”

Varys, standing near the shadows as was his custom, interjected smoothly, his hands folded before him. “Perhaps the question isn’t how to deal with it, but rather how to use it.”

All eyes turned to the spymaster. Tywin’s gaze narrowed. “Explain.”

Varys stepped forward, his silken voice carrying easily across the room. “The dragon is young, yes, but it is still a dragon. A creature of power, a symbol of strength. Instead of attempting to subdue it through force, perhaps we should consider… nurturing it.”

The suggestion drew murmurs from the lords, some of them uneasy. Tywin raised a hand, silencing them once more. “Nurturing a creature that has already killed men? Do you expect it to be tamed?”

“Not by just anyone, my lord,” Varys replied, his eyes brilliant with calculated intrigue. “But there are two in this very castle who share its blood. Your sons, Damon and Maelor.”

The room fell silent, the weight of Varys’s words sinking in. You stiffened slightly, your gaze darting to Tywin. His expression remained unreadable, though his fingers stopped their rhythmic tapping.

“You propose I send my children into a lair with a creature that has killed grown men?” Tywin said coldly, his voice dangerously low.

Varys inclined his head. “Not immediately, of course. The creature is still young, impressionable. Dragons have always responded to those with Valyrian blood. The sooner a bond is forged, the greater the control. If one of your sons were to claim it, my lord, it would no longer be a liability—it would be an asset.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room, though some lords exchanged uneasy glances. Tywin’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes searching your face. “What is your opinion on this?”

You hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing heavily on you. “I won’t deny that Varys has a point,” you said carefully. “But Damon is only three years old, and Maelor is barely out of the cradle. It’s too dangerous.”

“And yet your ancestors bonded with their dragons at a young age,” Varys pointed out gently, his gaze sliding to you. “Your blood allowed it. Why should your sons not have the same potential?”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line, his focus returning to Varys. “You suggest we gamble the lives of my heirs on the whims of a dragon.”

“I suggest you secure your house’s future,” Varys countered smoothly. “Two dragons are better than one, my lord. And with a Lannister’s hand on their reins, the realm will bend the knee without question.”

Jaime, who had been silent until now, leaned forward. “You’re assuming the dragon will accept either of them,” he said. “What happens if it doesn’t? If it sees them as prey instead of kin?”

Varys spread his hands in a gesture of feigned helplessness. “All things in life carry risk, Ser Jaime. But this is a calculated one.”

The room fell into a tense silence as Tywin considered the spymaster’s words. His mind weighed the potential benefits against the undeniable dangers. Finally, he turned to you once more. “You are the only one here who understands the bond between dragon and rider. If this course is pursued, it will fall to you to guide them. Can you do that?”

You took a deep breath, your heart heavy with the implications of what he was asking. “I can,” you said quietly, “but only when the time is right. Damon and Maelor are too young now. Forcing it would be a mistake.”

Tywin nodded once, his decision made. “Then we will wait. The dragon remains undisturbed for now. But preparations will be made. If the creature cannot be bonded to one of my sons, it will be dealt with.”

The lords murmured their agreement, the tension in the room easing slightly. Tywin dismissed the council with a curt wave of his hand, and the men began to file out. Varys lingered for a moment, his expression unreadable, before offering a slight bow and disappearing into the shadows.

When the room was empty save for Tywin and Jaime, the latter rose to his feet, a faint smirk on his lips. “A dragon bonded with the blood of Lannister. It’s a strange thought.”

Tywin glanced at him, his expression unreadable. “Strange, perhaps. But necessary.”

Jaime shook his head, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t see Damon as dinner.”

Tywin said nothing, his gaze shifting to the door as if already contemplating the battles yet to come. You placed a hand on his arm, drawing his attention back to you.

“This isn’t just about the dragon, is it?” you asked softly.

“No,” Tywin admitted, his voice quieter now. “It’s about ensuring the legacy of this house—whatever the cost.”

The sea breeze swept across the battlements of Dragonstone, carrying with it the scent of salt and the promise of change. You stood beside Tywin atop the castle's walls, your eyes fixed on the horizon where ships emerged from the mist, their sails bearing the stark grey direwolf of House Stark. The sight filled you with a strange mixture of pride and apprehension.

“They’re here,” you said softly, the words almost lost to the wind.

Tywin’s gaze remained steady on the approaching fleet, his expression unreadable. “Punctual,” he remarked, his voice carrying its usual commanding tone. “As expected of the North.”

You turned to him, your lips curving into a faint smile. “I didn’t think you’d appreciate Northern punctuality.”

“I appreciate men who understand the value of time,” Tywin replied, his eyes never leaving the approaching ships. “Your adopted Stark child appears to have that much sense, at least.”

Your gaze returned to the sea, the sight of the ships stirring memories of Jon—his determination, his sense of honor, his quiet strength. “Jon isn’t like most men,” you said, almost to yourself. “He’s been through so much, and yet he’s still standing.”

Tywin’s silence spoke volumes, his mind likely dissecting every possible outcome of Jon’s arrival. “The question is whether he’ll remain standing after this meeting,” he said finally. “The North has a tendency to act before thinking.”

You shot him a look, your amusement tinged with exasperation. “Jon isn’t Robb.”

“No, he isn’t,” Tywin agreed, though his tone carried a note of caution. “But he is still a Stark. And Starks are ruled by their emotions.”

“Perhaps,” you conceded. “But Jon’s emotions are tempered by experience. He’s seen things most men couldn’t imagine, let alone survive.”

Tywin’s gaze shifted to you briefly, his green eyes seeing through you. “You seem eager to defend him.”

“I’ve raised him,” you said simply, meeting his gaze without flinching. “And he’s been through enough betrayal for one lifetime.”

Tywin’s expression hardened slightly at your words, though he said nothing. Instead, his attention returned to the ships, which were now closer, their banners fluttering in the wind. The soldiers aboard could be seen moving about, their armor shining faintly in the sunlight.

“Cersei won’t like this,” you said after a moment, breaking the silence. “The idea of a Stark setting foot on Dragonstone—of all places—will drive her mad.”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Cersei’s opinions are of no consequence. She can seethe in King’s Landing while I ensure this house’s future.”

You folded your arms, leaning slightly against the stone battlement. “Still, she’ll see it as a betrayal. First me, now Jon. In her eyes, we’re all traitors.”

Tywin exhaled sharply, a sound that could have been amusement or irritation. “Cersei has always been blind to the larger picture. She clings to power with the desperation of a drowning woman, never realizing the waters are rising because of her own actions.”

You watched him closely, his words a rare glimpse into his thoughts about his daughter. “And you?” you asked softly. “How do you see this?”

“I see it as necessity,” Tywin replied, his tone measured. “The Boltons are finished, the North is once again Stark territory, and Jon Snow has proven himself capable. If an alliance with him strengthens our position, I’ll entertain it.”

You nodded slowly, your heart heavy with the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future. The waves crashed below, their sound a steady rhythm against the silence that stretched between you.

Finally, Tywin spoke again, his voice quieter this time. “Do you trust him?”

The question caught you off guard, though you didn’t hesitate in your answer. “I do.”

Tywin’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he turned back to the sea. “Then let us hope your trust is not misplaced.”

