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weemssapphic · 15 days ago

Text

Am I no good?

Brienne of Tarth x f!reader

“I loved him. I loved him and I-” She chokes on her own words, unable to verbalize what she did - but she doesn’t need to, you know already, and Brienne doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. You don’t either.

CW: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat - see A/N at end Cannibalism, slight gore, necrophilia, trauma, hallucinations, night terrors, hurt/comfort, smut, several mentions of Braime

Words: ~7.5k | ao3 link in title

Brienne gets night terrors.

As a member of the Kingsguard your room is adjacent to the Lord Commander’s and one night, not long after her return from the North, you’d woken to a blood-curdling scream that had pierced even the thick walls of the Red Keep’s tower. The Lord Commander had been, for a few terror-inducing minutes, inconsolable; thrashing about, trying to get out of bed, and, being that you were both closest to her and the only other woman amongst the knights, your peers had bowed out and left you to ‘deal’ with her.

At first you’d tried to restrain her, resulting in an accidental black eye. You’d changed your tactic as a result, tried to be gentle with her, coo her back to sleep - which, fortunately, had worked. Then the next night, it had happened again, and again you’d stayed with her until she’d fallen back asleep. Soon after, she’d begun to sleepwalk, and so, to prevent her from getting hurt, you’d started sleeping on a pile of furs on the floor beside her bed.

Eventually, and as your relationship with Brienne had slowly changed, evolved into something, you’d started sleeping beside her in bed - anything to keep her from hurting herself, to help lull her back into a fitful sleep.

It had never been like this before, not in the time you’d known Brienne, anyway. She’d always been a light sleeper, sure, but a sound one. Even after the most brutal of battles, she’d never even woken with a start from a nightmare as you and so many of your fellow knights had. But something had changed when she’d gotten back. Something had changed since she’d lost Jaime.

She talks in her sleep now, too. That’s partially how you know what happened during all those months when she was in the North.

When it first started, you thought the sleep talking was just a part of whatever nonsensical dream (or, more likely, nightmare) she was having, conjured up, perhaps, by the imagination of a person who has seen too much and suffered too greatly.

But then she’d woken with a start one night. It wasn’t a night terror - though she was clearly upset, she was fully lucid. This time, she didn’t scream. Didn’t thrash. Instead, she’d clung to you like a little girl, curling up against you in a way she never had before, seeking comfort. She confessed in hushed, shaky whispers between suppressed sobs the terrible things that had happened in the North. The unforgivable things that she’d done in the North. The real reason why half of her Kingsguard had disappeared. The real reason why Jaime hadn’t returned by her side.

~~~

You’ve known Brienne for years, becoming a member of her Kingsguard when she’d become Lord Commander. She’d wanted a woman under her command, and so she’d knighted you herself. The two of you had quickly become friendly with one another, sharing the unique bond of being women in a still male-dominated profession (and wasn’t that an understatement).

Though you found yourself slowly and quietly falling in love with her, your bond had never gone past friendship - it couldn’t, not with Jaime by Brienne’s side. Not when the tall, blonde knight looked upon her lover as if he held within him the key to the universe. Her first love.

Still, you were, out of all the knights in her Kingsguard, out of all her friends, closest to Brienne, and it filled with you a subconscious sense of smugness. It made you feel special, that the strong, courageous, just, loyal, beautiful Brienne of Tarth would value your company, your opinions. That she would consider you, as she once told you, her equal, a true friend. That she held love for you, even if it wasn’t romantic love, even if it wasn’t the same kind of love you held for her. It was clear you meant something to her, and the memory of the love shared between the two of you is what you would cling to in the many months during her absence.

King Bran had had official business in the North. Some threat looming past Winterfell, beyond the Wall. Whispers of White Walkers returning - mostly fear-mongering, Brienne had figured. But King Bran had made for Winterfell to convene with the Kingdom of the North, and the Lord Commander and her Kingsguard had followed, to protect him firstly and then to head even farther north towards the Wall and beyond, to scout out the supposed threat.

Except for you. You’d been nursing a fresh injury at the time of departure, and it had been deemed too risky to allow you to join, lest the threat be real and your injury be your downfall. Brienne had tasked you with taking over some official duties during her absence - in a month or two they’d all be back, anyway. On the day that they’d left, she’d left you at the entrance of the Red Keep with a smile on her lips, that kind of crooked, cheeky one she had reserved solely for you. The one that would be seared onto the backs of your eyelids, conjured up every time you closed your eyes, for months to come.

~~~

She shouldn’t have followed that absolute dolt’s directions, Brienne thinks bitterly. She trusts her men, she truly does - she wouldn’t have appointed them to her Kingsguard if she didn’t. But today, for the first time, she wishes she could strangle one of them with her bare hands - the one who led them off the path, convinced he’d known exactly where they were going, until it had become clear that he had absolutely no idea.

They set up camp for the night and Jaime has to calm Brienne down in her tent as the others set about lighting a fire. The cold is brutal this far north - it cuts at their skin and claws its way down to their bones, and Brienne huddles close to Jaime to share in the warmth he always seems to radiate.

Despite the cold, and despite how tired he is after trekking through the snow all day, Jaime cracks a joke, and despite how cold and tired she herself is, Brienne chuckles and rests her head on his shoulder. He reassures her that they’ll get a good night’s sleep and find their way tomorrow, and they’ll only really have lost a few hours, a few miles, at most.

Brienne trusts him.

A few hours and a few miles turn into a few days and a few more miles. It seems to Brienne, the more time passes, that the vast, icy wilderness of the North is actively conspiring against them - dead set on keeping them from both their goal and, in turn, from returning to Winterfell.

At first, it’s more of a nuisance than anything. They still have plenty of food and water. They camp out each night, huddle around the fire, weary from trekking for miles and seemingly getting no closer to anything. But optimism lingers - they’ll find their way soon, Brienne thinks, and Jaime affirms her, and her other men agree. They trust her.

Once, after a particularly long day and to keep Brienne’s spirits up, Jaime makes love to her - or tries to, anyway. The biting chill ruins it a bit, he can’t focus long enough to keep it up, keeps going soft as the cold seeps into his bones and makes his teeth chatter. Brienne cannot help but to find it funny - she laughs, and Jaime shushes her, a little embarrassed, but at least he’s made her pale lips turn up into a rare smile, and at least she’s holding him close and wrapping him up in her strong, loving embrace underneath their furs, and at least they have each other.

~~~

A few weeks in, one of her men falls ill from the cold, already weakened from the lack of sustenance as their food supply has dwindled down to nothing. He develops a cough, complains of chest pains. He stops often, slows down the group. Wheezes audibly as he clambers to keep up with the others. He’s feverishly warm and he looks to be a hopeless case. In just a few days, he’s gone - he dies in his sleep, and Jaime is the one to find him beside the fire, unmoving.

What ensues after will haunt Brienne for the rest of her life.

She suggests that they hold a short funeral for the fallen knight, burn the body then continue on, in the hopes of finding their way back to Winterfell - their plans to scout out the threat past the Wall all but abandoned, so long as they make it out of the North’s unforgiving clutches alive. Everyone agrees, and they use the extra wood they have for the fire to build a small, makeshift funeral pyre. Brienne says a few words and Jaime lights the fire, sets the warrior’s body ablaze.

After a somber moment of silence, Brienne orders her knights to pack up camp. One of them lingers near the pyre, staring at the charred body of his former peer, stepping closer even as the others turn their backs to him. He ignores his Lord Commander when she says it’s time to leave. He’s hungry, he says - yes, we all are, the Lord Commander replies, a bit impatiently.

They could use the strength, they need to eat something, he argues, or they’ll meet the same fate as the knight roasting over the fire. Brienne doesn’t understand - until she does. Then she’s horrified, by both the suggestion itself and the lack of horror that the rest of her knights display. She argues - Jaime tries to back her up - but they’re overruled.

As her men feast on the body of the fallen knight, she sits on a fallen tree trunk away from the group. She refuses to eat one of her Kingsguard for breakfast.

But things are never that easy. Her men have had a taste of the meat. They remember, finally, what it’s like to have full bellies, to have enough energy to carry themselves through the day, to keep their legs going for miles on end. And, with that, any trust that Brienne has in her knights, and they in her, slowly disintegrates.

The North is a strange place, and it has a tendency to drive even the most composed, civilized men mad. Hunger, also, has a tendency to drive men mad. And driven mad they are. With no knowledge of how much longer they’ll be stuck out in the wilderness, and thus no knowledge of when their next meal will be or where it will come from, with a taste for the flesh that may be their only chance at survival in the barren wasteland beyond the Wall, the knights begin to practically search for reasons to turn on one another.

So, inevitably, begins what haunts Brienne for the rest of her life - the Hunt.

It’s simple: Hunt or be Hunted. Kill or be Killed. Eat or be Eaten.

It’s almost a blur to Brienne.

Except for Jaime. When it comes to Jaime, she remembers every detail vividly. Too vividly.

Jaime twists his ankle one day, starts to limp a bit as he drags himself through the snow. Brienne pulls him roughly aside, her brow furrowed with fury and her grip tight.

“You cannot let them see that you’re hurt. You have to walk normally, goddamnit,” she spits out. The words are filled with vitriol - because she’s afraid. Terrified. If any of the other knights sense his weakness, Jaime will be next. And, for all that he’s one of the strongest, most strategic warriors Brienne has ever known, even Jaime cannot outrun a group of hunger-crazed men on a twisted ankle.

He insists that he’ll try, but Brienne can see the doubt in his eyes - she can feel it when he kisses her and soothes his hands down her arms; the hesitation, the trepidation. Her heart thumps so loudly she’s sure he can hear it, too.

Try as he might, even Jaime Lannister is unable to escape his fate. The knights are restless - it’s been two weeks again (or maybe three?) since their last proper meal, and they’re hungry. Brienne is hungry, too, but when Jaime suggests he sacrifice himself so that she can eat, knowing that he’s growing too weak to go on as the pain in his ankle spreads up his leg, she gets angry. Brienne knows he’s getting weaker, but such a sacrifice is unthinkable.

“Get. Up!” Brienne shouts vehemently, the blood flowing through her veins turning to ice when, as the group treks through the snow one afternoon, Jaime feels a sharp pain in his leg and falls to the ground. She doesn’t like the resignation in his gaze, she doesn’t like how the others advance on him like he’s prey, she doesn’t like how she’s powerless to stop them because she knows, even if she fights for Jaime - defends his life - that he’s a lost cause one way or the other. She doesn’t like the sound Jaime’s neck makes as it snaps at the hands of one of her men.

She insists on being the one to handle his body and, because she’s still their Lord Commander but mostly because the others know they’ll have full bellies in a few hours, they let her. They give her privacy as they wait, huddling around the fire they’ve built.

Jaime’s eyelashes are frosty, and Brienne places her hand over his eyes, closes them. His lips are blue - they’re cold against her own and the absence of his warm breath makes her heart clench. She pushes her tongue into his mouth, exploring, memorizing. One last taste. Tears burn her cheeks - it’s not the same when he doesn’t kiss back. She flicks her tongue against his - still, unmoving - and moans, and it turns into a sob.

She rests her forehead against Jaime’s, her breath tickling his face, her tears dripping onto his cheeks, her hands starting to undo his furs, his cloak, his armor, his shirt - lovingly, almost as if she were undressing him, as she often used to do, after a long day of work. She places her hands on his bare chest. It’s cold. His lungs don’t expand and his heart doesn’t beat. It feels both achingly familiar and completely alien to Brienne. She tosses his clothing to the ground, the pieces of his armor clattering against each other and disrupting the quiet peace of the forest. Her hands move to his trousers - as she undoes them, her lips trail down his jaw, his beard scratching at her skin in a familiar sort of way. She reaches his pulse point and sucks - she pretends she can feel a pulse, she smiles in spite of herself and she sucks and sucks and sucks at his skin, before kissing her way down the column of his throat, his chest, feeling it rise and fall with his shallow breaths.

Jaime’s trousers and undergarments join the rest of his clothing in the snow, and Brienne’s hands curl around his upper thighs as her lips find the crease between his hip and his thigh. She breathes him in and lets out a shuddering moan, and she can feel his hands scratch at her scalp, pull at her golden locks. She squirms - it makes her wet. She can feel his hips rise beneath her lips and her fingernails scratch at his outer thighs as she runs her tongue along the seam of his crotch.

Her stomach rumbles audibly and she sobers, just enough to pull back from the cold, unmoving corpse of her dead lover, hunger and guilt promptly replacing her arousal.

She straightens, reaches for the knife at her side, places the blade against Jaime’s chest. She sniffles and uses her free hand to wipe the remaining tears and a bit of snot off her face. Then she makes a clean cut down the length of Jaime’s torso.

There’s a ritualistic quality to her movements. She prepares his corpse with precision, her mind going blank, blissfully blank, as she saws off his extremities, removes his organs. It’s serene, ceremonial, as if she’s in a trance.

Later that evening, as Brienne lifts a chunk of warm, tender meat to her lips, chews it slowly, savors it, she feels a warm glow in her chest. As if Jaime is now with her, always - a strange, twisted sense of intimacy unfurling within her, a wave of peace washing over her.

