#but if you go out of your way to be critical of the way i am creating instead of doing like. a comment sandwich or something

[gojoacedia]

Vi has severe attachment issues, meaning it took you a long time to break the walls surrounding her heart down to get to the point you are at with her now. And boy was it obvious how attached she was.

-She would get nervous if you left for even a few seconds. She would always go grocery shopping with you, workout with you (even though your workouts were half of what she did), sit on the counter while you did your makeup, and even sit on the floor of the bathroom if you were taking too long in the shower.

-If you managed to escape her arms in the middle of the night she would panic in her sleep and grab you back as fast as possible. You couldn’t be an inch away from her.

-She looks at you like you’re insane if you do anything nice for her. She could be standing behind you and kissing your neck the whole time you were cooking and still not realize you were making food for her. When you do serve her a plate she tells you to eat it. “You need to eat too! I can’t eat this if you don’t have anything!” She would complain. “Vi, honey, I have my own plate. I made enough for two.” You would reply, rolling your eyes at how she never considered you making two portions.

-Every day when you come home from work or school she greets you at the door like a dog who hasn’t seen their human for weeks. She would bury her face in your neck, smelling your hair like it was a drug. You would drop all of your bags (some of which had gifts for her) and hug her back. “What’s up with you today? I was gone for 30 more minutes and you're acting like it’s been years,” you laughed, grabbing her face in your hands and giving her a long kiss. She would just roll her eyes and tell you to shut up, never wanting to admit how much you affect her.

-When you have sex she will always force you to make eye contact. She didn’t want you thinking about anything other than the way she made you feel. If you ever threw your head back in pleasure she would immediately stop and grab your chin, forcing you to look back down at her. “Eyes on me, princess, or you don’t get to cum,” she would say. She couldn’t help herself from getting exponentially more wet when you whimpered in protest, following her orders anyway.

-After you came (and after she came if she was in the mood) she would carry you to the shower, giving you butterflies every time she picked you up like you weighed nothing. She would make you pee before you went in the shower so you didn’t get a yeast infection, knowing your body better than your other partners ever did.

-She had absolutely no shame when it came to the nastiest aspects of your life. She could never see you as anything other than a goddess. Even if you were sick and snotting your brains out into an entire box of tissues. Even if you were on your period, disgusted at whatever left your body that week. You could have pink eye and she would gently wash away all the eye crusts with a warm washcloth. Nothing could phase her when it came to you.

-You eventually needed to have a serious talk with her about how she treated you. She would burn the whole world down for you and then get mad if you traveled to her favorite restaurant in the underground to get take-out slugs. You needed her to know you were also allowed to be attached.

-Going off of that, if you ever needed to have a conversation about boundaries you had a rule that you had to say 5 nice things about her for every complaint. You knew she didn’t take criticism well due to her past, so you made her feel like royalty before trying to have any serious conversation with her. She noticed this, of course, and it only made her love you more. Her impatience mixed with your patience was a match made in heaven.

[writingbuckets]

The Hot Take: Part 3

paige bueckers x influencer!reader

wc: 2.8k

a/n: the only i have to say is that i shocked myself with my flirting... enjoy!

**********

After your night at the game, it feels like the internet has exploded. Your mentions are on fire with fans on both sides—some praising your brutal honesty about Paige, others calling you out for downplaying her talent. It’s only natural that you decide to dedicate an entire podcast episode to the experience.

You settle into your recording setup, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves—after all, tonight is a first. Across the table sits Paige Bueckers, cool and composed, though you catch a hint of mischief in her eyes as she adjusts her mic. You take a deep breath and lean in, grinning at your co-host before addressing the audience.

“Welcome back to The Hot Take! And tonight, we’re in for a treat. As you’ve probably guessed, we’ve got a special guest in the studio… the one, the only, Paige Bueckers!” You gesture toward her dramatically, and your co-host plays a quick soundbite of applause and crowd cheers, adding to the show’s theatrics.

Paige laughs, crossing her arms as she glances at you. “The crowd goes wild. I didn’t think you’d actually let me come on here, considering all the things you’ve said about me.”

You shoot her a mock-offended look. “What things? I’m nothing if not fair and unbiased.”

She raises an eyebrow, a playful glint in her eye. “Oh, totally. Because your comment was so fair and unbiased.”

Your co-host snickers. “Well, Paige, you’re in the right place if you want to get your revenge. Y/N here is known for her ‘brutal honesty.’ But hey, tonight might be a chance for you to change her mind.”

“Is that a challenge?” Paige asks, leaning forward, her gaze never leaving yours.

“Depends. You think you’re up for it?” you reply, meeting her eyes head-on, enjoying the charge of the challenge between you two.

“Oh, I’m always up for a challenge,” she responds smoothly, flashing a grin that has you momentarily caught off guard.

Your co-host breaks the tension with a laugh. “Alright, alright, let’s jump right in. Y/N, you’ve had plenty to say about Paige in the past. Care to share some of those hot takes now that she’s here to defend herself?”