You followed his gaze, the ships now close enough to make out the direwolf emblems clearly. The sight filled you with a strange sense of both hope and foreboding.

The wind carried the salty spray of the sea across the rocky shore of Dragonstone as Jon Snow and his men disembarked from their boats. Clad in dark furs and armor befitting the harshness of the North, they moved with quiet purpose, their eyes scanning the formidable fortress looming above them. Davos Seaworth stood at Jon’s side, his steady presence a stark contrast to the tense expressions of the other Northern men.

At the head of the welcoming party stood Tywin Lannister and you, flanked by Jaime, Varys, and a host of household guards and attendants. The Lannister crimson and gold stood out prominently against the dark grey skies and the volcanic black stone of the island. Tywin’s eyes were fixed on Jon, assessing the young man with the cold precision he was known for.

As Jon and his men approached, you stepped forward, breaking protocol with a determined stride. Jon’s grey eyes widened slightly as you closed the distance, your pale hair catching the light of the overcast sun. Before he could say anything, you enveloped him in a warm embrace, your arms wrapping tightly around him.

“Jon,” you said softly, though your voice carried enough for everyone to hear. “It’s been too long again.”

Jon stiffened, clearly uncomfortable under the gaze of so many powerful men. “It has,” he replied awkwardly, his arms hesitantly returning the embrace. His gaze darted to Tywin, whose expression was as unyielding as stone.

Davos cleared his throat, stepping forward to save Jon from further discomfort. “May I present Jon Snow, King in the North,” he announced, his tone formal but respectful.

At this, Tywin’s eyes narrowed slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line. Jaime’s healthy hand rested casually on his belt, his expression unreadable, while Varys watched with quiet curiosity.

You, however, seemed entirely unbothered by the title. Pulling back from the embrace, you took Jon’s face in your hands, your violet eyes scanning his features with a motherly intensity. “You’ve lost weight,” you said, your voice laced with concern. “And you’ve been fighting again. I can see it in your eyes.”

Jon’s cheeks flushed faintly, and he shifted on his feet. “I’ve had… responsibilities.”

“And you’re not taking care of yourself,” you replied firmly, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his shoulder. “It’s just like when you were a boy. Always too serious.”

The Northern men behind Jon exchanged uneasy glances, unsure how to respond to the unexpected display. Even Davos looked slightly amused, though he wisely kept his expression neutral.

“Mother,” Jon said quietly, his voice tinged with embarrassment. “There are… people watching.”

You smiled warmly, unbothered by his discomfort. “Let them watch.”

Finally, you released him, your hand lingering briefly on his arm before you gestured for him to follow. “Come,” you said, turning back toward Tywin. “There’s someone you need to speak with.”

Jon’s gaze shifted to Tywin as he approached, the older man standing tall and unyielding as ever. Tywin’s piercing eyes locked onto Jon’s, his expression betraying nothing but a cold, calculating air.

“You must be Jon Snow,” Tywin said, his voice calm but edged with authority.

Jon nodded, his posture straightening under Tywin’s scrutiny. “I am.”

“You’ve come a long way,” Tywin remarked, his tone neither warm nor hostile. “And for a purpose, I presume.”

“I have,” Jon replied evenly, his gaze unwavering. “There’s much to discuss.”

Tywin studied him for a moment longer before nodding curtly. “Then let us not waste time.”

As Tywin turned and began walking toward the castle, Jaime fell into step beside him. Varys lingered near the back of the group, his watchful eyes taking in every detail.

You walked alongside Jon, your hand resting briefly on his arm as you leaned closer. “You handled that well,” you said softly, a faint smile playing on your lips.

Jon glanced at you, his expression softening slightly. “I’m not sure I did.”

“You did,” you assured him. “Tywin respects strength. Show him that, and he’ll listen.”

Jon nodded, though his shoulders remained tense. “And what about you? Will you listen?”

“I always have,” you replied, your voice gentle but firm. “And I always will.”

As the group ascended toward the fortress, the sound of the sea fading behind them, the weight of the impending discussions loomed heavy over everyone. But for now, Jon was here, and you were determined to stand by him, no matter what the future held. The North and the South were about to collide, and the world would never be the same.

The Painted Table in Dragonstone’s council chamber was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, its intricate carvings depicting every mountain, valley, and river of Westeros. The torchlight cast light over the map, making the painted seas shimmer as though alive. It was around this table that warlords and kings had planned their conquests, and now, another pivotal moment was unfolding.

Jon Snow stood at the far end of the table, his posture straight and resolute. Beside him, Davos Seaworth hovered silently, his experienced eyes scanning the room. Across from them, Tywin Lannister sat at the head of the table, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever. To his right, you sat with quiet grace. Jaime Lannister leaned casually against a pillar nearby casually like always, while Varys stood in the shadows, his hands clasped before him, a faint smile playing at his lips.

Jon’s eyes swept the room, taking in the power gathered before him. He drew a deep breath, his voice steady as he spoke. “I came here for justice.”

The room stilled, all eyes on him. Tywin’s gaze didn’t waver, though his fingers tapped idly on the edge of the table. “Justice,” he repeated, his tone carrying a faint edge of mockery. “A vague term, often misused. What form of justice do you seek, Snow?”

Jon’s jaw tightened, but he held his ground. “For the deaths of my family,” he said firmly. “For my father, who was betrayed and executed. For my brother, murdered at the Red Wedding. For my stepmother, who died defending him. House Lannister’s hands are soaked in Stark blood.”

The accusation hung heavy in the air. Jaime stiffened slightly but said nothing, his eyes flickering briefly to Tywin. You reached out and placed a hand on Tywin’s arm, a subtle gesture meant to steady the mounting anxiety.

Tywin leaned back in his chair, his expression as cold as steel. “Your grievances are well known,” he said coolly. “But war is not won by clean hands, nor by mercy. Your father, Eddard Stark, chose to defy the crown. Your brother, Robb Stark, declared himself King in the North and took up arms against the rightful king. The consequences of their actions were inevitable.”

Jon’s voice rose, a spark of anger flashing in his eyes. “The rightful king was a tyrant who murdered innocents. You chose to stand by him until it served you to betray him. Don’t speak to me of rightful kings, Lord Tywin.”

The room grew colder, the tension palpable. Tywin’s gaze narrowed, but his voice remained calm. “Mind your tone, boy. You stand here as a petitioner, not an equal.”

Before the tension could escalate further, you spoke, your voice gentle but firm. “Jon, this is not a battlefield. It’s a council chamber. Speak plainly, and let us find a path forward.”

Jon’s shoulders relaxed slightly, though his resolve didn’t waver. “Very well,” he said, his voice steady. “The North has bled enough for the South’s wars. We’ve fought for kings who’ve betrayed us, and we’ve been punished for our loyalty. I’ve come to demand two things: justice for my family and recognition of the North’s independence.”

A murmur of surprise rippled through the room. Jaime arched a brow, his expression one of faint amusement, while Varys’s smile widened ever so slightly.

Tywin’s lips thinned. “Independence,” he said slowly, as though tasting the word. “You seek to break the Seven Kingdoms apart.”

“The North is already apart,” Jon replied. “We’ve always been different—our customs, our gods, our way of life. The Iron Throne has brought us nothing but suffering. Let us govern ourselves, as we did before Aegon’s conquest.”