~~~

When you first see Brienne again, you run to hug her, but something stops you in your tracks. She stands still, watching you stoically, trembling. You reach out to touch her but she shrinks away from your hand. You’re so focused on her that it takes you a moment to notice that she’s only come back with two of her men, and that Jaime isn’t one of them.

All you know is that the expedition in the North was unsuccessful - with no further details as to what happened, or why your Lord Commander and her men were gone for so long. You hope that she’ll let you comfort her as time passes, that she’ll confide in you, but she doesn’t. King Bran works out a plan for Brienne to slowly take over her duties again, the ones you’ve been carrying out - she insists upon it, and he trusts her. The next few weeks are filled with strained council meetings, and it’s the only time Brienne allows you to interact with her, only ever about ‘official’ topics, skillfully side-stepping anything remotely resembling something personal, anything to do with her time in the North, anything to do with Jaime.

Until the night terrors begin.

~~~

You pass Brienne on your way to breakfast the morning after her first night terror. The corridor is narrow and, with each of you clad in armor, you have to turn to the side a bit as you pass each other in order to not bump shoulders. Brienne’s gaze sweeps your face, then pauses. It gets stuck on the fresh bruise around your eye, and her brows knit together in confusion.

“How did this happen?” she asks softly, raising her hand to your face but stopping just shy of touching you, as if she can’t bear to. Her fingers twitch and she drops her arm back down to her side.

You frown. “You don’t remember?”

She’s silent for a moment - you can almost hear the cogs turning in her head. She shakes her head, a strand of hair falling onto her forehead. It takes all of your restraint not to reach out and brush it back with your fingertips.

You almost want to make up a lie as to what happened - you don’t want to put her through any more misery than she’s already experiencing. But you know it’ll all come out sooner or later, so you tell her the truth.

As you explain what had happened, the lines on Brienne’s face deepen, her skin grows pale, her lips part to let out a shaky breath. Then she presses her lips into a hard line, offers you a slight nod of her head. There is an apology in her eyes, unspoken - she brushes past you and disappears around the corner without another word.

She doesn’t join you and the rest of the Kingsguard (what few men had been left, and a couple of newly appointed men) for breakfast, nor does she show up at lunchtime, and her seat remains empty at suppertime. You contemplate going to her chambers and seeing if she’ll talk to you. Remembering how unwilling she was to say even a word to you this morning, you decide against it - though you’re woken once again by a piercing scream at a quarter to four in the morning.

Again you sit with her, try not to touch her, to just let her screaming and thrashing run its course as you coo at her as you would a child. Again it works, but this time you linger a bit longer by her bedside once she’s fallen back asleep, just watching her.

Guilt muddles the sympathy and longing that gnaw a deep pit into your stomach. Brienne looks almost angelic, curled up on her side in the soft glow of moonlight filtering in through the window. It renders the eyelashes on one half of her face translucent, the other side cast in deep shadow. Her chest rises and falls with slow, even breaths, her hair falls in sweaty strands across her forehead, her fingers twitch against the furs on her bed - it makes you long to curl up against her back, wrap your arms around her waist, bury your nose in her hair, feel her lungs take in air and her heart pump blood and all the things that make her alive and real. Watching Brienne sleep, a dam inside you breaks - all of the feelings you’d suppressed for her sake, for Jaime’s sake, come bubbling to the surface.

~~~

Against your will, you’ve fallen into a routine with Brienne.

Neither of you talk about it. You’ve never been more intimate with her, and yet you’ve never felt so separate from her. The worst part is that you can tell she feels the same, but whatever happened to her is preventing her from opening up to you. So you give her the space she needs during the day, and try to reign in your emotions during the night.

Your little routine changes after about a week and a half when, lying wide awake and staring at the ceiling, you hear the creak of a door. Padding to your own door and peering out, you see Brienne exiting her room.

“Brienne?” you call out.

She ignores you, closing her door behind her, and you creep into the hall, the stone floor cold as ice beneath your bare feet.

“Brienne, where are you going?”

“We need food, or we’re going to die out here,” she hisses urgently. You furrow your brow. What the hell is she on about?

“Brienne, it’s the middle of the night. Are you okay?”

“Make yourself useful and get wood for the fire.”

It takes a moment but then it hits you - she’s not awake. She thinks she’s still out there, in the North. You approach her cautiously, well aware that one wrong move could get you punched in the eye again.

“Okay, okay, I’ll go,” you say softly, stepping in her way to prevent her from heading towards the stairs. You gently point Brienne back towards her chambers, trying to coax her into going back to bed with promises of finding food and getting her warm. Eventually you succeed and she’s crawled beneath her furs once more.

Sitting gingerly at the edge of her bed, every muscle in your body stiff as a board and every hair standing on end, you watch her intently, waiting until her eyes have fallen shut and her breathing has evened out. Even then, the thought of leaving her alone like this nearly kills you - you’re not sure you’re in your right mind but, spotting a woven blanket on the chair in front of Brienne’s wardrobe, you take it to her bedside and wrap it around yourself as you settle on the ground.

Hugging your knees to your chest, you try to generate enough warmth to be able to fall asleep. You’re only partially successful and sleep finds you an aching, shivering mess sometime just before dawn - only once your mind, running rampant with worries, has finally tired itself out enough to allow for an hour or two of rest.

~~~

Dawn breaks, the first rays of early morning sun licking at the windowsill, spilling onto the dusty floor of Brienne’s chambers and illuminating your sleeping form, and Brienne stirs in her sleep.

She stretches her arms over her head, letting out a soft groan at the ache that spreads through every muscle in her body. Mornings have been hard for her since she’s gotten back - she often feels as though gravity is conspiring against her, chaining her to the bed with a heaviness that takes over every limb, every muscle, every organ in her body.

As she turns onto her side, fighting the pull to just remain in bed all day and try to sleep away the pain, her gaze lands on a lumpy blanket beside the bed - a lumpy blanket that’s breathing, with a head of unruly curls poking out.

Brienne’s breath stutters in her chest and she props herself up on her elbow to lean over the edge of the bed. Relief floods her body as she realizes it’s just you - though that same thought, a mere moment later, causes her pulse to race.

Before she’s had a chance to wonder what you’re doing on the floor beside her bed, your eyelids begin to flutter and you shift beneath the blanket. Your eyes open and meet Brienne’s, and for one fleeting moment, it feels like the most normal thing in the world as your lips spread into an automatic smile and Brienne’s heart skips a beat.

Your smile quickly fades, however, when you wake up enough to see the perplexed frown etched onto Brienne’s face, and you quickly scramble to your feet, stuttering out an apology.

“Why are you sleeping on the floor?” Brienne says, pulling her own furs up to her chin, as if doing so will hide the vulnerability that’s crashing over her in waves.

Your brow furrows. Brienne’s stomach sinks - she hates feeling as though she’s being kept in the dark. “What?” she huffs out impatiently, anxiety lapping at her ribcage from the inside.

“You, um…” You hesitate, your voice still gravelly from sleep. You clear your throat. “I found you in the corridor last night, sleepwalking… I didn’t want you to get hurt so I stayed.”

It’s clear from the way you can hardly meet Brienne’s eyes, instead shifting your gaze to your feet as you subtly shuffle them, that you’re nervous. About what? Brienne wonders. Being reprimanded? She uses your lowered gaze to her advantage, her own gaze raking over your form from head to toe and back again, drinking you in. She feels a pang of regret. The two of you used to be close. She used to confide in you, used to trust you. But after everything that happened, who can she trust? Certainly not herself.

Still, she feels as though she owes you something.

“Thanks,” she mumbles. You look up and her heart clenches as a tentative smile spreads across your face. She offers you one in return - it feels a bit foreign, to smile again after so long. As if she’s forgotten how.

You reach down, folding the blanket and placing it at the foot of Brienne’s bed. “I’ll see you at training?” You look as if you’re about to say more - Brienne wishes you would say more - but you don’t.

Brienne swallows thickly, nods. “Yeah. See you.”

It’s not until you leave the room that she feels her fists unclench against her furs.

~~~

Brienne sleepwalks again the following night, and again you guide her back to bed and make a nest for yourself on the floor beside her. This time, you manage to sneak back into your chambers just before dawn, though you leave the blanket on the floor, so that she knows you were there, so that you don’t feel like you’re sneaking around.

The night after, Brienne wakes as you try to sneak back to your own bed (your back is stiff as a board). Her voice calls after you in the darkness as you’re halfway to the door, giving you a start.

“Just get in the bed, for God's sake…”

You can hear the sleepy exasperation in her voice and you quickly insist that you should go back to your own bed, that it would be improper - the moonlight casts an eerie glow on Brienne’s eyes when she rolls them. She scoots towards one edge of the bed and awkwardly pats the space next to her.

Neither of you sleep a wink for the rest of that night. You’re too distracted by the heat of Brienne’s body, too afraid that, if you fall asleep, you might wake up spooning her. She’s too focused on your breathing, acutely aware that you’re lying awake beside her, wishing she could take comfort in your presence but too afraid to do so. Your combined warmth beneath the furs is like a furnace, but you don’t dare move, for fear of spooking Brienne and being sent away.