You clear your throat, trying to hide your smirk. “Alright, let’s get one thing straight,” you say, addressing both the mic and Paige. “As much as it pains me to admit this…” You pause dramatically, shooting a look her way. “Bueckers actually impressed me the other night.”

Paige raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Really? I didn’t think you’d ever admit that.”

“I know, it’s shocking, but credit where credit’s due,” you continue. “I mean, you’re quick on the court, you know your angles, and—dare I say it—you know how to work a crowd.”

Paige laughs, eyes dancing with mischief. “Oh, so you were paying attention. Here I was, thinking you came just to judge.”

“Oh, I absolutely came to judge,” you reply, grinning. “But I also got to see you actually back it up with skill. It was… not as overrated as I’d assumed.” You shoot her a wink, and she laughs, shaking her head.

“High praise,” she replies, feigning a look of being overwhelmed. “I didn’t realize tonight was all about showering me with compliments.”

Your co-host jumps in, clearly amused by the dynamic. “Wait, Y/N, are you actually going soft? Compliments? Feeling a little flustered, maybe?”

You shake your head, grinning. “Don’t get it twisted. I’m just saying, maybe I underestimated you.” You turn to Paige. “Don’t let it go to your head, though. I’m not here to just hype you up.”

Paige leans back in her chair, looking entirely at ease. “Don’t worry. I can handle a little constructive criticism. Hit me with your best shot.”

You take the opportunity, leaning forward with a smirk. “Alright, if you insist. Here’s my take: For all that talent, you could be a bit more creative with your moves. Sometimes it feels like you rely on what’s tried and true instead of taking risks.”

She smirks back. “And sometimes critics don’t realize the importance of consistency,” she counters smoothly. “Winning isn’t about impressing people—it’s about doing what works.”

“Touché,” you reply, though you’re secretly impressed by her response. You decide to press a little further. “Alright, so if it’s all about winning, how do you handle the pressure that comes with it? Isn’t there a part of you that wants to switch things up now and then?”

Paige leans forward, crossing her arms on the table. “I get that all the time. But you know, winning takes priority. Switching things up? That’s for off the court.” Her gaze holds yours, and for a second, you wonder if she’s talking about more than just basketball.

Your co-host notices the silent exchange and interrupts with a grin. “Okay, okay, I feel like there’s a whole vibe happening here that I did not sign up for!”

The comment pulls you back, and you laugh, brushing it off. “Nothing happening here,” you insist, stealing a quick glance at Paige.

Paige holds back a smirk, shrugging. “Sure, whatever you say.” But the gleam in her eye says otherwise.

Trying to keep things on track, you steer the conversation back to basketball, although the flirtatious edge remains. “Alright, Bueckers, one more thing. I’ll admit, you’ve got talent. But do you ever worry about being put in a box? People see you a certain way, and that’s how they’ll always see you.”

Paige pauses, and for a moment, the playful banter takes on a serious note. “Yeah, I get that. People think they know you, based on what they see online or on the court. But the truth is, they’re only seeing one side.”

It’s unexpectedly candid, and you nod, finding a bit of yourself in her answer. “Yeah. I get that. People always think they know everything from what they see online, but there’s always more, right?”

Paige’s gaze softens just slightly, and she nods. “Exactly. Sometimes I think it would be nice if people saw more than the ‘player’ version of me.”

You raise an eyebrow, catching the hint in her tone. “So… what would that look like, Bueckers?”

She gives you a playful smirk, leaning back in her chair. “Maybe you’ll find out if you’re lucky.”

Your co-host interjects, clearly amused. “Did I miss something here, or is this turning into a date?”

Both you and Paige laugh, shaking your heads in sync. “Not quite,” you say quickly, though your heart skips a beat.

Before wrapping up, you give Paige the last word. “Alright, Bueckers, we’ve had our fun. Any final words for our listeners?”

She leans toward the mic, glancing at you with a grin. “Only that this isn’t the last time you’ll hear from me, Y/N. I’m sticking around to make sure you don’t underestimate me again.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Well, bring your best game, then. I’ll be ready.”

The episode wraps up with lingering tension and the audience buzzing with intrigue, speculating wildly in the comments and social media. As you both step away from the mics, Paige meets your gaze with a small smile.

“Nice job,” she says, extending a hand.

You shake it, feeling the warmth of her grip, the playful energy still sparking between you. “Likewise, Bueckers. Just don’t expect me to go easy on you next time.”

She gives you a wink. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

**********

Not even an hour after the episode goes live, the reactions flood in. Your notifications blow up with fire emojis, heart-eyes, and endless comments as fans dissect every word, every sly look you exchanged with Paige, and every playful jab you threw her way. People seem to be either thrilled by your shift in tone or mourning the sharper edge of your usual critique. But there’s one thing they all seem to agree on—your chemistry with Paige was undeniable, and they’re dying to see where this dynamic goes next.