Tywin leaned forward slightly, his gaze piercing. “And what will you offer in return for this independence? Loyalty to a crown you no longer recognize? Trade agreements? Military aid? Or will the North retreat into its icy wasteland, leaving the rest of the realm to fend for itself?”

Jon met his gaze evenly. “The North will not retreat. We’ll fight for our survival and for the survival of the realm. But we won’t bow to a king—or a queen—who sees us as nothing more than a tool.”

You watched the exchange carefully, your heart torn between the two men. Jon’s words carried the weight of his father’s honor, but Tywin’s pragmatism was undeniable. Finally, you spoke again, your voice calm but resolute.

“Perhaps there’s a compromise to be found,” you said. “One that ensures the North’s safety and autonomy without severing it entirely from the realm.”

Tywin’s gaze flickered to you, his expression thoughtful. “Compromise is not my preferred method,” he said, though there was no malice in his tone. “But I am not blind to the value of the North.”

Jon’s jaw tightened, but he inclined his head slightly. “Then let’s find that compromise. But know this—I will not leave here without securing my family’s future. The North remembers, Lord Tywin.”

The room fell into silence once more, the weight of Jon’s words settling heavily over everyone. Tywin’s strategic mind was already turning over the possibilities, while you sat quietly, your heart heavy with the knowledge that this was only the beginning of a long and difficult road.

The Painted Table had seen the plans of conquerors and kings, but today, it bore witness to something far more uncertain—the hope for a future where the North and the South might find common ground, however fragile.

The day’s negotiations ended in stalemate, the members of the war council disbanded, each retreating to their respective quarters with heavy thoughts. No agreement had been reached between Tywin Lannister and Jon Snow, their views seemingly irreconcilable. Though composed, Jon’s frustration had been evident as he left the Painted Table, and Tywin’s silence spoke volumes about his unwillingness to compromise without gaining something in return.

As the sun set below the horizon, casting an orange glow over the Dragonstone courtyard, you sought out Jon. He was standing near the cliffs, gazing out at the crashing waves. His shoulders were stiff, his posture rigid as he appeared lost in thought. Beside him, Ghost sat vigilantly.

“Jon,” you called softly as you approached, one hand resting on Damon’s shoulder while the other cradled little Maelor against your chest. Damon walked beside you, his small feet padding softly on the cobblestones.

Jon turned at the sound of your voice, his brooding expression softening slightly as he saw you. His gaze flicked to the two children, his brow furrowing with curiosity.

“I thought you might like to meet your brothers,” you said warmly, gesturing toward the boys.

Jon’s lips parted slightly in surprise, but he quickly composed himself. “Brothers?”

You nodded, kneeling beside Damon to encourage him forward. “This is Damon,” you said, ruffling the boy’s silver-gold hair. “And this little one,” you added, lifting Maelor slightly, “is Maelor.”

Damon eyed Jon curiously, his eyes wide as he clutched a small wooden lion in his hands. Maelor gurgled softly, his tiny fists waving in the air.

Jon knelt to Damon’s level, offering a small, hesitant smile. “Hello, Damon,” he said gently. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Damon tilted his head, studying Jon for a moment before stepping closer. “You’re big,” he observed matter-of-factly, his voice innocent.

Jon chuckled softly, glancing up at you. “He’s observant.”

“He gets that from his father,” you replied with a faint smile.

Jon’s expression shifted at the mention of Tywin, though he quickly turned his attention back to Damon. “Do you like it here on Dragonstone?” he asked.

Damon nodded, his grip on his toy tightening. “It’s loud. The waves are loud. But I like Viserion. She’s big too.”

Jon’s brow arched in mild surprise. “You’ve seen her?”

“Seen her?” Damon echoed, his tone incredulous. “She’s my dragon!”

Jon glanced at you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Your dragon, is she?”

You laughed softly, adjusting Maelor in your arms. “He’s not entirely wrong. She’s protective of him. And of Maelor.”

Jon’s gaze softened as he looked at Maelor, who was now babbling happily. “They’re… beautiful,” he said quietly. “Both of them.”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice tinged with emotion. “They’re the reason I fight, Jon. For their future. Just as you fight for yours.”

Jon’s expression grew somber, his dark eyes meeting yours. “Do you think Tywin understands that?”

“He does,” you said after a moment. “In his own way. But he’s also a man who doesn’t give without taking something in return. It’s how he’s survived this long.”

Jon’s jaw tightened, his frustration evident. “The North isn’t something to bargain with. It’s my home. My people.”

“And Tywin sees it as a key piece of the realm,” you replied gently. “But that doesn’t mean there’s no hope. These things take time, Jon. And you’ve already proven yourself stronger than most.”

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his dark curls. “It feels like I’m fighting against a mountain.”

“Mountains can be moved,” you said softly. “But it takes patience and persistence.”

Damon tugged on Jon’s sleeve, drawing his attention. “Do you have a wolf?” the boy asked, pointing to Ghost.

Jon smiled faintly, reaching out to scratch Ghost’s ears. “I do. His name is Ghost.”

Damon’s eyes widened. “Can I pet him?”

Jon hesitated, glancing at Ghost. The direwolf stared back, his gaze calm and steady. “He won’t hurt you,” Jon said finally. “Go ahead.”

Damon stepped forward cautiously, reaching out to pat Ghost’s thick white fur. The direwolf remained still, his ears flicking slightly as the boy’s small hand stroked his side. Damon’s face lit up with delight.

“See?” you said, your smile returning. “Even Ghost knows you’re family.”

Jon chuckled softly, standing and watching as Damon continued to pet the wolf. 

You and Jon Snow continue to stand on the edge of the courtyard, watching as Damon eagerly followed Ghost, his small feet pattering on the cobblestones as he giggled with delight.

Jon’s expression remained thoughtful, his eyes fixed on the horizon. “Do you truly think he’ll listen?” he asked quietly, his voice breaking the silence. “After all this—will Tywin Lannister agree to anything?”

You sighed, folding your arms as the weight of the question pressed on you. “Tywin is… complicated,” you admitted, your gaze shifting to the keep where the man in question likely sat in calculated thought. “He doesn’t respond to emotion or appeals to honor. He needs something tangible, something he can’t deny. Proof.”

Jon frowned, his brow furrowing. “Proof of what?”

“That the North’s independence won’t destabilize the realm,” you replied. “That the sacrifices he’s made to secure the Iron Throne’s dominance won’t unravel. Tywin’s a man who weighs everything in terms of power and legacy.”

Jon’s jaw tightened, his frustration evident. “How do you prove something like that? Winter is coming, the Long Night is coming—and if we’re not prepared, there won’t be a realm left to fight over.”

You turned to him, your expression softening. “I’ve tried to make him see that. I’ve told him about the things I’ve seen, the threats that are coming. But Tywin doesn’t believe in visions or warnings. He believes in what he can see and touch.”

Jon exhaled slowly, his hand running through his dark curls. “Then we’re already at a disadvantage. By the time he sees what’s coming, it’ll be too late.”

You placed a comforting hand on his arm, your voice firm but gentle. “Then we’ll find another way to prepare. Tywin may be slow to believe, but he’s not a fool. If he sees the North as an ally in what’s to come, he’ll act.”