As dawn breaks, you climb out of one side of the bed and Brienne swings her legs over the opposite side. You say “see you” and Brienne grunts in response, and the whole experience is so awkward and tense that you almost don’t go to her chambers the following night. Habit, however, guides your feet right to her door, and she opens it as she hears your footsteps approaching, as if she were waiting for you. This alone, the lack of rejection, makes you braver - that night, you dare to lie just a little bit closer, your arm touching hers.

Every evening you get a bit more daring, and every morning is a little less awkward than the last. Brienne’s walls are far from torn down, but every so often she shows a sliver of genuine warmth that makes your heart skip at least three beats: a shadow of a smile flitting across her face when you show up at her door in the evening; a lingering glance after the two of you have said goodnight, filled not with annoyance or trepidation but with curiosity, perhaps even a hint of gratitude; a gentle brush of soft fingertips against your arm as she adjusts the furs so that you’re both covered.

The night that she wakes with a start and tells you everything would be seared into your mind for the rest of your life as the turning point in your relationship with Brienne. It isn’t about the things she confesses to you - though horrified at the anguish that plagues Brienne, you can’t find it in you to judge or condemn her. Not when she’d woken you in tears, her hand tentatively curling around the sleeve of your night shirt, her lower lip trembling as she’d whispered that she had to tell you what had happened, and then, later, pleaded with you to stay. Nothing she told you, nothing she would tell you, could make you leave. Quite the opposite, in fact - the worse her confessions seem to get, the closer your bodies get, until she’s curled into you with her face against your chest and your arms wound tightly around her, your lips pressed to the crown of her head - anything to provide some semblance of the comfort that she’s sorely been missing.

Once the dam has broken, once Brienne has laid bare all of her sins - and is met not with condemnation but with unwavering support - she starts to let you in, little by little. Little by little, she starts to trust you again and, little by little, she lets you care for her.

~~~

Brienne is standing in front of the fireplace when you enter her chambers. You can’t see her face but you don’t need to - you know that her eyes are fixated on the flames, flecks of warm orange licking at bright sapphire irises. Lost in thought, in some place deep within her where you cannot join.

You close the door with a bit of force, so that Brienne hears it, knows you’re there. You approach her from behind with audible footsteps, then wrap your arms around her waist. You turn your head to rest your cheek between her shoulder blades. Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. She smells like soap and burning wood and something else, something ineffable, something distinctly Brienne.

She stays where she is but folds her arms over your own, leans back ever so slightly. You don’t know how long the two of you stand there, but eventually Brienne starts to turn and you loosen your grip to allow her to face you. She looks down at you, her eyes dancing between your own. You think she might kiss you, like she sometimes does nowadays. You’re certain that there’s a hopeful glint in your eyes as your gaze flicks briefly to her lips, then back up to her eyes, though you try not to show it, try to let Brienne set the pace.

Instead of kissing you, she takes a step back, and you let your arms fall to your sides, feeling a bit cold after the sudden loss of her body heat. Brienne’s eyes never leave your own as she starts to untie her shirt at the front with long and nimble fingers. In your peripheral vision, you see her fingers work their way down her shirt, which then slides off her shoulders and falls to the floor. You cannot break eye contact, however - there’s something in her gaze that you’ve never seen before, not directed at yourself anyway, and it has you pinned in place, frozen in space and time.

Brienne’s tongue darts out to moisten her lips and she steps closer again, and the movement breaks you from whatever spell you’re under. Your gaze drops to her bare breasts, the small mounds of flesh pale and supple, nipples soft and pink, not quite fully hard yet. A wave of arousal washes over you as you allow your eyes to trace her body - every soft, womanly curve, every hard, toned muscle. Brienne, the woman. Brienne, the warrior. You feel her eyes on your face - you know she’s watching you drink her in, and it makes your breath quicken.

Reaching up to your own shirt, you start to untie it - until Brienne’s fingers brush against your own, gently pushing them aside and taking over for you. She takes her time, and her fingertips caress your skin, and you shiver as your shirt joins hers on the floor.

She steps closer still, until there’s no more room between the two of you. Her breasts press against your own and her skin warms yours, and then her hand slides into your hair, cupping your neck just beneath your ear and pulling you towards her until her lips meet your own. They’re impossibly soft and a little wet, and you’ve kissed Brienne before but it feels different this time, and it makes you moan - not a soft, sweet moan of pleasure but a deep, guttural moan of desire, and then Brienne pushes her tongue into your mouth and her free hand flattens against the small of your back, keeping you flush against her as she walks you backwards in the direction of her bed.

“I want you,” you whisper against her lips as the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, and Brienne pushes against you, until you’re on your back and she’s on top of you. She resumes the kiss, her breath coming out in little pants against your lips as she straddles your waist and you scoot back into a more comfortable position.

Large, callused hands slide down your torso, leaving a blazing fire in their wake. They reach the waistband of your trousers and you raise your hips, silently inviting Brienne to pull them down - she does, along with your underwear, and discards both.

Her lips trail along your jaw and you tilt your head back and to the side, giving her more access to nuzzle and kiss and suck and nip. The little noises that escape her lips and vibrate against your skin are heavenly, stoking the fire in your belly and ringing in your ears like the most beautiful melody you’ve ever heard.

Her teeth, hard and dull-edged, sink into the junction between your shoulder and your neck - a stark contrast to the feeling of her tongue, warm and velvety, running up the side of your neck just a moment later - pausing at your pulse point, feeling the pounding of your heart, the rushing of warm blood through your body. Your pulse quickens even more as she lingers there, and then you feel a wetness.

You feel no pain but, still, you wonder if it’s blood, if she’s somehow broken skin.

Then you realize that the droplets dripping onto your neck are Brienne’s tears.

You pull back, placing your hands on her shoulders. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are dark and stormy as she wrestles with something that you aren’t privy to. Her shoulders start to shake beneath your palms, her entire body trembling as she begins to sob in earnest, sitting up and dropping her head into her hands, digging the heels of her palms into her eyes as she lets out a low, shaky wail.

“Brienne?” you whisper cautiously, sliding your hands from her shoulders up to her neck, prying her hands off of her face and cupping her cheeks, urging her to look at you. Your thumbs soothe across her cheekbones, wiping away each tear as it falls - her eyes dance between your own, uncertainty and pain reflected back at you in equal measure. But there’s something else there, a deep longing, a hunger, and you aren’t sure what for and you aren’t sure if you want to know.

“I love you,” you say, your voice quiet yet firm. You say it partially because you don’t know what else to say, but also because you know it’s true. You do love her, more than you’ve ever loved anyone else, more than you ever thought you could love another person, more than life itself, perhaps.

“Don’t say that,” Brienne chokes out, her brow scrunching as she sniffles and tries to suppress another sob, making her chest heave.

“I love you.”

“P-please…”

“You’re not a bad person, Brienne, in spite of what you may think.”

“I am,” she spits back, her tone harsh in contrast to the softness in her eyes as she wants desperately to believe that you could be telling the truth. That you could love her, and think she’s a good person, worthy of being cared for. “I loved him. I loved him and I-” She chokes on her own words, unable to verbalize what she did - but she doesn’t need to, you know already, and Brienne doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. You don’t either.

Brienne sobs. Her forehead wrinkles and her mouth turns down at the corners and she sobs. She buries her head in your chest, squeezes her eyes shut. Her tears wet your bare skin, her hand curls around your waist hard enough to bruise, gripping as if she’s holding on for dear life. As if you’ll evaporate if she lets go.

You coo at her. Run a hand through wavy blonde locks. Let your fingertips trace her spine. You tell her how good she is, that she’s safe, that you care for her. You tell her that you love her, over and over again, as many times as it takes to make her believe it. You tell her that Jaime loved her, too. That he would have understood, and forgiven her. That he would want her to be happy. She sobs harder, shakes her head, and you cup her cheek and stroke your thumb across her cheekbone. He would want the world for her, you tell her, and you believe it. You believe it because it’s what you want, and if Jaime loved her half as much as you do, then, surely, he would want that, too.

Finally, her tears subside. She hiccups, and it makes you smile in spite of it all. You kiss the tears off her cheeks, lick gently at her salty skin. Then you capture her lips in a sweet, wet kiss. She kisses you back. You keep it slow, gentle - you part your lips, an invitation for Brienne to set the pace. She licks into your mouth, entangling her tongue with your own, whimpering softly.

“You t-taste so good,” she mumbles, and then she freezes. The double entendre doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but you ignore it - you moan and deepen the kiss, because it feels good, and because Brienne tastes good, too.

Her fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck, keeping you close, and your hands slide down her back. They slip beneath her trousers and cup her ass, and she rolls her hips against you with a breathy sigh.

You push her trousers down, then her undergarments, and she helps you remove them completely. You push her onto her back, hovering over her - you give her a sweet kiss, then trail your lips slowly and reverently down her body. Your hands caress her sides, curling around her waist as your thumbs trace over her ribs and your tongue runs down the center of her abdomen.

Brienne’s hips push upwards as her head tilts back, and you look up through your lashes to see the underside of her jaw clenched; her breasts rising and falling; her nipples hard, rosy peaks that jut out into the air. You moan as you settle between her legs and kiss the crease of her hip, the scent of her arousal strong and heavy, making you feel dizzy.

You trace a path up her slit, using the tip of your tongue to part her sticky folds. Her arousal gathers on your tongue, exploding on your tastebuds like sweet ambrosia - you savor it, swallow it down with a hum. You get greedy as you retrace the path of your tongue, eager for more, humming gutturally, and then you feel Brienne’s fingers thread into your hair, her legs parting even further as she pushes you towards her clit.

Latching onto the throbbing bud, you suck feverishly, relishing in the wanton moan that erupts from deep within Brienne’s chest. Her fingers tighten in your hair, knuckles going white as her back arches off the bed and her abdomen ripples. You can feel the heels of her feet press into your back as her legs bend at the knees, her entire body responding to your hungry ministrations.

Brienne quivers. Releases the tension in her body like an arrow gone into flight. Her arousal coats your chin, sticks to the furs beneath her ass. She tugs at your hair, insistently, even as you lap at her folds, cleaning her up. You relent and allow her to pull you up, allow her lips to meet yours, and she moans at the taste of herself on your tongue and licks her own arousal off your face, desperately, as if she’s trying to devour you.

Her hand remains threaded in your hair as her other hand slides down your abdomen. Short, labored breaths leave her lips and hit yours in little puffs as long fingers feel how wet you are, smear your juices across your clit, dip into your center, stroke your walls.

Her eyes are open and she maintains eye contact with you as she fingers you. Her gaze is soft and loving beneath the lust, drinking in your every reaction and holding your heart, soul, body captive. She can tell you’re getting close and she pulls her fingers from your cunt, pushing you onto your back and sinking between your legs to finish you off with her mouth. Her lips latch onto your clit and she sucks hungrily, her eyes still on yours, her pale eyelashes fluttering against her flushed cheeks as she brings you over the edge.

When you cum, she kisses your inner thigh, mumbles “I love you” as if it were a confession. Then she says it again. And again. Repeats it as if it were a mantra. It rings in your ears, as if all you’ll hear for the rest of your life is the echo of Brienne of Tarth telling you she loves you. You.