Then come the memes: screenshots of you glancing at Paige with a mix of disbelief and amusement, clips from older episodes where you roasted her, and side-by-sides comparing your expressions with Paige’s iconic moments on the court. One of your favorites is a split image of you with an exaggerated, eye-rolling expression, paired with Paige’s confident smirk from one of her highlight games. People are clearly having a field day, and you find yourself chuckling at the creativity as you scroll through the tag.

But just as you’re considering logging off for the night, a notification grabs your attention. It’s a comment from none other than Paige herself.

@PaigeBueckers: “Glad to see you’re finally catching on, Y/N. Game recognizes game, right? 😏”

You smirk, typing back a quick reply.

@notY/N: “Don’t get too comfortable, Bueckers. I’m just warming up. 😏”

Paige responds almost instantly, and suddenly, it’s a back-and-forth on full display for everyone to see.

@PaigeBueckers: “Comfortable? Nah. Just giving you something to talk about on that next episode of yours.”

@notY/N: “Who says you’re interesting enough for a second episode?”

@PaigeBueckers: “Guess I’ll just have to prove you wrong, then. Challenge accepted?”

The thread quickly spirals as fans jump in, hyping up every comment exchange, adding their own captions, and stirring up theories about your “rivalry.” By the time you close the app, #YNPBChallenge is trending, with people eagerly waiting for your next move. And though you won’t admit it, you’re already curious about hers.

Within hours, sports outlets start covering the “feud.” Clips of your episode circulate, paired with screenshots of Paige’s comments. Twitter is filled with fans trying to decode every little interaction, with hashtags like #PaigeAndY/N and #RivalryGoals popping up as the top trends. Some fans eagerly ship you and Paige, while others are taking sides, wanting to see if your critique holds up in future episodes.

Some of Paige’s teammates even get in on the fun, teasing her about the exchanges. Azzi Fudd, in particular, tweets, “So… when’s the first date, @paigebueckers? 👀”

You laugh when you see it, because of course Paige’s friends would be watching the whole thing unfold. You decide to add your own little stir to the pot.

Replying to Azzi’s tweet, you type, “First date? I think she’d need to step up her game a bit first.”

Not even a minute later, Paige replies to you directly: “Challenge accepted.”

The thread is flooded with reactions, and for a moment, it’s as if the entire internet is watching you two flirt in real time. You know it’s all in good fun, but there’s an undeniable thrill to it.

After the whirlwind of social media reactions, you finally step away from your phone, still replaying the day’s events. There’s an undeniable energy to this back-and-forth with Paige. Even through playful jabs and witty comebacks, there’s something deeper simmering—something that leaves you more curious than you’d like to admit.

Just as you’re about to call it a night, a new notification lights up your screen: a direct message from Paige herself. You hesitate for a moment, feeling an odd mix of excitement and nerves, and then finally open it.

Paige: “So… I’m dying to know—did you expect all of this to blow up the way it did?”

Her message catches you off guard. You’d expected something more competitive, maybe another cheeky comment. But this question feels more open, almost as if she’s genuinely curious about your perspective on all this unexpected attention.

Y/N: “Honestly? Not at all. I mean, I’m used to a little backlash, but this? Everyone’s treating it like it’s the story of the year.”

Paige: “Right? It’s kind of insane, but I have to say, you seem to handle it like a pro.”

A smile tugs at your lips. The words are simple enough, but there’s a warmth there, a hint of respect that takes you by surprise. You hadn’t expected Paige to be this down-to-earth.

Y/N: “I guess that’s part of the job, right? You get used to it, even when it’s… unexpected.”

Paige: “Guess we both know what that’s like. I mean, people see us a certain way, but they don’t really get the whole picture.”

Her message resonates with you in a way you hadn’t anticipated. It’s something you’ve thought about often—the assumptions people make, the way fans and critics alike paint you in broad strokes, not really seeing the person underneath. The more you think about it, the more you realize that Paige might understand that better than most.

Y/N: “True. Everyone thinks they know us based on what they see online, but there’s a lot that doesn’t make the highlight reel, right?”

Paige: “Exactly. It’s easy to play a role, keep it simple. But sometimes, it’s nice to just be real with someone who gets it.”

There’s a pause, a subtle weight to her words that makes you wonder if this is just harmless banter, or something more.

Y/N: “So, you’re saying I’m good enough to get the ‘real’ Paige Bueckers?”

Paige: “I’m saying maybe you’re not as overrated as you think you are, Y/N.”

You can’t help but laugh, the slight warmth of her compliment balanced by her usual dose of teasing. But even as the conversation winds down, a part of you can’t shake the feeling that this might be the start of something… different. The back-and-forth, the playful ribbing—it’s beginning to feel like more than just banter.

You let out a soft laugh, staring at the screen a little longer than you meant to, absorbing Paige’s last message. You’d expected a snarky retort, maybe a playful jab, but this? This is something else, something that has you wondering if she’s just as curious as you are. Before you can overthink it, you decide to keep the conversation going.

Y/N: “Alright, I’ll take that as a compliment—coming from someone who’s probably had a lifetime supply of them.”