Jon turned to you, his gaze searching. “And do you believe he’ll act in time?”

You hesitated, the weight of your own doubts pressing heavily on you. “I hope so,” you said finally. “For all our sakes.”

Damon’s laughter drew your attention, and you smiled faintly as the boy ran toward Jon, clutching a small stick in his hands. He held it out triumphantly, his violet eyes gleaming with excitement. “Jon! Look! I found a sword!”

Jon crouched down, taking the stick from Damon and examining it with exaggerated seriousness. “A fine weapon,” he said with a faint smile. “You’ll make a fierce warrior one day.”

Damon beamed, clearly pleased with the praise. “Can you teach me?”

“Damon,” you interrupted gently, your tone light but firm. “Jon has more important things to do than play swords with you.”

Damon’s face fell slightly, but he turned back to Jon with hopeful eyes. “Will you?”

Jon hesitated, glancing at you before returning his gaze to Damon. “Maybe later,” he said, his voice kind. “But for now, I need to talk to your mother.”

Damon nodded solemnly, though his excitement quickly returned as he turned back to Ghost, who was lying nearby with an air of patient tolerance. The boy reached out to pet the direwolf, his small hands running through the thick white fur.

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “You’ve made an impression on him,” you said to Jon. “Don’t be surprised if he follows you all over the castle now.”

Jon smiled faintly, his eyes softening as he watched Damon. “He reminds me of Robb when he was little,” he said quietly. “Full of energy, always curious.”

You nodded, your heart aching at the mention of your late nephew. “He’s a lot like Robb,” you agreed. “And like you. Stubborn, determined, always asking questions.”

Jon’s gaze returned to you, his expression serious once more. “I’ll stay,” he said firmly. “I won’t leave until Tywin hears me out—until the North has what it needs. I owe it to my family, to the people who died for it.”

You reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. “And I’ll stand by you, Jon. Whatever happens, you’re not alone in this.”

The two of you stood there for a moment, the weight of the coming battles heavy on your shoulders. Behind you, Damon’s laughter echoed through the courtyard as Ghost licked his face, the innocence of childhood a brief reprieve from the storm that loomed on the horizon. The North and the South were converging, and the future of the realm hung in the balance.

[littlechivalry]

Threshold

Post-UD, everybody lives. Established Steddie

-

Eddie couldn't do it. He turned, ready to run, but Steve's hand clamped down on his arm like an iron manacle.

"Fuck you, let me go," Eddie hissed.

"Like hell I will," Steve replied, just as harshly. "You have to do this, you're the only one who can."

"I'd rather die."

The sales clerk cleared her throat and Eddie snapped his mouth shut.

"Are you-- can I help you find anything else," she said softly, her hands open in front of her.

"No," Steve replied. "Just this."

'This' was a vacuum cleaner. An upright vacuum cleaner with hose attachment and a retractable cord. A one hundred dollar vacuum cleaner.

Eddie felt sick. He pulled his hand away and Steve let it go awkwardly. Eddie cleared his throat and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, just this." He pulled out his wallet and passed over the money. Signing the warranty card in a messy scrawl.

They walked out of the store and loaded the vacuum into the back of Steve's truck.

Steve and Eddie had gotten to the car in silence but once the doors were closed it started.

"Babe," Steve said, his voice soft but firm. "What was that about? We agreed we need a new vacuum. Wayne's old one gave up the ghost and the carpet sweeper does nothing. I thought this was cool."

Eddie groaned and rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes. "It's not-- it's just..."

He couldn't find the words and Steve didn't press him. The interior of the truck's cab was quiet, windows muffling the noise of other shoppers moving through the parking lot, the occasional sound of their radios drifting on the air.

Eddie took a few breaths, heard Steve do the same beside him - in - out - in - out

"Can I check in," Steve says after a few breaths.

"Almost," Eddie replies and they go back to breathing.

This time Eddie breaks the silence. "It's real, right?"

"Real," Steve echoes. "The vacuum? Yeah?"

"It's -- the vacuum we have now? Wayne got it from the Johnsons before they moved to go live with their kids in Des Moines. It was a really good vacuum. Lasted, like. Seven years. The one before that Wayne found in the trash. It needed some fixing up and the hose had to be taped together but it ran for two years."

Steve hums, just a considering noise to show he's listening but leaving Eddie some spacw to talk. Eddie cannot explain how much he appreciates that.

"The stove was a store display they were gonna toss out because the wiring was bad. The couch was abandoned on a curb up in Loch Nora. Most of my clothes come from the Goodwill; Wayne's too, even his work boots. My guitar, my sweetheart, is a hand-me-down to I don't know how many degrees."

Eddie sighs and tips his head back against the headrest. The ceiling of the cab is upholstered in dark blue fabric. Eddie drags his fingers over it.

"Munsons don't get new things, Steve. Not nice ones, anyway." He blew out a rough breath. "I know this is stupid. It's just a vacuum cleaner, but--"

"Don't say that," Steve interrupted. "If I don't get to say stupid neither do you."

Eddie reached over the gear shift and clasped the hand Steve offered.

"Okay," Steve said. "Do you... should we return the vacuum?"

"No," Eddie said. "No, that's not the answer. We-- I have the money. I can afford a new vacuum, a nice one."

"A really nice one."

"And it's okay to buy new things."

"It really is," Steve said.

Eddie nodded. "We're grown ups now, Stevie. Got good jobs, a nice apartment, a fancy new vacuum cleaner. What's next, a picket fence? 2.5 kids and a dog?"

Steve smiled and pulled Eddie's hand up to his face, pressed a kiss against his knuckles before letting go and reaching for the ignition. "I'm allergic to dogs but let's get home and we can start working on kids."

Eddie reached out for Steve, pulling him across the armrest into a fierce kiss.

Steve fell back into his seat, a bright flush in his cheeks. "Wow," Steve said, starting the car. "What are you gonna do when we buy a house?"

The radio came to life but Eddie could barely hear it over his own laughter.

[blackmoonowl]

Oneshot where Barbatos is struggling not to constantly serve mc

𝐒𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧.

ꨄ Pairing: Barbatos x reader

ꨄ Summary: On a Barbatos posting roll rn. Just some fluff and crack, no serious plot points. A little short to pass the time.

ꨄ Word Count: 622

"Don't mind the mess, I did my best to clean up before you came."

Barbatos glanced around your home, taking it in. He had never seen your human world home, and it fascinated him. The butler stepped over your shoes, picking them up and neatly putting them away in the rack. Under his arm he held a beautifully decorated wooden box.

"Do not worry, I have seen far worse," the demon assured you, kissing your hand before making his way into your living room as you closed the door.

"Thanks, do you want some tea? It's probably not the good stuff you're used to," you offered, gesturing towards your kitchen. Barbatos smiled, waving his hand slightly.

"There is no need, I brought a brew I made myself, your favorite." Before you could say anything else, the butler walked past you to make the tea himself.

"Hold on a second," you replied, causing him to halt You leaned on the counter, tilting your head to the side with a smile. "You're the guest here, shouldn't I be making your tea?"

"I assure you, it is no trouble." Barbatos took the wooden box, opening it to reveal several tea blends. "I live to serve."