~~~

The embers of the fire are slowly dying. Brienne is on her back and you’re curled up against her side, an arm slung around her waist. Your eyes have adjusted to the darkness and are tracing her side profile, your heart swelling at the sight. It feels different after what you’ve just done. You feel light - euphoric.

“Do you like it when we lay like this?” you ask her softly, suddenly. Your voice is gravelly with a pleasant exhaustion and your eyelids are starting to feel a bit heavy, but you feel you cannot rest if you don’t ask.

Brienne pauses for a moment, as if she’s mulling over your question in her head. Her lips curl into a small smile - the special one, the one reserved for you, the one you feared you might never see again. She turns her head and meets your gaze in the semi-darkness. “Yes,” she says decisively.

Maybe it’s the exhaustion, but Brienne sleeps through the night.

---

A/N: I know this is truly a very ~niche~ fic, but if you made it to the end, thank you! This fic popped into my head late last year when I was obsessed with Yellowjackets and kind of imagined a Yellowjackets-type scenario with Brienne - the smut was actually the first thing I wrote, and then I wrote the rest around that. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

#brienne of tarth x reader #brienne x reader #dead dove: do not eat

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lovelynim · 3 months ago

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TickleTober2024/Day 02 - Accident

Love and Deepspace - Sylus x Reader

Don’t laugh, you told yourself inside your head. He will get even angrier, you added, nodding to yourself as you wiped the puddle of wine on top of the dining table.

Still, you couldn’t help but feel satisfied with the whole scene that just unfolded before your very own eyes. Who could imagine Mephisto would act up and knock a glass full of expensive, really expensive wine and pretty much ruin your night?

You did. And you warned Sylus about it. “He is going to behave,” Sylus told you, a couple minutes before this unfortunate episode.

You had to bite your lips to strain yourself from pointing at him and say “I told you so”, knowing this wouldn’t help at all. But, of course, it would feel good. Amazing, even.

“I told you I’d call someone to clean it, kitten,” Sylus sighed, rubbing circles against the side of his head while keeping his eyes closed. “Are you trying to steal someone else’s work?”

Rolling your eyes, you tossed the damped napkin into a nearby tray, trying to not make another mess in the dining room. “I’m trying to help and you still find a way to complain?” You scoffed, chuckling while shaking your head, “you should be thankful I’m giving you a hand. This is your fault.”

“My fault?” Sylus hummed, arching his eyebrow, “it’s called an accident, kitten.”

“One you could’ve prevented,” you snapped back, looking down at him in his seat defiantly. It was then, however, that you noticed the wine didn’t spill over the table only, but also all over his lap.

A loud, mocking-like laugh escaped your lips. “One you should have prevented, better saying.”

Sylus didn’t respond to that last comment, frowning and narrowing his eyes as he looked away, his chin resting against the back of his head. Oh, he was angry. Still, this was too good to be let out of the hook like that.

“Come on, I’m just teasing you,” you said, deciding to show some compassion for him. You picked up another dry napkin and quickly approached him, towering over his seat. “Here, let me help you.”

“What are you doi- hmph!” Sylus tensed up suddenly as you brushed the napkin against his thighs. You could clearly see his jaw pressing up and his hand tightening the grip around the armrest. What in the-

“Are… you ok?” You said, moving a little closer and resting your hand over his knee before dragging the napkin over his lap again. This time, however, he stopped you halfway into the swiping.

“K-Kitten,” he coughed, taking a deep breath before looking at you while holding your wrist, “there’s… no need to, really.”

You blinked, confused. “What's wrong? Let me help you-”

“Don’t- ah!” Sylus gasped and froze on the spot. It took a second for you to process why he didn’t want you touching his thighs, but once realization settled in, you couldn’t help but smirk at him.

“Oh, Sylus, did it tickle?”

He sighed, again, trying to intimidate you with a piercing look. “Kitten,” he mumbled, hoping it would work.

Well, it didn’t. “Sorry, it was just an accident. Let me try it again ~”

A/N: Is it still an accident if we do it on purpose? Well, who knows ~

Anyway, I'd like to gift this one prompt to @ppystkposts, because she pesterted me during 3 days to write it and witnessed me suffering during the process (jk, i love you)

Thank you all for sticking by and see you tomorrow with the next prompt ~

#lovelytickletober #tickletober 2024 #tickletober #love and deepspace #love and deepspace tickling #sylus #sylus x reader #reader #lee!sylus #ticklish!sylus #ler!reader #tickle fic

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darby-rowe · 11 months ago

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18+ | nsfw | mdni cw fem!reader, daughter of aphrodite, MAJOR AGE GAP (R IS OF LEGAL AGE), dubcon (r is half-awake), coercion, p in v, unprotected sex, outdoor sex, implied size kink, usage of the phrase "little girl", not proofread

something lures you to wake up in the middle of the night. and in the few seconds it takes you to accustom yourself back to reality, you know who’s calling. you’re already praying to him to not make his presence known to his sons and daughters — clarisse is already suspicious enough as it is, and you don’t need her calculating, judging eyes on you for the next week.

it’s risky and stupid — sneaking out of the aphrodite cabin in the middle of the night, but you do it anyway. you do it for him and his persuasive, dominant aura that never failed to bring you to your knees. as your fuzzy slippers meet the cold, forest floor, you’re careful with every step you take as to not draw attention to any suspecting creatures. it's dark, a little ominous, but you feel his presence draw nearer.

and then you see him — standing ever so tall, towering over you, making you feel small and insignificant. you walk towards him, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and moaning about how tired you were. a tinge of annoyance spreads through you as you hear him chuckle mockingly at you.

"c'mon, sweetheart," ares taunts, already pushing up against the nearest tree. you feel his large cock, hard and confined within his jeans, pressing up against your clothed ass. "wake up a lil' — it's not fun if you're falling asleep on me,"

you moan again, both from him grinding against your ass and from being woken up too early. "i'll try," you say, voice small and adorable. you gasp slightly as you feel ares rip down your pajama shorts and panties down to your ankles.

slowly, teasingly, ares rubs the tip of his cock through your folds and you're immediately soaked, earning another chuckle from the god of war. "good little girl. already so wet for my cock, yeah?"

you gasp, feeling him enter your tight cunt, stretching you open over his large dick and you throw your head back. ares takes this opportunity and places his hand on your throat as leverage as he ever so slowly begins to thrust in and out of you. soon enough he's pounding his pelvis against your ass, making you emit choked whines with each thrust of his cock.

you hear him growl under his breath. "perfect little pussy. so fuckin' tight for me. you love getting used like this, don't you? and no one ever has to know, right?"

he asked you a question, but you're already drunk on his cock that you don't respond. this earns you a slap on the ass that makes you yelp and little bit too loud for your liking. and ares's powerful frame has your smaller body in his hands. he could break you and turn you into dust if he really wanted to.

"answer me, little girl," ares growled derisively in your ear, not letting up on his thrusts whatsoever. "no one knows that you get fucked by a god nearly every night, don't they?"

you whimper pathetically, shaking your head. "n-no sir," you stutter. "no one knows. not even mr. d, nor chiron—"

"not even your mother knows," ares added. "she doesn't know that i fuck her daughter like some worthless slut, using you like leftovers when your mother doesn't give me exactly what i want. ooh, yeah, but you like that. you like being a slut to the god of war, don't you? say it," ares's big hand grips your jaw, preventing your head from moving. "say you like being a little slut,"

you were already so close to cumming. you could feel your lower abdomen begin to coil to the point of release and your legs begin to shake underneath you. with whiny moans still pouring out of your mouth, you speak, "yes, 'm your slut, sir. just a fucking cockslut, all for you. i love it. i love it so much...!"

as those final words slip your mouth, you reduce to nothing but nonsensical babbling and whimpering as your orgasm rocks your entire being. you don't even notice ares cumming inside you until you begin to feel his seed dripping out of your used cunt.

ares slips out of you and stuffs his cock back into his jeans. and it's incredible how quickly he catches his breath because, in no time, he's no longer panting. you pull up your panties and shorts, and with a ruffle of your hair, ares says his final words before leaving you alone once again until next time.

"go back to your cabin," he commands. "if anyone catches you this time, you tell them you were sleepwalking; dreaming of..." he trills his lips before shrugging. "i don't fuckin' know, going to sephora to get a new liquid blush or something. but don't tell anyone i was here, or we're done, understand?"

you flash him a smile — one so innocent it could have made him hard again. "i understand, sir,"

#♡; dally writes!#fem!reader #fem reader #cw dubcon #cw age gap #divider by plutism #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo series #ares god of war #pjo ares #pjo ares x reader #pjo ares smut #ares x you

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moonlit-imagines · 1 year ago

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Told You So

Lip Gallagher x reader

warnings: abuse ment

a/n:

prompt: anonymous: “Lip and reader are close friends who grew to have feelings for each other, but reader is in a toxic relationship (doesn’t have to be physically abusive you can write what you’re comfortable with, I don’t mind either way) . The Gallaghers already know because they’ve had to help them out a few times. Readers partner doesn’t like Lip/The Gallaghers so reader isn’t really aloud to be at the house. One day reader is having a shitty day and decides to go see Lip anyway. Maybe reader’s partner finds out or sees them together and tries to drag reader away but Lip isn’t having it. Maybe they (Lip and R’s partner) fight, ofc Lip win, and it ends in reader patching him up and they maybe they kiss🤭”

“Fuckin’ ay…” Lip mutters loud enough for you to hear as you both sit at a standstill on the swings at a nearby park. His curse interrupts your conversation, one that was already stressing him out enough since it seemed to be the same one you always had.

“Speak of the devil, I guess…” You noticed what—or rather, who he was talking about when your boyfriend could be seen across the street, headed straight towards the two of you. “You can go, Lip. I don’t want you to have to deal with any of this.” Lip sat motionless on the swing, eyes dead locked on your boyfriend. “Lip, you hearing me? I said get out of here. He’s gonna flip.” You waved your hand in front of his face and before you knew it your boyfriend stood in front of him.

“Hey, big guy!” Lip got up, wielding a wide smile that left your boyfriend unsettled. “It’s so great to see you here, I was starting to worry that maybe that bruise on your eye was gonna prevent you from being able to, what do you always say? ‘Look after y/n.’” You and your boyfriend looked at each other in confusion and back to Lip, then your boyfriend took a step forward to intimidate. Too bad for him, Lip wasn’t one to back down.

“The hell you say to me?” Said your boyfriend, towering over Lip and ready to fight since the last time he told him to stay the hell away from you. Lip always made him feel insecure it seemed.

“Oh, I guess that bruise isn’t quite there yet.” Lip sarcastically poked the side of his face with a smirk. “You’re gonna want to ice it, though.” Suddenly, a punch was thrown by your friend and you gasped as your boyfriend nearly fell back.

“Lip, stop!” You shouted and jumped off the swings to distance yourself from their fight. Your boyfriend was quick to fight back and there were fists and blood flying practically everywhere. Lip made sure to get a few good licks to the eye like he promised, getting on top and landing punch after punch after punch until your boyfriend threw him off and gave up.

“Man, I don’t give a shit anymore. Have y/n, they’re not worth all this.” Your boyfriend spat blood onto the dirt and left, leaving Lip laying in the dirt and laughing dryly at the pale grey sky.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You asked him as he continued his laughter. “Lip, you shouldn’t have done that. He’s leaving, I have to go after him!” You began to panic and as you walked by him, Lip grabbed your ankle.