Paige: “You’d think so, but it’s funny how most of them don’t mean much. I think I’ve just gotten good at smiling and nodding.”

Her honesty catches you off guard. It’s a rare moment of vulnerability, one that’s different from the playful façade you’d seen at the game and in her comments. You find yourself softening, recognizing a piece of yourself in her words.

Y/N: “I get it. People are quick to build you up, but they don’t always see the work behind it. Or the stuff you keep off-camera.”

Paige: “Exactly. Sometimes it feels like it’s just about meeting everyone’s expectations.”

You feel a pang of understanding. Despite the banter, the jabs, you realize there’s a part of her that just wants to be seen for more than the hype, more than the image fans have painted of her. And, you realize, maybe that’s why this little rivalry-turned-conversation feels different than anything you’ve experienced before.

Y/N: “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m here for the real version of you—whatever that looks like.”

She doesn’t respond immediately, and you wonder if you’d gone too far. But just as you’re about to backpedal, her response pops up.

Paige: “Same goes for you, Y/N. Guess that means we’ll have to see what that actually looks like, right?”

Her words make your stomach do an unexpected flip. It’s an invitation, subtle but clear, to get to know her beyond the rivalry, beyond the image. And suddenly, it feels like this whole thing—the online banter, the “feud,” the unexpected DM—has been leading up to this moment.

Y/N: “Guess so. So, next time we bump into each other… coffee? Or are you more of a smoothie person?”

She replies almost instantly.

Paige: "Coffee works, as long as you promise not to trash-talk me in front of the barista."

You laugh, feeling a warmth that has nothing to do with the banter and everything to do with her openness.

Y/N: “Fine, I’ll tone it down. But don’t get too comfortable—I’m not going easy on you.”

Paige: “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

There’s a pause after that, a comfortable silence that feels like both a beginning and a challenge. As you put your phone down, a smile still on your face, you realize you’re genuinely excited to see where this goes.

[hayatheauthor]

10 Lethal Injuries to Add Pain to Your Writing

Prev: Non-Lethal Injury Ideas

Need some creative ways to give your characters a real fight for survival? Here are 10 ideas: 

1. Punctured Artery

A puncture to major arteries like the femoral artery (thigh), the carotid artery (neck), or radial artery (arm) can cause rapid blood loss. It starts off with a sharp pain, weakness, lightheadedness and eventually can lead to hypovolemic shock. Requires urgent medical attention.

2. Punctured Eye Socket

A punctured eye socket will cause blood vessel damage leading to internal bleeding. I would use this for non-combat characters trying to get away. The eyes are an easy weak spot + you don’t need much strength to cause a critical injury/puncture. Also good for a protag's tragic backstory.

3. Torn Achilles Tendon

A torn Achilles tendon can result in severe bleeding if nearby arteries or veins are damaged. Your character will be forced to hobble away as pain causes their foot to swell and bruise. Plus, you can easily adjust the pain levels per your scene, from swift cuts to explosive jumps. 

4. Neck Hyperextension (Hangman’s Fracture)

This injury will fracture the C2 vertebra and can lead to spinal cord damage, paralysis or sudden death. This isn’t a light injury your character can come back from, so I would suggest using it only when you’re aiming for death.

5. Pierced Lung

A punctured lung will lead to a pneumothorax where air escapes into the chest cavity, collapsing the lung. Characters with this injury may have difficulty breathing, chest pain, and a cough that produces frothy blood (all the dramatics you need). 

6. Severe Concussion

A severe concussion will lead to confusion, vomiting, immobility and memory loss. More dangerously, brain swelling, internal bleeding and damaged brain tissue. Plus, it has a long recovery period. 

7. Shattered Pelvis

If you need something severe that restricts mobility but also causes severe pain then this is perfect! Involves signs of shock, internal bleeding, numbness, swelling—really a lot of things. Can occur if OC falls from a high place, hit repeatedly, car accident, etc.  

8. Internal Bleeding from Blunt Force Trauma

I like using this when you need something subtle since it doesn't show immediate symptoms. Over time, they will feel weak, cold, nauseous, and intense pain. Perfect if you want that 'everyone made it out then suddenly someone collapses' moment. 

9. Intestinal Perforation

A sharp blow or penetrating wound can cause a tear in the intestines, leaking bacteria into the body cavity, then peritonitis. It can go from small stomach pain to near death pretty quickly. Without prompt medical care, sepsis can set in, causing organ failure and death.

10. Cut to the Jugular

If you need something more visibly dramatic then go with the classic cut to the jugular. A warm rush of blood will pour out, and blood would spurt with every heartbeat. Causes panic, choking, and internal bleeding too. All the blood and gore you need. 

This is a quick, brief list of ideas to provide writers inspiration. Since it is a shorter blog, I have not covered the injuries in detail. Remember the worse the injury the more likely your character is to die (so be realistic folks). Happy writing! :)

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Check out the rest of Quillology with Haya; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors!