"Serve Diavolo, not me." You replied, gently taking his wrist and guiding him to sit down. Barbatos furrowed his brows slightly, but did as you instructed him, sitting down neatly in one of your chairs.

"Are you certain?" Barbatos questioned as you began making tea for the both of you. "I find enjoyment in taking care of you as much as I do the young master."

"Yeah, but I'm not the crown prince, I'm your partner. We're supposed to be equals here," you said as you put the tea cup on a small plate and served it to him with some biscuits. Barbatos shifted uncomfortably as he waited for you to sit down before even starting.

"this is the tea cup I bought you for your birthday years ago," Barbatos mumbled as he inspected the decorated item. "You have no idea how much that pleases me to see. Have you kept your own matching one?"

"Course I did, gift from my favorite demon. I could never lose it." You shared a smile with him as he glanced back at his cup.

"I wouldn't let the brothers hear that I am your favorite, even if it is true." He crossed his legs as he watched you brew your own cup. "Even if I relish in it."

You began cleaning up the kitchen a little. Barbatos was on his feet immediately, nearly making you jump out of your skin when he stood right beside you suddenly.

"That is best cleaned with a different type of sponge, allow me to do it for you," he offered. He took the towel from you as you shot him a look.

"Barbatos, c'mon. What did I just tell you?" You huffed, crossing your arms as Barbatos wiped down your counter. You had never seem the butler so conflicted before, it was almost jarring. "Just sit down."

"Dear, your apartment is messy, and you expect me to sit down and simply do nothing? I won't stand for that." Barbatos scolded you gently. "I cannot simply sit by and not do my job as a butler. Allow me to take care of you."

"Barbatos, I'm with you because I love who you are, not what you can do for me. I promise I'll clean my stuff up later, alright?" Barbatos relented, walking back to the table with you. He sat down, neatly taking his cup of tea as you took yours. Barbatos gently blew before placing the cup to his lips, taking a small sip.

"It is perfect."

[deliriousbluebird]

I remember seeing this post at the dead of night on the day it was posted and just sobbing my heart out into my mattress because it had been so long since I had been able to look at one of those normally, not counting the calories, or putting it on the food scale. The oil on the pasta, the glaze on the cinnamon rolls, all the sugar in the hot cocoa and just the amount of calories in the bread; It scared me so much that I couldn’t do anything but cry as I thought how my life was before @na. I still remembered the flavors and how beautiful the aroma was. Yet all I could think about was how I could fit it into my omad and how many oz would be less than 300 calories.

I wanted to recover, so fucking bad, but what felt even worse was thinking how much I would have betrayed myself for not getting to my goal. I felt like I had to get to my goal or else all those months going to the doctors to get those fucking tests done, all the lying to the psychiatrist, all those days of fasting and nearly passing out would’ve been for nothing.

But with all the suffering that came with it, there was still a strange comfort and beauty that came with it. Seeing the stars in English after fasting for 3 days with a blanket over me in the warmly lit room, looking at the beautiful reflection in the mirror, 3lbs away from my goal weight knowing how close this was to all ending, the light headed feeling I felt while running, feeling truly free. It made me think it was all worth it. That this small, moment in my life was beautiful, and that there was nothing better than it. There was nothing better than 🌟ving my body from the nutrition it needed, watching my face become gaunt, my ribs more bold and my collarbones stick out.

I felt so happy. But it was killing me.

I could feel myself almost rotting away, starving, laying on my back in my bad, counting away the hours until I could eat again. I had no energy, and my body hurt too much to do anything anyways. My stomach bare, my legs getting weaker and worse. As much as I wanted to be seen as beauty and perfect by everyone, as much as I wanted go be satisfied with myself, I was so scared of leaving earth.

At night, I would go through episodes, seeing everything as too large and too expansive; Incomprehensible by the mind. All I could do was pace around my room hoping that the all too familiar feeling of dread would go away. But the only way I knew it was going to go away was by recovering. By recovering I had the chance to not die young like all the doctors were saying. I hate those doctors. As much as I in my right mind would think that they probably saved my life or whatever, I just wish someone would’ve been kind.

Because in all that time suffering, no one was ever kind about it when they found out. My mom would hold me to the wall while I was hysterical, trying to get me to take the god forsaken pills. My friend told me I was being over dramatic. The psychiatrist told me I would die. I genuinely do think I would’ve began recovery sooner if someone had hugged me, telling me that everything would be okay, that no matter how much it all hurt that I would be okay soon, I would be better. A regular hug though would’ve been nice too though.

When I began to recover, it wasn’t because I wanted to get better and improve myself and my mental health and shit. It was because I was fucking petrified of what would happen to me if I didn’t. I couldn’t bare the thought of ever being admitted to the hospital with a feeding tube, the thought of ever possibly losing control to them. I think would’ve been the very last straw before I gave up on myself.

I genuinely don’t think l’ll ever see food the same again. I still see the calories in the crackers and the sandwiches and the bowls and the soup and the cereal. I just eat it anyways because I don’t want to die yet. Every now and then though, I’ll go without food for 48 hours or so to remember what I once was.

I’ll miss when I was worse.

Hot girls have a healthy relationship with food!!!

[targayrenss]

Join Me In Death-Eddie Munson II

summary: Eddie manages to escape from the Upside Down and receives the terrible news that you, his girlfriend, had been murdered at the hands of Jason and his gang seeking to avenge Chrissy.

Guilty of your death, he decides to seek revenge at his own hands.

authors note:English is not my first language so please excuse any mistakes (feel free to correct me)

Just to remind you that my requests are open! Currently I'm only writing about Eddie and any House of the Dragon character.

warnings: allusions to r4p3 (not described in detail), angst

You knew Eddie was innocent.

At least two days had passed since Chrissy's murder and you couldn't find Eddie.

You didn't blame him for running away and hiding, but knowing he was out there hiding and scared broke your heart.

It was nighttime and a raging storm tormented Hawkins even more, your mother wasn't there since she was doing her shift at the hospital where she works as a nurse.

Unable to sleep, lying in your bed that felt huge without Eddie's body warming you even though it was summer, Eddie always had to feel your heat.

A loud knock on the door alerted you, there was a small silence before another knock came.

You stood up in a hurry and walked to the door hoping it was Eddie, but when you opened the door you only found the basketball team, the group being led by Jason Carver, Chrissy's boyfriend.

Without thinking he pushed you to the ground while the others entered your house.

“Check all the rooms, the bastard has to be here!”

While Jason pressed you to the ground you could only hear them walking throughout your house, making noise in every room they entered.

With tears in your eyes and a broken voice you said “Eddie is not here, I swear!”

The strong heat on your cheek was what made you realize the blow Jason had given you

“So where is he? You must know precious, aren't you fucking with him?”

“I-I don't know, I would also like to know”

Jason looked at you with pity for a moment before the pity changed to anger

“Then you are of no use to me”

You cried and screamed as he pulled you by the hair dragging you throughout the house until you reached your room and threw you on your bed.

For hours that felt like years Jason let the entire basketball team abuse you, they had ripped the Metallica shirt that had once belonged to Eddie but that you now used as pajamas

You didn't even notice when they finally left you, when they left your house but left you burning in hell.

Lying on your bed covered in blood, your clothes torn and your room a mess

That was how your mother had found you in the early morning when she came back from work.