“Dude, you’re crazy. Just let him leave.” Lip calmly said through light panting. “He doesn’t give a shit about you. I do.” Lip let you go and to his surprise, you actually stayed. You stared down at him and just watched him watching you. You saw all this dirt and mud and muck and blood all over his face and clothes. “Let’s just go back to my house, forget all this shit happened.”

“Yeah…you look like hell.” You replied jokingly. Well, it was true, but you said it jokingly. “But I want to fix it.”

“Don’t.” He replied bluntly. “But maybe you could fix me? I might need some stitches, that son of a bitch has some dumbass rings.”

“Oh, I can see the skull indent on your forehead.” You crouched down to look at him closer.

“Can you?” He asked, rubbing the area you were staring at.

“No.” You chuckled. “Get up. Let’s go.” You held out your hand and helped him to his feet, noticing he was a little dizzy. “Will you ever give my boyfriends a chance or will it always be like this?” You asked him, walking down the middle of the empty street.

“Will you ever give me a chance?” He replied, looking straight ahead as not to fill his head with any hope or embarrassment by your first reaction. You didn’t say anything. “I don’t just hate your boyfriend’s for no reason. And I don’t hate them out of jealousy either.”

“Then why do you hate them?” You asked him, trying to hear it in his own words.

“Why the hell do you think, y/n?” Lip’s voice raised a bit and he scoffed. You stuffed your hands in your coat pockets and continued on in silence, feeling a little hurt that he wasn’t more gentle with you. “Y/N, you know. I know you know. Everyone knows. You date these shitty guys then run to me when there’s a problem with your shitty guy and every time I sit there and I tell you he’s a shitty guy and he shows you just how shitty he is and we do it all over again. I’m a shitty guy, too, but I’m never gonna treat you like that.”

“You’re not a shitty guy.” You said quietly.

“No, I am. But I wouldn’t be to you.” Lip kicked a rock across the street and moved along, still unwilling to look at you. “You should just give me a chance. I’m tired to beating your boyfriends up when I can just be your boyfriend.”

“I’ll think about it.”

taglist: @ravenmoore14 // @multifandomfix // @augustvandyne // @summersimmerus // @beth-gallagher22 // @xoxobabydolls // @evilcr0ne // @stitched-mouth // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @elenavampire21 //

#lip gallagher imagine #lip gallagher #lip gallagher x reader #shameless #shameless x reader #shameless imagine #phillip gallagher #phillip gallagher x reader #phillip gallagher imagine

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melodic-haze · 7 months ago

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Hmm i just had a thought about the recent fic w Arlecchino

What if she had a muzzle on w bunny suit🧐

☆ — DEMO TRACK: sub!Arlecchino x dom!Reader

☆ — TYPE: NSFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: Breeding, size kink, reader has a cock/strap referred to as such

☆ — NOTES: I'm ngl it's been several Arle fics now that idk which one you were on ab but it's okay gwenchana. Anyway you lot really want to breed her huh (same though)

Good luck convincing Arlecchino to wear a bunny suit actually HAHAHA

She'd do anything for you, really she will!!!! She's so dedicated to you—worshipping you in the same way a diety was meant to be worshipped—that it's actually scary for the both of you, how much of a hold you have on her. But she has some reservations about such a risqué bit of clothing 💀

Not like you blame her though, considering how it wasn't usually her style. Lucky for you, however, YOU get special treatment :3 all it takes is one look at the outfit, one look at her and some time and voila!!! She'll concede—hell, she might even surprise you :3

"You're.. you're sure, right? I know you were kinda against it at first—I feel bad if I ended up forcing you into something you-- mm."

A finger was on your lips, the gesture's message quite clear as your beloved spoke amidst your commanded silence, "I'm sure, yes. I admit I am.. apprehensive, but your longing gaze is more than enough to convince me to, ah.. experiment."

"Really..?"

"Yes. You do not take me for my word?"

"No, I do! It's just..." You huffed out a sigh as you gently took the hand on your lip and took it in your own, "I just don't want you to feel as if you were obligated to entertain my every whim."

You see her eyes soften at your concern and she squeezes your hand as a form of reassurance from your often-so-stoic lover, "You should know better than to believe I would ever compromise my own comfort for something like this."

"And besides," she continues, "surprisingly, I've come to enjoy being.. well, your prey of sorts. Perhaps the outfit may elevate the interest to another level, hm?"

You couldn't help but stare at her, boldness practically radiating off of your lover despite the position you both know she truly holds within the privacy of your bedroom walls. Such boldness prompted an imagined flash of images in your mind—blackened hands all tied up, drool escaping her lips within confining barriers, tears escaping as sinful noises of wet skin-to-skin impact echo along with her moans—and you feel something akin to a hot flash within your core.

Ever so observant, her eyes go half-lidded as she looks up at you, her grin a touch sharper than before, "I see that I have awakened your imagination."

"Maybe."

"You need not imagine it, my beloved." Her voice reduces itself to something of a low purr, "All you need to do is command me, and I will do whatever you wish."

"That's a dangerous promise to make."

"Coming from a dangerous woman such as I, I dare say it balances the scales."

I love dialogue lol anyway tell her to do so and she will do it ☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️ and next thing you know you're facing a woman much shorter than you've always known her to be, clad in such a revealing outfit and a muzzle to prevent her from biting so much. She had 'protested' against the latter at first, but you both know from the way that she so very easily accepted such a thing that she was all for the extra torture, not being able to make a mark on you (she forgets that her nails'll probably do the job for her anyway LMAO)

When she's laid out 'helplessly' on the bed as you tower over her, when you put your hand on the flat of her stomach and the both of you see the clear size difference, when you look at her and see so much anticipation and carnal lust practically glazing her eyes? Oh god the both of you KNOW you're not going out this room for a WHILE

She is COMPLETELY at your mercy—you can toy with her all you want, alternating between overstimulation and edging her with whatever is at your disposal until she can't take it anymore so she has to actually beg you to fuck her dumb and reduce all trains of thought into mush. She considers begging as below her, and yet she can't help but let out these reluctant pleas that only seem to gain a more.......willing quality with them in due time. Just make sure to torture her until her composure snaps, giving her her own sort of medicine and having her experience her very own mindbreak through overwhelming pleasure

To see this woman, who is so utterly feared to the point where crowds would part for her in fear that she would plunge her blackened hands into their chest and staining them red, cling to you and hump your cock like a bitch in heat is such a harrowing contrast.......but there is certainly that feeling of something more

Perhaps it's the fact that there was the urge to pin her down into a mating press and stuff her silly until she gets kids on her own ☺️ seeing her take all these children in at the Hearth and not having any herself.....why, for some reason you found yourself feeling like you just had to give her some children of her own. She seems to adore them, so whyever not ☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️

Even as dazed-out as she is, she can see something change inside you as your objective goes from fucking her silly to something a lot more feral. Doesn't necessarily help that, yk, you have her in a bunny suit. And yk how bunnies just love to breed

As much as Arlecchino had tried to tell you to slow down for a brief moment, it's as if all noise has been blocked out from your senses, save for the sounds your lover makes and the sinfully wet noises that are produced as you piston into her again and again and again and again.

You roughly pushed her down into the matress, now damp and messy from a mixture of your bodily fluids, as you made sure to bottom out inside her as quickly as you drew back—the harsh assault on her hole had hit spots within her she didn't even realise you could hit, not to mention the force of your movements being more than enough to easily stretch her out and mold her insides to fit you and only you.

It was obvious that there was no way any mercy was going to be given to her. The Harbinger could only lay there and take everything you give her like some kind of fleshlight, the 'fight' within her long gone (if she even had some left in her to begin with).

God I need to separate these bc I can't just choose one thank yew bc both are very very very VERY good

If you had a dick:

You were so utterly determined to fill her and making sure your seed takes by the end of your session. If it meant basting her insides with white-hot cum and having it all stuffed inside her to the point where it has no where to go but out by force, then you'll cum inside her over and over again until you can't anymore.

And when your hand goes to press down on her abdomen, you can see the mixture of cum inside her practically spray out at the edges. She can't take it anymore, even she says so, and yet you can't help but wonder just why is her pussy still milking you as if her life depended on it?

Because she's greedy.

Because right now, no longer was she Arlecchino—she was your very own rabbit, hungry for your potent seed.

If you're using a strap:

You know of your limitations—without anything extra such as magical means, you cannot actually have her bare your children. But whyever would you let that stop you, especially when you had benefits that more than makes up for your lack of organic appendages?

If you had the real thing then you could stuff her silly until it takes (and even beyond that), but one can easily make up for it in other qualities such as size and shape.

And really, whatever's stopping you from filling her to the brim with artificial cum instead?

The world is your oyster, and Peruere was nothing but your very own porcelain fuckdoll at this point.

I need to breed her every which way idc if I don't have a dick, if there's a will there's a way

When she realises what you're trying to do, she can't help that sudden jolt that completely overtakes her—her hips practically shoot from the bed, pushing your cock in even deeper, before you push her back down while she lets out a silent scream. By GOD the fact you want to breed her, fill her, make sure a child of YOURS growing inside her, making a mark beyond just her skin.........oh it gets her going in ways she never would've fathomed before

By the end of your VERY long and productive session, it's VERY clear you've both fucked like rabbits from the mess all over the place and the liquid practically gushing from her abused hole. After everything, you finally take off her muzzle, only for you to lead her drool-coated mouth all the way down to the base of your cock to clean it up. She doesn't even protest either, easily taking it like a good girl and making sure that she does a good job in cleaning you up and finishing you off. All you need to do is plug her up properly, feeling all the cum stuffed inside her through the small pauch of her abdomen, where her womb is 🫶

"..I had known this was a possible outcome, and yet I cannot help but be surprised by your control, or lack thereof."

You groaned, covering your face with your hands as you rolled on your side, "I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me! You just looked so irresistible and before I knew it I just--"

"Don't take my words as a form of reprimand, darling." You feel her hands take your own from your face, her lips finally kissing them—you—after a long time of having it muzzled, "I enjoyed it. You are already aware of my.. likes and dislikes, especially when it comes to the rougher parts of the activity. I gave you control, and you willingly seized it."

"I guess..."

"And besides," she muses with a small smile on her face, "I am.. not necessarily opposed to the thought of it."

"Of what?"

"Getting bred."

A warm flush spreads through your cheeks as you gave her a light swat, "You! You are so shameless! What happened to being polite and cryptic?!"

"Do we really need such pleasantries by this point? Seeing that you were rather determined to take me all for yourself, after all..."

"Oh my god."

A deep laugh rumbles within her, the sound so rare and precious that you'd want to keep it all to yourself, and you can't help but laugh along with her as you bask in the afterglow. When your laughter settles down, the two of you end up with your legs tangled up together as you lay there in companionable silence.

Though eventually she decides to break it, "Shall I go and run us a bath?"

"You can stand after all that? Geez, seems like I did a bad job," you joked.

Arlecchino huffed out lightly with a smile, "No, you've rendered me utterly near-useless—a feeling that I don't usually enjoy. Yet the fact that I don't seem to mind it all that much should show that you are special to me."