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[confiaenanaa]

Can I request an angsty one where the reader and Marshall/Em/Slim (whichever you prefer) they have an argument and at one point he tells her he doesn't need her, he can have whoever he wants and they won't complain about anything like she does. And obviously she feels hurt bc it's always been an insecurity of hers that he could have anyone. And he just confirmed her fear. Hopefully with a happy ending tho🙏🏻❤️ please and thank you! Sorry it's so long lol.

needed - eminem

fem!y/n x Marshall Mathers

masterlist

synopsis: Marshall says he doesn't need her, but what does he do when he doesn't have her?

warnings: cursing, drinking

A/N: loved this request! very fun to write. if you guys want anything written, my asks are open. hope you enjoy!

-Fuck you! 

-Oh, piss off!

Shouts could be heard from the Mathers residence that night. Y/N and Marshall were arguing over something stupid, again. They seemed to be having these arguments more and more often these days. This time, however, they were arguing over Marshall’s lack of communication. He’d have a bad day, be rude to Y/N, and when she’d ask what was wrong he’d blow up at her without telling her what bothered him. Today it seemed like he’d had an extra bad day. 

…

He got home from the studio later than usual. Y/N was reasonably worried, and when she called, he wouldn’t answer. So, once he got home, she asked him a ton of questions; questions like “where were you?” “what happened?” “are you alright?”. This angered him to no end since he hates explaining himself to people.

He refused to answer questions. Y/N knew he’d probably just had a rough day so she decided to make him his favorite home-cooked meal and some hot cocoa and treat him to a lovely night at home. But, when she brought him his food and drink, he just told her he wasn’t hungry, even after seeing all the effort she was putting in for him. 

That’s when something inside of her just snapped. She set the plate and mug on the table fecklessly, spilling some cocoa in the process. Marshall seemed a bit startled, knowing Y/N doesn’t usually throw fits like this and she usually keeps her temper in check. 

-God, Marsh! Would it kill you to at least give me a thank you? I’ve tried so hard to find out what’s wrong, and you won’t tell me! What happened to me being your #1 and your best friend? And come on! Look at this meal I made for you! Can’t you see how badly I want you to let me help you? 

-Fuck! I’m sorry I’m not living up to your boyfriend standards, Y/N! But, clearly, I had a rough day so just drop it! 

-You know what Marshall? I have bad days too! But you don’t see me bitching about it and acting like a little kid every time something doesn’t go my way! And even when I do feel upset, I tell you what’s wrong! Because I actually care about your feelings and I wouldn’t want you to worry!

- Oh, so, now I don’t care?! All I ever do is care about you Y/N! I write songs about you, I buy you everything you look at to make you happy, not to mention I make you feel pretty damn good!

- It’s not about that Marsh! God, are you even listening to me?! I don’t care that you’re upset, or that you’re in a bad mood or feeling mean; I just want you to tell me! I want you to communicate with me! I want us to work through our problems calmly, without me having to shout to get your attention!

-You always say that, but you never actually do it! Whenever you’re upset you just stay quiet! So don’t go telling me how to deal with my problems because you sure as hell don’t know how to deal with yours!

-Fuck you!

-Oh, piss off!

-Fuck, Marsh! This isn’t about me! We can work through what I do, but you seriously need to stop! 

-Stop it, Y/N! Stop already! If everything I do is so terrible and wrong, then why not just break up with me already? 

-Because I love you! I care so much about you and I just wish you could see it.

-You’re just saying that because you know I don’t need your ass. You know I can get with whoever the hell I want and they won't criticize me or complain about everything I do half as much as you do!

Y/N stayed silent for a bit. Her heart dropped and she could feel the lump develop in her throat. All this time she was with Marshall, she’d had her insecurities. But, he helped her work through them slowly. He helped her make sure she knew he’d never hurt her like that.

But, now, all that hard work was out the window. With those simple words. The tears began to prick her eyes and she looked down at the floor to try and conceal it. She felt like a little girl being yelled at. She felt helpless, and small. The man who was supposed to love her the most, to protect her, had failed her. He made her feel alone.

Marshall instantly felt a wave of regret wash over him. He felt it surge from his mind up to the tips of his ears down to the points of his toes. He looked at the girl he loves, knowing how badly he just hurt her. He opened his mouth to apologize, knowing he’d gone too far and he didn’t mean it; but, before he could, she had walked past him and into their bedroom. He quickly turned on his heels to follow her. 

Y/N was grabbing a few of her things: a hoodie, her phone charger, some gum, her earbuds, and some shoes. He once again tried to apologize but she wouldn’t hear it. He followed her all the way down to the garage and watched as she hopped in her car and sped off. He wasn’t sure where she was going, and, to be honest, neither was she. 

She hated herself for complaining and she hated him for being so mean to her. But, deep down, she knew she loved him more than anything and everything. She gripped her steering wheel harder, and turned up the volume of the song she was listening to. 

She pulled into the parking lot for some random bar she heard of from one of her friends. Her friend said it was the best place to go if you’re feeling sad or having a rough night. 