While your mother cried in the ambulance next to your almost dead body, Dustin hugged Eddie's already lifeless body.

The doctors couldn't do anything for you, you had lost too much blood, maybe if they had found you soon you wouldn't have died in that hospital bed.

Wayne had found out about Eddie's death thanks to Dustin, but Dustin had found out about your death thanks to Wayne.

Dustin was very fond of you, sometimes he would joke around calling you mom and Eddie dad when you would scold him for snapping at his mother, or when you would tell him that Eddie had to be taken to me because his mother would be mad that he came home late again.

While to Wayne you were like another daughter, you used to spend a lot of time in the trailer, sometimes not coming home for four days, when Eddie went out to do his business you would stay with Wayne, making him dinner while you waited for Eddie to come back.

Now neither of you would come back.

Your mother and Wayne decided that it would be appropriate to bury you together, your mother wasn't a big fan of Eddie but she knew that the love you two had for each other was sincere.

The funeral was intimate, just your mother, Wayne, and all of Eddie's friends.

You didn't have many friends since your social life since first year was based on Eddie, and many people didn't like Eddie.

The only person who could be called your friend was Max Mayfield, which was a little absurd since he was a few years younger than you.

You met when she and her mother moved in with Eddie, when you realized her family situation you quickly invited her to dinner with you, in one of those times you found out that she knew Dustin and that you were close friends.

She didn't want to admit it but she had quickly become fond of you, even Eddie.

You both treated her like a daughter, you fed her, you both sometimes offered to take her to school, if she wanted to go somewhere she asked Eddie to take her and if he refused she immediately accused you, you were domestic, you felt like a real family.

Wayne thought it would be appropriate to wait for Max to wake up before burying you, fortunately it only took a month and a few days.

Neither of the kids could accept that you two were dead, both deaths had been so unfair that it made sadder.

[n0vazsq]

Forever | FA14 x Reader

pairing . . . emperor!fernando alonso x concubine!reader

summary . . . You'd always been nothing but a mere presence in the royal palace, but when the emperor suddenly asks you to have dinner with him, everything changes

request . . . no!!

word count . . . 1.1k

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . so i had to do extensive research on royal positions and shit for this but yeah i hope you guys like it!!!

. . . The grand hall of the royal palace was covered in luxury, its tall walls gleaming in the warm glow of the countless lanterns. Despite its grandness, the air inside felt suffocating.

You stood in a line of courtiers and concubines, your pulse beating hard against your skin.

Today was the emperor’s audience, and though you had served in his court for over a year, you had only seen Emperor Fernando from a distance. Rumors of his sharpness and calculating demeanuor following him wherever he went.

"Presenting His Majesty, Emperor Fernando," a herald announced, and the hall fell silent.

The doors swung open, and he entered. Emperor Fernando, ruler of the empire, commanded attention without effort.

Clad in deep crimson robes embroidered with golden dragons, his presence expelled authority. His piercing brown eyes scanned the room, and for a moment, you felt their weight land on you. A shiver ran down your spine.

The emperor settled on his throne, an eye catching seat carved from dark wood and covered with rare gems. As the audience progressed, you kept your head bowed, praying you would remain invisible in the sea of attendants.

But fate had other plans.

"You there," Fernando’s voice rang out, steady and commanding. Your breath hitched as you realized he was addressing you. "Step forward."

You obeyed, your heart pounding strongly in your chest. Standing before him, you dared a glance upward, meeting his gaze. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held an undeniable intensity.

"What is your name?" he asked, his tone softer now but not less authoritative.

You said your name, voice trembling. "That's my name, Your Majesty,"

He repeated it, almost testing the sound of it. "Tell me, how do you find life within these palace walls?"

The question caught you off guard. How honest could you be with the most powerful man in the land? You chose your words carefully. "The palace is beautiful, Your Majesty, though its magnificence can feel… overwhelming."

His lips curved into a faint smile, a rare sight that sent whispers through the court. "Overwhelming? I suppose even gold loses its beauty when seen every day."

"You will join me for dinner tonight," Before you could respond, he gestured to an officer that was standing near him. "Ensure preparations are made."

Your eyes widened. Dinner? With the emperor? You barely managed to stammer out a "Yes, Your Majesty" before retreating to your place in line. The remainder of the audience passed in a blur, your thoughts consumed by the unexpected summoning.

Later that evening, you were escorted to a private dining room. The space was smaller compared to the vastness of the throne room, though still richly adorned.

The emperor sat at the head of the table, his posture relaxed yet upright. He motioned for you to sit.

"You look nervous," he observed, pouring you a glass of wine himself. The gesture was charming, a far cry from the strict ruler you’d imagined.

"I am unused to such… attention, Your Majesty," you admitted, accepting the glass with trembling hands.

He laughed, the sound warm and unexpectedly human. "And I am unused to honesty. Most would say whatever they think I wish to hear."

"Then I hope my honesty does not offend you," you said, your courage helped by his demeanor.

"Quite the opposite." He leaned back, studying you. "Tell me, what did you do before you came to the palace?"

The question pulled you back to a simpler time. "My family ran a small vineyard. I spent my days tending to the vines and preparing wines for market."

"A vintner?" He seemed genuinely intrigued. "And do you miss it?"

You hesitated. "Sometimes. The work was hard, but there was freedom in it. Here, everything feels… controlled."

His expression darkened briefly, as if your words struck a nerve. "Freedom is a rare luxury in the palace, even for an emperor."

The dinner continued with surprising ease, the conversation flowing as if you were old acquaintances. He spoke of his childhood; a rarity, you gathered, and you shared stories of your village life.

By the time the meal ended, you felt a strange sense of familiarity with him, as though you’d glimpsed the man behind the crown.

"Thank you for joining me," Fernando said as you prepared to leave. "I find your company… refreshing."

The warmth in his voice left you speechless. With a respectful bow, you left, your mind a whirlwind of emotions.

Days turned into weeks, and your interactions with the emperor became more frequent. He often sought you out for conversation, valuing your honest perspective.

The court was fulled with speculations, some jealous and others curious about your sudden rise in favor. You, however, remained uncertain of his intentions.

One evening, as you walked in the palace gardens, you found him waiting beneath a blossoming cherry tree. The sight was almost surreal, the fierce emperor standing amidst a cascade of delicate petals.

He greeted, saying your name to get your attention, his tone softer than usual. "Join me."

You approached, the smell of the flowers filling the air. "Your Majesty, this is a surprise."

"Fernando," he corrected, a hint of impatience in his voice. "When we are alone, you may call me Fernando."

The informality caught you off guard, but you nodded. "Fernando, then. What brings you here?"

"You," he said simply, his gaze locking onto yours. "I have ruled for many years. In all that time, I’ve learned that power and wealth mean little without someone to share them with."

Your heart raced as his words sank in. Was he implying what you thought he was?

"You intrigue me," he continued. "Your honesty, your strength, your personality; they are rare qualities in a place like this. I find myself drawn to you."

You searched his face for any sign of dishonesty but found none. His confession left you torn between disbelief and a fluttering hope you dared not acknowledge.

"Fernando, I am only a mere concubine," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "What could I possibly offer an emperor?"