You feel that heat in your cheeks again at the proclamation, "Archons, and when I aim to have you all sappy like that in public you don't even dare move a muscle."

"Time and place, dear. Time and place. Now," she questions again, "shall I run us a bath? We can take care of the mess later."

You nodded, "Mm, if you don't mind then. But can we take it together?"

You see her eyes crinkle, the glow that the red crosses within them softening like a tender flame, "Of course. I shall be back in a few moments, then."

She gets up, and you pride yourself for being the reason why your lover temporarily goes off balance from a sudden tremor in her legs before collecting yourself.. and you can't help but stare at the remaining cum staining the sides of the plug and the apex of her thighs as she walks off.

She doesn't take the plug off when you go and take the bath together. Wonder why 😋

#hazy demos!#hazy explicits!#i love starting shit ☺️ sub arlecchino believers RISE UP (me and my nonexistent dick both rose up)#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino smut #sub arlecchino #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact smut #sub genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin smut #sub genshin #genshin women x reader #genshin women imagines #genshin women smut #sub genshin women

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2kverrr · 5 months ago

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MATT TAYLOR - Dating Headcanons

UNTIL DAWN || Matt Taylor x Reader

like every other year, the washington family open up their lodge to their teenagers for the winter. everybody had been waiting for this time of year, booze all week long, no rules, only friends, snowfights, blasting music in the middle of nowhere - to put it shortly, it's haven.

big movie nights on the big projector with hot chocolates and lots and lots of booze

you and matt had been plotting activities since summer, dodgeball in the main living area - come on, it's massive. what else are you meant to do in a room that big?

sledding - even if it meant falling off the edge of a cliff, its all apart of the fun.

matt loved making plans with you, you've never been too sure why, because you're not very punctual, you're an extremely dangerous driver and quite forgetful.

he's an attractive guy, sporty and in shape, really kind; it was a mystery to you why he was still single. it's not like girls actually go for brains anymore - you don't think so anyway.

secretly the group were rooting for the two of you, you oblivious of course, but matt had planned this all out, all fun and games but then you 'accidentally' trip or 'accidentally' fall and in desperate need of a knight in shining armour, then that's where he comes in, heroic and masculine, you are immediately in love with him, you get married, move to fiji and have 4 kids (the first of the bunch HAD to be called matt. jr). it's pretty specific.

it's the day of the winter break we'd all been waiting for, mike had already prepped matt for this big breakthrough. mike slaps his hand onto his face and slowly drags it drown with a grown, "bro, stop being such a pussy - worst she can say is no. no?" the two continue to stroll towards the lodge, slightly unsure where they were headed in the snowy atmosphere. “yeah, i get that,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, “but what if she laughs at me?” the thought made his stomach twist uneasily, and he shot mike a frantic glance. you knew matt's used to being the object of jealousy, he's much like mike in that sense, he doesn't have to do much to be adored by people. “dude, she’s not some goddess in a tower,” mike said, rolling his eyes. “she's just a girl! think about it. you’ve spent half your life being friends, spilling deepest and darkest secrets, spending the majority of your time together - hell even your distant family have nicknames for him. "god damn it man! you know her better than anyone, so you should be first to know how she'd react.” matt shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to portray an air of confidence he didn’t truly feel. “just be yourself. you’ve got this.” he whispers, spotting you exiting from the ski lift, patting matt on the shoulder and leaving him with you.

the walk up was oddly awkward, in fact the first 3 days were uncomfortable with the curly-headed boy.

of course, that did not stop you from getting black out drunk every night. day drinking faded into beer pong, then faded into shot competitions, then another cheeky drink when you woke up to prevent any hangover.

matt tried his hardest to get you to lay off the drink, but automatically josh would interrupt and tempt you even more.

it had to be past midnight at this rate, ashley fell asleep on the couch with chris, beth gently placing a blanket over the two of them. sam was attempting to defuse a row between mike and emily as hannah observed hopefully, while josh was falling asleep mid-conversation with jess - embarrassing. all while you were basically fighting matt to grab the bottle out of his hands. “give!” you reach out, but just like every other time, matts long arms push at your shoulder to keep your distance. you huff, stumbling back with half closed eyes, “cocksucker. i’ll find something else. hell - i’d eat crack if josh had any.” you remark with flailing arms. you had promised yourself a good time, a good time that didn’t involve battling your best friend for a taste of liquor. "come on, how about we go find the biggest bed for you to sleep in, i'm sure emily won't notice." his eyebrows raise, awaiting your drunken response. your mouth drops in a shocked manor and your eyebrows furrow as though your offended, "wow - matt, nice going." you try to cross your arms but you end up stumbling into the counter, the boy's hands immediately reach out to stabilise you. "it'd take a lot more than that to take me to bed, thank you very much, mr taylor." you scold, trying to inject a sense of indignation into your slurred words. the room felt like it was swaying gently; perhaps it was the alcohol or maybe just your overwhelming desire to keep your balance. you glared at matt, half-heartedly trying to regain your composure, but the corners of your mouth couldn't help but twitch into a smirk.

you couldn't remember much after that, besides the blinding light bursting through the curtains beaming into your eyes, only a single silhouette there to block it.

you're quite used to getting black out drunk, in fact you've got a casual routine, wake up, hole into your head until you stumble towards the cabinet wherever you are, managing to grab some sort of pill. lie in the bath - this is a crucial step. no water besides from when you awkwardly attempt to drink some from the tap. eventually you throw up the pills you'd taken, so you take a few more. at this point you should be okay to get up and carry on with your day.

you tell yourself this is how it’s meant to be; the routine is as much a part of your identity as the lingering pallor in your cheeks. you’ll put on a brave face, mask the chaos with a smile, and carry on with your day, ever-so-slightly hopeful that today might be different.

though you're not so used to going on a three day bender, every drink you consume having at least a drop of some form of alcohol. so your routine didn't exactly apply.

"hey," a voice whispers, slowly placing a cold cloth on your head, “you okay?” it’s light and gentle, a contrast to the erratic thrum inside your skull.

you squint against the light and the silhouette shifts, revealing matt, but this time with a softer expression, worry etched into the corners of his eyes. “you were insane last night,” he says, half-smiling, half-concerned. matt takes a deep breath, the worry still lingering in his eyes, and leans back in his chair, allowing you some space.

“seriously, what were you thinking?” he asks, his tone shifting to something more serious.

“you can’t just push yourself like that, especially when you know you haven’t slept in days.” the warmth of his concern wraps around you, thick and palpable, grounding you even as the room spins slightly.

"shit, " you roll over, while trying to sit yourself up, "i'm really sorry" your hands slowly and deeply massage your face, "can't remember a thing."

matt softly chuckles, placing his hands onto the arm rests, “well, where to begin? you were fighting me for a drink. scolded me for tying to sleep with you, which was the opposite of what i was doing. you searched the house for cigarettes and eventually gave up and tried to uber 3 bricks of coke to the lodge. erm… you threw up in the hot tub, on the counter, on emily, on me and i think a bit of miles show when you threw up on emily for the second time.”

you suppress a groan, sinking back into the chair as matt’s words cascade over you, each one accompanied by an embarrassing flashback that jolts through your mind like electric shocks.

"what?" it was all you could say. frozen and still in your own embarrassment.

“oh! and let’s not forget the part where you tried to convince jessica that she was actually a mystical mermaid forced on earth to enchant her way into human hearts."

you open your mouth to speak but the curly-haired boy continues.

“-not quite done yet, darling. you couldn’t let go of this ‘mermaid theory’, convinced you could see jess’s scales. so you flung your drink at her and then yelled ‘be free, my aquatic queen’ right in her face.”

you wince, burying your head in your hands. “for fuck's sake, please tell me you're lying,” you let out a muffled groan. matt's infectious laughter rings in your ears, despite your mortification and god awful pain you're in.

matt leans forward, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “and after your mermaid debacle, you decided to perform a dramatic interpretation of 'under the Sea' from The Little Mermaid for the whole living room."

you immediately butt in, "liar!" you rarely ever laugh in front of your friends, never mind whatever this is.

"i swear I’ve never seen sam laugh and cry at the same time.” he shakes his head, barely able to contain his amusement as he gestures broadly, “you were flapping your arms like a fish out of water, and the way you-“

you roll your eyes, “enough!” you raise your voice, a slight anger in your tone as your embarrassment begins to ebb. you immediately feel bad for the once giddy boy, "sorry, i don't usually tend to have hangovers this bad…" you say, a hand attempting to tame the pounding in you heard, you put the boy at ease with a smile, "…did i at least have a good audience?"

"an audience of friends who might never look at you the same way again,” he teases, but his smile is warm and understanding. “but hey, that’s what makes us family, right? You do something outrageous, and we love you for it. maybe not jess… or emily. but the rest of us do. i love you.” his words hang in the air, unsure of their stance, good bad? neither of you knew.

“you love me?” you manage to say, half teasing and half genuinely astonished, heart fluttering uncomfortably in your chest.

he briefly fixes his posture, shuffling in his seat, “maybe. even thought you can be a bitch and you have a slight alcohol issue, you’re still lovable.”

you take a moment to take a note of reality, the mess on the floor, presumably caused by you. your hair was unspeakable, makeup smudged, deep and heavy eye bags, one of your lashes hanging off your cheek while your other was probably exploring the outside, it’s definitely… a look.

“even after all this?” you wave down your body and across the room

he leans forward, fiddling with his thumbs, eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart race. “that’s exactly it,” he says gently, “you’re unpredictable, messy and unapologetically you, and i think it’s fucking awesome. you’re so… so, so, so real.”

his sincerity makes the room feel smaller, as it the weight of his words could encircle you both in an element of quiet intimacy. you can throw but smile, your heart swelling. “so, what does this mean for us?” you query hopefully.

“maybe it’s the start of something new.”

you made the bold decision to lay off of the drink for your own sake (also because it took you the rest of the week to recover) - instead you’d accompany matt in whatever he was up to.

mike felt a bit disappointed that his pep talk was wasted on a sappy conversation rather than a manly knight in shining armour act.

jess eventually forgave you, insuring you tell her everything about the two of you. emily would occasionally listen in nonchalantly as she clearly hadn’t forgave you for the sick-tuation (get it? i’m so sorry)

matt takes pride in waking you up with a drink or some food, it’s a bit difficult when your only options are out of the washingtons’ sparse cabinets.

you had to make a slight change in your ‘how you got together’ story when meeting his parents, either way they loved you, and thought you were a great reason for matt to take his laser focus off of football.

speaking of football, you’re at every game wearing some old spare shirt he had laying around.

when he first met your parents, god it was something you should’ve prevented. matt sides with your mum’s every word, dishes, staying out too late, waking up too early. honestly everything and anything.

he’s easily the most caring, you’re always on his mind, your wants, your needs, what you’re doing, how you’re doing.

in return you help him study, you’re not much smarter, but with matt, you find fun in the coursework.

#until dawn #until dawn x reader #matt taylor #matt taylor x reader #until dawn matt #matt until dawn

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pininghermit · 8 months ago

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Mockery of Errors

Pairing: Alucard x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Alucard's got a personal idiot to save him decade's worth of therapy.