When she walked in, the bar looked exactly how she felt. It was dimly lit, the smell reeking of alcohol and cigarette smoke. There were barely enough people to call a crown in there, all sitting far apart with a drink in hand. Everyone looked glum in there, so she’d blend right in. She sat at the bar and ordered herself a few shots of rum. She downed them quickly, not feeling much different. She then ordered herself a vodka, which she kept refilling until the bartender just gave her the bottle. 

She kept feeling her phone buzz in her pocket. She assumed it was Marshall. She didn’t really want to respond, but she still looked, just in case. It was actually a text from her best friend asking what happened. Of course. Marshall texted her friend to see if Y/N was okay (since she usually goes to her best friend in times of need). Y/N decided not to answer, she was in more of a “fuck the world” kind of mood.

She set her phone down on the counter, finally feeling the effects of the alcohol. She wasn’t sure how she was going to get home or if she was going to get home at all. Before she could continue that thought, she saw a series of texts, making her phone buzz repeatedly. 

The contact name read “marsh :)”. She truly didn’t want to speak to him at the moment. She wasn’t sure why what he said affected her this way, but it did, and he knew that. She knew she was probably just being sensitive, but she couldn’t help but feel attacked. 

She looked at her phone again and saw Marshall’s concerned text chain.

“hello?”

“babyyy??”

“look baby i’m so sorry i know i messed up big time. please call me back so i can fix this.”

She didn’t bother reading the rest. She got more texts from him and her best friend. They seemed really concerned now. It was unlike Y/N, not answering the phone. It was cold, far too cold for someone of her character. However, Y/N wasn’t in the mood or the headspace to care about her character. She was too busy trying to keep her head upright as her vision blurred a bit from the effects of the white russian she was creating in her stomach at the moment. From that point forward, she couldn’t really recollect anything that had happened. The next thing she knew, she felt a pair of strong arms lifting her up by the waist and into their arms bridal-style. 

…

The next day, Y/N woke up in her bed alongside a snoring Marshall that had his arms wrapped around her tightly. She slowly shimmied out of his embrace, head beginning to pound when she stood up. She went downstairs and sat at the kitchen table with a small tonic for hangovers in hand. 

As she was washing the cup she was just using, Y/N heard a set of booming footsteps as they pounded against the wooden staircase. She turned around to look at Marshall. He looked incredible. His hair was a bit tousled and his eyes and lips were puffy. He came down and approached her without a second thought. The first thing he did was put his lips against hers. The kiss was warm, brilliant. 

Y/N crumpled under his touch. He pulled back and smiled slightly at her. His heart grew seeing her in front of him. He smiled even wider when he saw her smile back; however, he knew he wasn’t forgiven just yet. 

-Wait, look, I gotcha something.

He quickly walked into the living room and grabbed a small box and turned to the kitchen.

-I bought this a while ago. I wanted to give it to you somewhere better but this seemed like the right time.

Y/N opened the little box gingerly, a little nervous to see its contents. Her jaw dropped a tad when she saw it. 

A small ring, diamond encrusted and the exact type of metal she wears. It was perfectly tailored to her tastes. She looked up at him, eyebrow slightly raised.

-It’s a promise ring. I know what I said last night was fucked up but I didn’t mean it at all. I love you more than anything and you know that. I could never be with anyone else knowing that you’re out there in the world. 

He took the ring out of the box and secured it onto her finger. He then kissed her hand softly. She smiled taking in the view.

Then, she knew, more than anything, that she was truly loved.

[novaursa]

To Win a Princess (the eclipse of the alliance)

- Summary: Once you come of age, the realm seeks to curry the King's favor once more by seeking a hand of his younger daughter. You. 

- Paring: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: lion's pride

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The gentle afternoon light spills through the windows of your chambers, casting a light over the rich silks and delicate fabrics laid out before you. Rhaenyra sits beside you, her eyes alight with excitement as she picks up a length of golden lace, holding it against the fabric of your gown and studying it with a critical but admiring gaze.

“This,” she says decisively, her tone one of certainty. “It’s perfect. The color, the delicacy—it suits you.”

You smile, taking the lace from her hands and feeling its softness beneath your fingertips. “You’re right. It’s beautiful,” you murmur, your voice tinged with a hint of disbelief as you look around at the array of details before you—the lace, the intricate embroidery, the small jewels meant to adorn your gown, each piece carefully chosen for your upcoming wedding. “I can hardly believe this is happening. Sometimes it feels like a dream, one I thought I’d never be lucky enough to have.”

Rhaenyra watches you thoughtfully, a knowing smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “Then let it be real, sister. Let this wedding, this happiness, be yours.”

You look up at her, your expression softening. “I always thought… that my match would be nothing more than a duty. That I’d be married off to some lord for an alliance, as so many noble ladies are. Matches made for gain rather than happiness. I’d resigned myself to that fate.”

Rhaenyra nods, understanding in her gaze as she places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “I know. So many of us are given no choice at all.” She pauses, her eyes darkening slightly with memories of her own struggles, her own sacrifices for duty. “I fought my battles to make sure I could find my own happiness. I know what it’s like to feel… bound by the expectations of others.”