"Everything," he replied without hesitation. "You see me not as a ruler but as a man. That is a gift more precious than any treasure in this palace."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to hope. Under the cherry blossoms, with the world fading into the background, you took a hesitant step forward, closing the distance between you.

And as Fernando reached for your hand, you knew your life was about to change forever.

 taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @justaf1girl ,, @awritingtree (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

[angeleyez225]

Noticing You

DarylxF!Reader

**summary: Daryl notices you.

**setting: Alexandria Safe Zone, prob S5… maybe later

**word count: 2K+

**warnings: smut, swearing, age gap, brief m!masterbating, p in v, no protection - pull out game strong, at first, mentions of oral f!receiving - 18+, minors DO NOT interact, NSFW

**a/n: I do not own anything related to The Walking Dead nor am I making any money from the writing of this fanfic. This is just something that came to me in the middle of the night. I hope you enjoy!

*****

Daryl noticed you - despite being twice your age. Every time you stepped into his line of sight his gaze washed over you - you were the prettiest thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

You noticed Daryl too - the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat when your eyes met - his fingers tightening into fists at his sides when you were lucky enough to be able to idly touch him. The brush of your hand against his when you reach for the same dusty item on a supply run, your palm on his shoulder in passing.

You were Alexandria’s best scavenger - smart, quiet and a native to Northern Virginia. You accompanied Rick’s group on supply runs often - impressed with their skill set, especially the archers.

One particular quest found you trapped in a small supply closet with Daryl while the dead marched through - your back pressed against his front as you tried to steady your breathing - panic washing over you from the surrounding dead and the warmth radiating from your company. Daryl stood like a statue behind you, holding his breath until he worried he’d pass out to keep from breathing in your delicious scent. He didn’t know if he’d survive it again.

After that he tried to avoid you. You were too young, too sweet for someone like him and he didn’t deserve these feelings that bloomed in his chest whenever he saw you so he kept his head down whenever you were around, much to your dismay.

“Jesus.” Abraham muttered before returning his attention to sharpening his knife with a shake of his head as you made your way down the quiet street with a coy smile on your face. Curiosity got the best of the archer who stood leaned against the porch railing, bringing his eyes up to yours as a muffled groan escaped his throat.

In your defense it was late summer causing beads of sweat to roll down your neck as you stopped to say hello, hands on your hips and hair pulled up high on your head - little wisps blowing around your face with the too warm breeze. Your thin white camisole of a shirt and cut off jean shorts left almost nothing for the imagination and Abraham kept his eyes on his blade as the man standing behind him began to growl deep in his chest.

In his defense Daryl tried to look away, weakness wasn’t easy for him but you were just to god damn beautiful not to soak it all in so he looked - eyes falling from your neck to your collarbone then over your scraps of clothes to appreciate your legs from the very tops of your exposed thighs all the way to your calf’s.

When you continued on your way his eyes were glued to your perfect ass, barely contained by the scraps of denim you tried to pass off as shorts. “That girl knows exactly what she’s doing.” Abraham muttered with another shake of his head as Daryl grunted a response before jerking the front door open on their gifted home and storming off through the quiet house. He didn’t stop moving until he was standing under a steady stream of cold water with his cock in his hand, working himself into a frenzy with his other palm pressed hard against the shower wall. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt the need to relieve himself from all this sexual tension but you were driving him fucking crazy.

How old even were ya? Too young to have someone like him jerking off to the thought of you wrapped around his cock as he pumped himself deep inside of you over and over. God, the sounds he knew you could make - soft gasps and desperate groans as he fucked you into oblivion and the way you’d look after - cock drunk and gazing up at him with those beautiful fucking eyes. A quiet groan escaped him as he tightened his grip, cock jerking with release as he imagined filling your sweet fucking cunt.

Daryl lifted his face to the stream of water, slinging his hair from his eyes and breathing hard as he placed his other hand against the wall and groaned at the thought of you - trying to steady the heavy thumping in his chest.

When he sees you again he can’t look you in the eye no matter how much he wants to - standing across from you with his bow high on his shoulder as Rick and Michonne study the map to determine where to scavenge today. Your eyebrow lifts in concern as you watch a deep blush creep up Daryl’s neck and into his cheeks as his eyes dart to everything around you.

“Daryl?”

You both turn your attention to Rick’s deep voice as he repeats his request - that the two of you take the bike and head west to a small independent pharmacy located just off the highway while they return to the shopping mall you visited a few days ago. You’re just about to protest - being that close to him? No good will come from it but the quick alright he gives widens your gaze. Alright? Daryl just shrugs and nods to his bike as you wish the others safe travels and watch him straddle the seat waiting for you to join him.

There’s no denying the tension in his body as you place his bow on your back and slide your fingers across his shoulders, gripping the coiled muscles softly as you throw your leg over the seat and sink your chest into his back - listening to his breath catch in his throat. “Is this okay?” You whisper against his ear as you slide your arm around his waist - almost missing the slight nod of his head. “Hold on.” He mutters and guns the motorcycle out of Alexandria without another word.

You ride in silence as Daryl eventually relaxes his weight into your chest and you grip his shirt with your fingers - enjoying the breeze and the scenery as you roll down the highway with just the sound of the motorcycle roaring beneath you. You’re thankful Daryl agreed to let you ride with him - this is better than being in that stuffy Honda with Rick and Michonne who have their own sexual frustrations radiating off them every second of the day.

Your thoughts return to the sexy archer as he speeds down the highway sending a surge of excitement to your core - giving you the courage to lower your hold on him just an inch and splay your fingers across his tight stomach as the tension returns to his back. The thought of releasing some of his tension brings a smile to your lips as you grip him tighter and he slows the bike a notch - afraid he’s frightening you or worse, hoping it will make you loosen your hold on him.

No chance in hell, Dixon. If anything you push yourself closer, tightening your thighs around his hips and running your hand up his chest - gripping him just below his throat. The bike falters again but this time you don’t think it has anything to do with his concern for you and his back expands with a deep needed breath.

When you make it to your destination neither of you move at first and Daryl is breathing hard, your hands still clinging to his chest. “Daryl… I…” You listen to his breath catch as his name slips from your lips and then he’s angry, pushing you back before leaping from the motorcycle and glaring at you.

You’re still straddling his bike with wide eyes as he paces before you like a caged animal, grunting and everything. “Daryl.”

“Stop!”

“Stop what?” You just said his name. “Whatever the fuck this is - jus’, stop. Please…” He’s not yelling - he’s pleading with you and the sound only makes you want him more. You spread your legs slightly, allowing those damn barely there shorts to ride up your thighs even further. Daryl looks up from your legs slowly with a storm brewing in his blue eyes and the next thing you know he’s crossed the short distance and sunk a hand into the back of your hair - bringing you to his parted lips roughly as he kisses you like you’ve never been kissed before.

Teeth scraping and tongues demanding - his other hand grasps your jaw as his tongue savors every inch of your mouth leaving you gasping for air when he finally pulls away. His eyes are searching yours and then he’s mumbling something about you being so fucking sweet before he’s kissing you again.