AN: some nsfw vocab so minors dni

"Omg oh no I am so sorry."

Three pairs of eyes stare at you.

"I can get myself out," you mumbled, shuffling awkwardly. Turning to leave through the broken window you entered by, you paused. "Oh crap," you muttered, glancing at the shattered glass and then back at the golden-haired vampire, who you assumed was the owner.

"I can pay for the damages," you offered, patting your pockets frantically. You desperately hoped you hadn't been an idiot and left your purse at home. You studiously avoided looking at the vampire's bare, luminous legs.

Was that… rope? Your eyes widened at the crimson bundle peeking out from under the bed. Great. You'd just stumbled into some bizarre threesome. Just your luck.

The commotion seems to snap the supposed lord out of his shock. Though you desperately tried to avoid their gaze, you heard the rustle of clothes and felt the air shift as the vampire lord moved in front of you. And much to your dismay a sword.

Your spine felt like jelly, but you forced a wobbly smile as you looked up at the ridiculously good-looking vampire lord. It all clicked into place. Dammit! He deserved a good threesome. Insanely handsome vampire lords with deary castles deserve a good bang.

"Now, now, my lord," you began, your voice betraying a slight hitch. "There's no need for that. I assure you, I'm no robber." You mentally shoved aside the very inappropriate picture that had just popped into your head, desperate to stay alive.

"This is all just a…jest, you see? A silly little bet with friends. Terrible timing, I admit, and terribly sorry for the interruption. I can, of course, make myself scarce." You finished with a weak attempt at a conspiratorial wink, hoping it landed somewhere between charming and utterly insane.

You flashed a friendly smile at the, ahem, occupants of the bed, who (to their credit) did a fantastic job of conveying annoyance through sheer silence. You waved awkwardly, but they weren't having it.

"Ahem," the vampire lord cleared his throat to catch your fleeting attention. "Do you know where you stand?" He asked, his voice surprisingly weak. He sounded young...a young adult vampire? They came in all ages and formats you mused internally.

Focusing on his question, you tried to hide the relief of finding a young master instead of a slithering nasty vampire."Ah, my lord," you stammered, "we, uh, my friends and I…had no idea a vampire resided here...the cutesy garden in the back yard had us guessing this castle was looked after a kind granny."

That was not the right thing to say. Apparently, even unageing vampires were vain enough to detest being called a granny...to your credit, his white nightgown was not doing him any favors.

Alucard felt a furious blush creep up his neck. Thankfully, you seemed too terrified to meet his gaze.

The shattered window was a godsend. A distracting agent that prevented acknowledging the scene you walked in on.

He towered over you as you sat perched precariously on the windowsill, inspecting the broken glass with an unsettling focus. "Sturdy stuff," you muttered in approval, completely oblivious to the elephant in the room - or rather, the castle.

Not the damn ropes! Adrian groaned silently. He wasn't easily flustered, but this… this was pushing his limits.

Steeling yourself with the air of someone who'd made a grand decision, you rose to your feet. "My lord," you declared, "I can totally replace this glass tomorrow! No worries. Besides, who carries a purse on a ridiculous late-night dare, anyway?"

Adrian let out a sigh so deep it could rival a tectonic plate shift. Clutching his face in his hands, he squeezed his eyes shut. This, he thought hysterically, was worse than a thousand post-nut clarity moments combined. There was no way he could ever face Sumi or Taka again.

He nods. At this point, he would be better off flying away as a bat and never show up to his accursed castle ever again.

Peering out the window, you mumbled, oblivious to the tension, "Yikes, that's a drop. So, about those ropes…" A collective cringe echoed through the room, the occupants unified in their secondhand embarrassment.

"Just use the damn door!" Adrian roared, his voice cracking spectacularly mid-scream.

And thus, with a shattered window, a flustered vampire lord, and a shockingly oblivious mortal, the future of Adrian Tepes, son of Dracula, took a most unexpected turn.

#alucard x reader #alucard #adrian tepes x reader #castlevania #fluff #taka and sumi #fix it fic

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spidernuggets · 1 year ago

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Jason Todd x Reader

"Where are you going? Look, the Titans needs us-"

"Fuck them, Rose. Fuck all of you"

"Jason, please! Where are you gonna go?? We can figure something out!"

When Jason left with Rose out of Gotham City, you were heartbroken. You kept a one-sided love hidden, thinking it would be too selfish to confess your feelings to him while he's in an unstable state of self hatred. But when Dick revealed that he killed Deathstroke's son just moments after you managed to get Jason to step away from the ledge, you almost let your secret slip when Jason was swiftly packing his things as you begged him to stay.

"Figure what out, Y/N? Huh? Why are you even staying? Almost everyone is leaving anyway, and Dick is just a liar," Jason argued, stuffing his duffle bag with whatever clothes he could find.

"Because the Titans are the only family I have! At least Gar is staying. But you don't have to leave, Jay"

"And why shouldn't I? There's nothing for me here. Everyone hates me, hell, even you probably hate me. You only got me off the roof out of pity"

"That's not true, Jason."

"Then why else would you?!"

"Because I-" You quickly stop yourself, knowing things would only become worse if your feelings were revealed. So you took a deep breath and took a second to calmed down.

"Because you're my friend, Jay. One of the best friends I ever had. And I don't want you to leave," you say quietly.

Jason stared at you for a couple of seconds before taking your hand in his. "Then come with us. You don't have to do everything Dick tells you to anymore, no more lies, no more half truths."

You sighed, "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Yeah, I don't think I like the idea of third wheeling you and Rose," you try to joke, but your heart actually aching at the thought. "But seriously, I don't think leaving is a good idea, especially with Deathstroke around. And being alone with his daughter, I mean-"

"Wait, what you don't trust her or something?" Jason interrupts you, taking slight offence.

"I'm just saying to be cautious, Jason. I mean, Deathstroke already kidnapped you once and-"

"And what? You think Rose is working with him? Jesus Christ, and I thought I was fucked up," He scoffs. "Y'know, Rose admired that I made it out alive from her dad. I managed to make it out alive, and you still think I'm weak?"

"Jason, I never said that!-"

"Nah, fuck this, you're just like everyone else here," Jason says, zipping his bag close and storming out the room.

"Jason!" You tried calling out, just for him to ignore.

"What, was it part of Daddy's training to fuck me this whole time?!" Jason yells at Rose. "I'm done with this shit," he says, grabbing his bag, starting to leave the home the two raided.

Rose quickly grabbed onto his arm to prevent him from leaving.

"Look, none of this was supposed to happen. It just did," she tries to tell him, but he ignores her, tearing his arm away from her grip.

"Get the fuck off me." He cries, and as if by reflex, Rose strikes a punch at him, blood quickly falling down his now broken nose.

"C'mon! Fight me! You know you want to!" She says in desperation.

Jason sends a cold stare. "Are we done?" She doesn't reply, tears building up in her eye. "We're done," he says, walking towards the door as Rose cries.

"Where are you going? Look the Titans needs us!" She calls out to him as he reaches the door.

"Fuck them, Rose. Fuck all of you," he replies, finally walking out the door with only one thing on his mind.

You.

He hailed the first cab he could find, telling the driver to head back to Gotham City.

All he could think about was how stupid he was to you. You were right, and he just left you like you were nothing. You saved him, and he treated you like dirt. You said he was your friend, and he abandoned you.

He rushed out the taxi after paying the driver, running up to the small apartment you were living at. You spent most of your time in Titan's Tower, but went back to your place when you wanted to be fully alone.

Your apartment was only big enough for one person, granted there were ants here and there, and a little mould growing in some places, but you saw it as your own place.

Jason knocked on your door three times, followed by a call of your name. He knocked again, a little louder, and a little more desperate. What if you weren't home? He couldn't go back to Titans Tower, he wasn't ready to see everyone else.

When no one answered, his shoulders slumped, and was about to walk away.

But your door opened, and you appeared on the other side, rubbing your red eyes with a fluffy blanket draped over your shoulders and your hair running wild as it was tangled and bunched all over the place.

"Jesus, who died," you say groggily, having not registered who knocked on your door.

Jason's eyes brightened as he returned to the front of your door.

"Y/n.." He softly called out. You stopped rubbing your eyes as you looked up at him, eyes widening as you couldn't believe Jason was standing right in front of you.

"Jason.." You replied, not knowing what to say. "How have you- uhm.. D'you wanna come in?" You awkwardly offered, Jason nodding as you stepped aside for him to walk in.

You directed him towards the couch. "Uh.. do you want something to drink or..."

"No." Jason quickly replies. "I- I just needa talk to you."

You nod, walking over to sit beside him on the couch.

"So.."

"I'm sorry," he says, looking at you with those glassy eyes. "You were right. Rose was spying on me, working with Deathstroke, you were right. I should've listened to you, I should've stayed. Just- just say I told you so and-"

You interrupted Jason by lunging towards him, blanket falling off as you wrapped your arms around him. "I'm so glad you're back," you said, your voice muffled.

Jason sits there in shock, slowly wrapping his arms around your middle. "You- You're not mad?"

You pull away, "Why would I be mad?" You ask, hands boldly reaching up to hold his face.

"Why wouldn't you be! I treated you like shit! I didn't listen to you, then I just left! How could not hate me?" He says in an outburst.

All you do is sigh and look away.

"What? What is it?" Jason asks.

"It's because I love you, Jay," you finally confess. Jason's eyes widened and was left speechless. All he could do was lean closer as his gaze shift down to your lips.

You lightly chuckle as you olace a hand against his chest to stop him.

"Stop. You're only doing that because of guilt," You say.

But Jason shakes his head. "No. No, I don't believe I am," he replies. "You've no idea how much I wanted this. Ever since you joined the team, I promise you."

You sighed. "Listen, you just parted ways with Rose, I don't actually think you-"

"A chance," he interrupts. "Give me a chance to show you how much I care for you. How much I feel the same for you. Take you out on dates, give you flowers, whatever. Just a chance, and if you still don't believe it, fine, I leave you be. But a chance is all I beg for."

You look down at your fiddling fingers, eyebrows furrowed, wondering whether or not he's telling the truth.

"One chance," you say. "One chance and one chance only. If you screw this up, then that's that."

Yeah I didn't really know how to finish it off, like I had the idea for the start but didn't know how to make the rest of the story so its pretty shit, but at the same time, its 2am so whatevah

Jason smiles, bringing you in for a tight embrace. "You won't regret it, I promise you, mama."

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madi-sue005 · 19 days ago

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Welcome to the ramblings of a madwoman about the differences between Pointed Hat Coco and Brimmed Hat Coco. There are just a few things I’d like to cover before getting into the actual post.

1. What you’re about to read is my opinion. Feel free to disagree.

2. I’m not caught up with the digital releases. Reason being because ebooks don’t do it for me, so I have to stick to the print releases, putting me at Chapter 68. I’m counting down the days until volume 13’s release. (January 14. Yes, I do know that by heart.)

3. There will be a cut after this to prevent spoilers. You have been warned.

This is the title page of Chapter 28. Notice how Pointed Hat Coco has a spark in her eyes that Brimmed Coco does not.

The wonder, the hope, is gone from Brimmed Coco’s eyes. Brimmed Coco looks dead inside.