You give her a small, grateful smile, reaching out to take her hand. “And now, here I am, free to choose and to marry a man who… who sees me for who I am, not just as a princess.” Your voice softens, and you feel a rush of warmth as you think of Tyland, of the unexpected comfort and understanding you’ve found with him. “I never thought I’d find that.”

Rhaenyra squeezes your hand, her smile turning tender. “Tyland is a good man. And he adores you—I see it every time he looks at you. You deserve someone who values you, who would go to any length to protect you and cherish you.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “It still amazes me, really. I see other noble ladies here, young women with dreams and spirits of their own, resigned to marriages that bring them neither love nor happiness. I feel as if I’ve somehow defied the odds.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “Then let us call it luck, sister, or perhaps fate. You are marrying a Lannister, after all. They say those lions have a way of claiming what they want—and it seems you’ve claimed each other.”

You chuckle, feeling your spirits lift as she leans in, a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes. “Though I must admit, I can hardly imagine you at Casterly Rock,” she adds with a teasing smile. “All those stony halls and golden lions—it will be quite the contrast to Dragonstone.”

You shake your head, laughing. “I doubt I’ll ever be quite at home there, even with all the lions watching over us. But Tyland will be here, with me, at King’s Landing, at least for now. And I think… I think that’s all I need to feel at home.”

Rhaenyra nods, her expression softening as she hands you a delicate ribbon embroidered with faint threads of gold. “Then let’s make this wedding everything you deserve,” she says, her tone gentle yet determined. “Let it be a celebration of you, of the choice you’ve made, and of the happiness you’ve claimed.”

You take the ribbon from her, the weight of the fabric a comforting presence in your hands as you meet her gaze, a sense of joy and gratitude welling up within you. “Thank you, Rhaenyra. For standing by me, for helping me make this choice, for… everything.”

Rhaenyra smiles, her eyes glistening slightly as she leans in to embrace you. “Always, sister. You’re not just a princess—you’re family, my family. And I would see you happy, above all else.”

The two of you pull back, a shared sense of joy lingering in the air as you continue to select the final touches for the wedding. And as you hold each fabric, each delicate detail chosen with care, you feel the quiet certainty of the life you are building—one that, against all odds, has brought you both love and freedom.

The small council chamber is filled with activity as King Viserys and his advisors discuss the arrangements for the upcoming wedding. Viserys sits at the head of the table, his expression one of contentment, a faint smile pulling at his lips as he listens to the details being laid out before him. Around the table, each member of the council appears engaged, but none more so than Tyland, who sits at Viserys’s left, the faintest trace of pride lighting his gaze as he listens to the preparations.

“The invitations have been sent to the noble Houses, Your Grace,” Lord Beesbury begins, shuffling a stack of parchment before him. “Most have already responded with their intent to attend. The Great Sept has agreed to host the ceremony, and arrangements for the feast are underway.”

Viserys nods approvingly, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “Good. It should be a celebration worthy of both Houses.” He glances briefly at Tyland. “This union is more than a simple wedding; it’s a symbol of our alliance, of peace between our Houses.”

Lord Jasper Wylde nods, a smile tugging at his lips. “And with such esteemed guests, it will serve as a reminder of the Crown’s strength. House Lannister and House Targaryen together—there are few in Westeros who would challenge that.”

Tyland inclines his head in gratitude. “Thank you, my lord. It is our intent that this union strengthens the realm as much as it does our families.”

At that, Lord Lyonel Strong, ever the voice of reason, speaks up, his tone thoughtful. “It will be a fine day for the realm, Your Grace. The symbolism alone holds power, and it shows your commitment to unity and prosperity.”

Viserys nods, clearly pleased. But as the conversation begins to wind down, Otto Hightower clears his throat, leaning forward with a slight frown, his eyes fixed on the King.

“Your Grace,” he begins, his voice calm but carrying a hint of unease, “while I, of course, understand the significance of this match, there is something I feel compelled to address.” He pauses, his gaze shifting briefly to Tyland before returning to Viserys. “It has not gone unnoticed that many lords from the Westerlands have taken it upon themselves to establish a steady presence here at court. Their enthusiasm is… notable, to say the least.”

Viserys’s brow furrows slightly, but before he can respond, Tyland speaks up, his tone even but carrying an undertone of steel.

“Surely, Lord Otto, you don’t find it concerning that lords sworn to House Lannister wish to be present to support my union with the princess?” His eyes narrow slightly, his expression calm but his voice carrying a subtle edge. “Or does the strengthening of the Crown’s alliance with the West somehow trouble you?”

Otto meets Tyland’s gaze with a measured look, his voice steady but tinged with a hint of formality. “It is not the alliance itself that raises my concern, Lord Tyland,” he replies smoothly. “It’s the sudden influx of Western influence within the heart of the court. The Crown’s interests must remain balanced, and as Hand, it is my duty to ensure that one region does not… overstep.”