After that second kiss there was no going back, that second kiss had you bent over his motorcycle with your chest pressed to the seat and his rough hands on your waist - thrusting into your soaked cunt so deep it had you seeing stars. “D-Daryl…” Even the slow shuffle of a nearby walker didn’t stop his pace as he lifted his bow and sunk a bolt deep into its brain before tossing it back to the ground and gripping the soft curve of your ass as you tightened around him. “F-fuck, that’s it…” That’s everything he knew this would be, gripping him so fucking tight - your soft pleas for more filling his head as your pussy suddenly gushed around him and he lost all sense of control - slamming into you so fucking hard he silently prayed you’d feel him inside of you for weeks.

“M’gonna come.” Daryl announced to the empty street as he gripped your hip with one hand and jerked his dick from deep inside of you with the other - covering your swollen cunt with ropes of white as a deep groan fell from his throat. “F-fuck.”

His desperation melts away as Daryl wraps his strong hands around you and lifts you from the motorcycle, breathing hard against your throat as he sweetly asks if you’re okay. You nod and assure him you’re better than okay before pulling your shorts up your thighs with a grin.

The look on Daryl’s face when you mentioned you never bothered with panties was one that would be burned into your memory for a long time and you knew he was thinking of all those days he silently watched you walk through Alexandria in just a dress. He thought about it so much that the next time you walked past him in town with that bright knowing smile on your lips and the soft material of your dress barely brushing against your thighs he followed you home and buried his face between your legs - staying on his knees before you until your entire body was shaking with pleasure and when he finally fucked you it was something else entirely - something soft and sweet and left a foreign emotion blooming in both of you.

An emotion that scared the shit out of Daryl and kept him away after that - away from you, from Alexandria. He spent his time in the woods after the night he fucked into you slowly and desperately and whispered how beautiful you were against your throat. Then when it all got to be to much and you were gripping him so fucking tight he lost himself inside of you - sending a panic between you both despite your assurance it would be okay.

That time had been okay but by the fourth time he returned to your door step and fucked you into oblivion your son was born nine months later, then your daughter a year after that. You’d given Daryl everything he’d ever wanted - a family, something worth protecting and the night he asked you to marry him - quietly with his son asleep across his chest and his daughter nuzzled in your arms tears filled your eyes as you kissed him until he carried the kids to their beds and returned to your waiting mouth, climbing over your perfect body as he ran his lips over every inch of you while you assured him you’d marry him right now if he wanted but right now all he wanted was to be buried deep inside of you again.

*****

[mothekko]

Her woman.

Where Ambessa demands your attention after a long trip.

Ambessa Medarda x fem!reader Warnings: alcohol drinking, buff reader, reader is implied to be lesbian, slightly sub!ambessa, fluff, no-smut, kisses<3 mwah mwah. Word count: 968.

notes: ambessa my beloved (not just mine but of course my best friend's beloved too), i had this idea yesterday when she cried cause every reader is always the girly girl type, never a big woman with big everything (including her arms 😛), anyway, enjoy reading as I did writing :3 xoxo

MEN AND MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Ambessa was not a fragile lady, no. She was far from this. First, she was the type of mercilessly war dog everyone heard about. Her fingers were not as delicate as some women tried to imagine.

Oh, and you knew it. You knew her hands were stronger than any other woman you ever had an affair with. She was delicate, but rough. She was firm and strong, and for God’s sake, you could listen to all the girls and boys in the whole Noxus almost moaning for her, just by seeing her walk on the streets. She didn't pay too much attention, she had her business with you. She came back from war, her fatigue was noticeable in her letters, and you analyzed them perfectly, all of them.

As much as you knew about her weariness, she always asked you for a visit, and how could you deny the woman who gave you your position as high guard in Noxus? The more time passed, your attention was drawn to the dark streets of Noxus, scantily clad women didn't attract you, even though it was the complete opposite for you and they sometimes tried to attach themselves to your belt, along with the axe and sword that were in the hem of your pants and back. The icy wind touched your hair, two braids made by the war general framed your face. It wasn't usual for you to leave your hair loose, but after weeks, or months, without seeing each other, the braids were Ambessa's only request.

You looked across the horizon, all the tents closed and quiet, but that one... that central one, which you knew who was inside; the candles flickering in the air were warming someone. Ambessa was waiting for you. As you approached the place, your muscles tensed in suspicion as you entered the tent. You sighed and Ambessa looked back, a smile from her brightened up her face. A woman like her? Smiling? You're lucky.

“Night, ma’am…” You said, the smell of alcohol around the place was a little too much this time, but well, it’s Ambessa, after all. “Too much to handle this time? Or drinking for fun?”

She didn’t answer you, not like she usually does. She silently invited you to sit next to her, moving the wine bottle to the side on the floor. Cautiously you walked through the tent, until you reached her side, and before you could even sit down, she settled her head on your waist. Her mind was heavy with thoughts.

Ambessa without her usual clothes, smiling, and laying her head on you? Of course something was wrong. But this kind of wrong is not so bad, not at all. At least she was showing some affection. 

“Listen, darling… don’t ask any questions today… I just want you to be good for me.” She said, she doesn’t look drunk. Does she? “These months without you made me so bored, you know…”

You kindly touched her hair, asking yourself what you should do in that situation. 

“Ma’am, you’re not drunk, are you?” You laughed, looking a little closer. You touched her face, checking her eyes, and suddenly, she removed your hand and sighs deeply. 

“You know me too well, sugar. Maybe I should pretend harder next time…” You finally felt like everything was okay, she was lying and that’s all. “Are you gonna sleep here tonight?” she took a sip of wine “Or will I wake up with a boy calling me out for being too sleepy?”

A sigh escaped your lips, a frustrated sigh now. You looked straight at her, sitting by her side. 

“Listen, ma’am, I always told them to send a woman to wake you up, look at me, do I look like someone who likes any kind of boy here?” She shook her head. “That’s what I thought. And, who said you’re too sleepy? These boys around here have no fucking respect for you…”

You pulled the woman closer, holding her tightly. She was warmer than you, obviously because you were outside thirty minutes ago, but still, that makes your heart skip a beat. Again you move your hands to her cheek, and she looks at you with those shining eyes.

“What a beautiful woman I see…” You said. And then, you gently kissed her lips, in a simple way. You used to kiss each other, nothing new. But it was definitely special this time. You felt like it was. Her hands, which had been resting on her thigh, now moved up so that they could rest on your waist. “Won’t you tell me about your…”

She shut you with a finger to your lips, kissing you again calmly, caressing your war scarred face. Your arms, which were a bit stronger than hers, held her against your body, feeling how fast her heart was beating.

“I have to be careful… or you’ll become stronger than me, imagine if they put you in my place?” She made you chuckle softly, moving a hand down to rest on her back.

“You’re making no sense, ma’am. I could never replace you. But I’m happy you noticed…” 

“Well… I always notice, sweetheart.” She gave you a peck on the lips, snuggling into your chest. “You’re my woman, and I know when you get stronger.”

She said it so casually, with her closed eyes as if she was almost asleep; you wouldn’t doubt it. She had just arrived from a long trip after all.

“Your woman…? Mhm… yeah, you’re definitely sleepy. Goodnight, ma’am… I’ll wake you up tomorrow…”

You could hear a “finally” coming from her as she snuggled into your body. You picked her up, taking the woman to the bed, blowing the candles, pulling the blankets over you, finally spooning her from behind and nuzzling her neck.