(Side note: this has nothing to do with my theories, but this is the picture that I noticed that Brimmed Coco has little Brimmed hats in her collar like the one on the cover of the picture book.)

Next up we have a screenshot from when Utowin and Olruggio are talking after he finishes giving his report to the Knights in volume 6. Again, Coco looks dead inside, but here she also looks much more menacing. Sinister, evil, even. Definitely not the sweet little Coco we have now.

This one is from when Qifrey saves Coco from the monsters that guard The Tower of Tomes while she’s hiding in the cliffs.

What I’d like to draw your attention to is the last panel. “I worry that when my hands fail to find hope—when they end up grasping at thin air that I just might begin reaching for things I shouldn’t.”

“When my hands fail to find hope…” she says. What I think she means is “if I can’t find a way to save my mother.” Remember, there’s no guarantee that any witch—Pointed Hat or Brimmed—can reverse the spell on Coco’s mother. Largely because much of the knowledge surrounding forbidden spells—even the helpful ones like curse reversals and healingcraft and the twinned bottle—was lost after the Pact was enacted.

For better and for worse, the forbidden spells are being lost to time. In some cases, such as transformation spells and war spells, that’s good. Why would you need to be able to transform someone? Just for shits and grins? Tell that to Euini.

However, in this case, the case of Coco’s mother, it means she could remain as stone for forever. Because no one would know how to undo the spell permanently. Counterclock can’t be used, because, uh… well… Dagda. Just Dagda. Being stuck in an endless loop of life and death, never able to advance. The trauma both Coco and her mother would go through on a daily basis if she chose to go that route… she would never go down that route. Not after she saw what happens to Dagda when his time is reversed.

It seems to me, that Coco equates reaching for the forbidden spells as giving into despair.

Yes, that is my finger in the far left of the image. I couldn’t crop it out without the image ending up looking weird, okay?

Anyway, I would like to point out a few things about this two-page spread. Look at the difference between the body language of Pointed Hat Coco and Brimmed Coco.

One’s much more joyful, hopeful, happily bounding along to the future. Thanks to her lack of a brim, we can see that Pointed Hat Coco is smiling. The other is much more subdued, resigned to her fate, almost, as she walks along. Brimmed Coco seems to be much more downcast than her other self.

Hope and despair. One of the tags of this post, and for good reason. This two-page spread is the essence of that.

“I felt that way because he told me there’s hope. ‘Cause if he’d said there are things magic can’t do that there isn’t any hope I would have no other choice but to wander on, led only by despair.”

Also notice how Coco leaves her pointy hat behind in the last panel, the one where she says she’d be led only by despair.

She views the path of the brims as one of despair, not hope. Of desperation for something she knows is impossible.

Brimmed Coco is Pointed Hat Coco’s antithesis in every way, it seems.

This is an official illustration that I yoinked from online, but you can see the differences in their body language here, too. Pointed Hat Coco is looked up at the viewer, curious. Brimmed Coco has her eyes closed, downtrodden.

Shifting gears a bit, what do you think Iguin means here when he says he wishes Coco could be a “true witch”? Keep in mind, that throughout history, folklore, and pop culture, witches tend to be evil.

Out of all the words she could have chosen for her magic users, why witch? Shirahama could have named her magic users anything, so why are they called witches?

Mage, magician, sorcerer, wizard, warlock, magus, magi, alchemist, sage. All such words describe someone who can use magic in one form or another. Out of all of them, why choose witch?

Even in Japanese, Shirahama’s native language and the language the story is originally written in, “witch” is not a word free from this negative connotation. It’s spelled like this: 「魔女」 and pronounced “majou”. The first character comes from the last syllable in the word for devil (akuma) 「悪魔」, while the second one is the character for woman 「女」.

Put another way: devil woman.

As I haven’t read the Japanese version, I don’t know if this is the word she uses, but it still seems like an odd word choice to me, y’know? Why witch?

Could the “true witch” Iguin is talking about be more in line with the evil witches seen in pop culture and folklore? All across the world, witches are seen as evil in many tales. Ones that immediately come to mind for me are Lechuza and Skinwalkers of Mexican and Native American folklore, respectively.

Notice how, when Coco’s saying “true witch” in the last panel, we can’t see her face clearly.

#witch hat atelier #wha #wha coco #pointed hat coco #brimmed hat coco #iguin #forbidden magic #hope and despair

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jinx-xxed · 1 month ago

Text

Repairs

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; Something short and simple since I’m very low on time and energy sorry y’all 🙏

Part of Written in the Stars

Summary; You decide to do Kylo Ren a favor. Surely he’d be appreciative like a normal person?

Content; Commander Kylo Ren, General reader, Kylo POV second half, reader is also a mechanic, repairing Kylo’s Silencer, there’s unresolved tension, he doesn’t know how to say thanks, pre-TFA, life in the First Order

Wc; 1.4k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

If anyone were to enter Hangar Five in the Star Killer Base, they’d be met with an unusual sight—a high ranking general repairing the TIE Silencer belonging to the Commander of the First Order.

You hum to yourself as sparks fly in front of your face, bobbing your head along to the music blasting in your ears while you weld two pieces of metal together. Normally, fixing up ships is not in your job description, but you make some exceptions. Like how you’re usually the one fixing up your Silencer, untrusting of some of the engineers positioned on the base. They’ve screwed up enough stuff in the past, something you’re still trying to prevent by pushing for better training and hiring processes. Unfortunately, your complaints haven’t been properly heard, despite the fact it’d be good for every damn person here. Funds are instead being shoveled towards fruitless expeditions and also the very base you sit in.

So that’s why you’ve taken it upon yourself to repair Ren’s Silencer after he brought it back in shambles. You’ve worked on your own Silencer for years, giving it enough improvements that it’s practically a completely different model than when it started, with upgrades no other ship has seen before. It’s resulted in you getting offered engineering positions more than a few times, usually by people who just want you out of the way as a general. If you’re a measly engineer, that means they could boss you around, make a fool out of you. Too bad for them, you’re perfectly content where you are.

Anyways, since you and Ren have the same model, you figure it’s logical for you to work on his. He can consider himself lucky that you’re so generous with your time, especially after he left the poor ship in such a mess.

Some engineers linger around your workspace, wondering if they should step in, tell you to back off and stop taking their jobs, or try and offer you assistance. You denied when a few had tried helping you before, knowing they’d just get in the way and clutter your area. The only assistant you ever need when you’re working on projects like this is BB-12, the trusty droid knowing exactly what you need and when you need it, and having a damages report ready for you that’s far more detailed than anything you could find on the data pads.

You don’t notice the way the engineers behind you suddenly scatter, far too engrossed in the reconfiguration of a wing plate and the damn good music dancing in your ears. Well, until one of the earbuds is pulled out and a familiar, heavy and mechanical voice is calling your name in a commanding fashion. You straighten, pausing the music and pulling your goggles up onto your head, squinting at the sudden fluorescent light that floods your eyes. You look up and see Kylo towering over you, helmet on so you don’t see his face, but you know he’s looking at you with scrutiny.

You retaliate with a look of irritation. “Do you need something, Commander? I’m kinda-“

He cuts through your words. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Your brows furrow as you look between him and his ship, as if explaining it with your eyes. “Repairs…? I thought that’d be obvious-“

“You are aware this is my ship, correct?” He demands. You see the way his fists are clenched. Always so uptight.

“Yes, Commander, I’m not blind. Your Silencer needed repairs so I’m repairing it.” You snap back. You huff and try to return to your work, but his gloved hand grabs your wrist, stopping you mid motion. Your eyes fly to the visor in that stupid helmet, glaring fiercely.

His grip is annoyingly harsh, fingers digging into the skin of your arm. “And why are you the one doing that? We have actual engineers for a reason.”

You shake him off, coming dangerously close to baring your teeth. “Unfortunately, many of the engineers here are ill-equipped to handle the intricacies of a model like this one. And maybe if someone was more careful with his things, it wouldn’t need such extensive repairs done by an expert.” You hiss. BB-12 hands you one of your tools when you hold your hand out. “Surely you see how this is a good thing for you, I’m doing you a damn favor. You know my Silencer is one of the more impressive things in this place, and that’s all because of the work I did on it. What, do you think I’m going to make your ship explode or something?”

His response is instant. “Yes.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “You’re fucking unbelievable. If anything, it’d explode because of some bumbling engineer treating your Silencer as a first-day experiment and accidentally wiring the gun system to the fucking wing controls.” You say, snapping your goggles back over your eyes. “Now can I continue working or do you actually want that to happen?”

You see his jaw shift, undoubtedly from him gritting his teeth together, and you hear the creak of his leather gloves. He’s pissed and you have to struggle to hold back your smirk of joy. Then he’s suddenly leaning in, cold metal of his mask just an inch too close for comfort. “Go ahead, general, but know that if I discover you’ve messed up my Silencer in any way, I’ll have you thrown out into the snow to freeze.” His voice is like a growl through that modifier within the helmet, crackling with his anger.

You don’t react, face entirely neutral. Most would cower in fear at the big-bad Commander snapping at them like this but he’s done it enough times to you that you can’t bring yourself to care even the slightest bit. “Heard loud and clear, sir.” You respond, and he backs off. You hold each other’s glares for a second longer before he turns on his heel and storms off in a flurry of black robes.

You shake your head, finally able to focus back on the task at hand. “The nerve of some guys, right, BB?” You say to your companion sitting dutifully at your side. He chirps in agreement. You then chuckle to yourself as you think of something. “Maybe I should request to get paid more for this in my next check. I could always go for another couple hundred credits, don’t you think?” He beeps again, rolling back and forth in his own way of agreement.

You sigh. “Ah, probably best not to. If anything, Ren would just dock my pay for even suggesting it.” You shake your head again before finally putting your earbuds back in, making sure your gloves are tight over your hands, and getting back to work.

» ☆ «

It’s about a week after that incident when Kylo has to at last pilot his Silencer again. There was a group of rouges spotted towards the edge of the base, encroaching on First Order territory, so he’s decided he’ll take a group out himself to handle it.

His black and red Silencer sits waiting in the hangar, repaired to perfect condition, looking brand new. There’s a part of him that’s hesitant about getting inside, that still doubts the general didn’t do something to it that would result in a system failure and his death. He wouldn’t put it past her, even despite them somehow getting back onto “agreeable” terms.

He swings himself into the cockpit. After all, how would it make him look if he was scared of his own damn ship? He settles into the pilot seat, which had to be refitted for a new cover after the old one got slashed through. Everything feels the same, nothing’s flashing, and he doesn’t smell any smoke as the Silencer roars to life. Seems good enough. He takes hold of the controls, easing out of the hangar with a small squadron of other TIEs following suit.

As he blasts into the sky, maneuvering around obstacles and firing on his opponents, he finds that somehow the Silencer glides smoother, fires faster. He didn’t even know that was possible. The twists and turns and flips feel truly effortless, the canons firing at a better capacity and with more ferocity.

His jaw tightens beneath his helmet. Oh, he fucking hates when she’s right.

#I need to get back to cooking #I really need to post kylo & readers beginning #star wars #star wars fanfic #star wars x reader #kylo ren #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren x reader #kylo #kylo fanfic #kylo x reader #kylo x you

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