A faint smile tugs at Tyland’s lips, though his eyes remain sharp. “House Lannister has long been a loyal servant to the Crown, Lord Otto. And if my kin see fit to lend their support to this union, it’s only a reflection of their dedication to stability.” He pauses, letting the words hang for a moment. “Or is it that you fear the West’s influence might rival that of the Reach?”

Viserys raises a hand, his expression firm but carrying a hint of weariness as he interjects. “This union was intended to bring peace and strength, not division.” He glances between Otto and Tyland, his tone carrying an undercurrent of authority. “Otto, I understand your concerns, but I expect all of my council to work toward a shared vision for the realm.”

Lyonel Strong, ever the voice of reason, inclines his head and speaks up. “Your Grace is wise. Both the Reach and the West are pillars of strength within the realm. Surely, we can find a way to honor both without falling into rivalries.”

Beesbury nods in agreement. “Precisely. The nobility’s support should be a cause for celebration, not suspicion. If anything, this wedding reaffirms the unity of Westeros.”

Otto’s jaw tightens, though he keeps his expression respectful as he inclines his head toward Viserys. “Of course, Your Grace. I merely wish to ensure that our alliances remain… in harmony.”

Tyland watches Otto with a faint, knowing smile, his gaze unwavering. “Rest assured, Lord Otto, House Lannister’s loyalty remains with the King and his vision for the realm. We are here to strengthen the throne, not challenge it.”

Viserys nods, clearly satisfied with the exchange. “Good. That is what I wish to hear from all my council. Let us continue preparations for the wedding without unnecessary divisions. This union is a gift to the realm, a sign of our strength.”

The room falls into a respectful silence, and Tyland glances briefly at Otto, catching the faint hint of disdain still lingering in the Hand’s eyes. But he lets it go, choosing instead to focus on the satisfaction of having the King’s support and the chance to stand beside you openly, unchallenged.

The afternoon sun filters gently through the leaves of the garden, casting dappled shadows across the soft grass where Daemon lounges with an air of casual defiance. He’s sprawled on a low stone bench, eyes half-lidded, but there’s an unmistakable edge to his expression, a simmering intensity that hints at the impatience he’s barely kept in check for weeks.

Across the garden path, Tyland approaches, deep in conversation with a few courtiers from the Westerlands, their voices a soft hum in the distance. The men laugh, voices warm with camaraderie, but Daemon’s gaze sharpens as he watches them approach. A faint smile, more of a smirk than anything, curves on his lips as he rises slowly, deliberately positioning himself in their path.

When Tyland and his companions draw near, Daemon makes no effort to move aside. Instead, he inclines his head with a mocking smile, his gaze fixed squarely on Tyland, ignoring the courtiers entirely.

“Lord Tyland,” Daemon drawls, his voice carrying a faint, derisive edge. “So good of you to grace the gardens today. I thought you might be too busy… consolidating all that influence you’ve acquired.”

Tyland stops, meeting Daemon’s gaze with a cool, measured expression, his tone even. “Prince Daemon,” he replies, inclining his head in polite acknowledgment. “The gardens are a welcome respite from court, though I hadn’t expected to find you here.”

Daemon raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Oh, I find the garden to be an excellent place to observe the… comings and goings of court.” He pauses, his tone growing colder as he adds, “Particularly when certain guests are determined to dig their roots a little too deeply.”

One of the courtiers, an older lord from the Westerlands, glances nervously between the two men, sensing the tension. “Perhaps we should take our leave, my lord,” he murmurs to Tyland.

But Tyland gives a slight shake of his head, his gaze never leaving Daemon. “No need,” he says, his voice steady. “Prince Daemon and I merely have… differing perspectives.”

Daemon chuckles, crossing his arms as he looks Tyland up and down, his gaze both mocking and probing. “Differing perspectives, indeed. Tell me, Tyland—have you grown comfortable here, at court, or are you simply savoring the novelty? A lion in the dragon’s den. You must enjoy the thrill of it.”

Tyland’s expression remains unreadable, his tone calm but firm. “I am here because I was invited, Prince Daemon, by both the King and the princess.” His gaze sharpens, a hint of steel in his eyes. “If my presence disturbs you, perhaps it is because you see the strength it brings to the realm.”

Daemon laughs, the sound more biting than amused. “Strength? Is that what you call it?” He takes a step closer, his voice lowering, though his words are pointed enough for the courtiers to hear. “Tell me, Tyland, do you honestly believe your golden lion could ever hold its own against the fire of a dragon?”

The Westerlands lord shifts uncomfortably, but Tyland holds Daemon’s gaze, his tone unwavering. “Respectfully, Prince Daemon, strength does not always roar. Sometimes it is silent, enduring… and far more resilient than flame.” His eyes narrow slightly. “And House Lannister has withstood far more than the bite of a dragon’s fire.”

Daemon’s smirk fades, a flash of anger darkening his gaze. “I wonder if you’ll keep such confidence when you realize that dragons do not tolerate the pride of lions.”

Tyland’s face remains impassive, his voice a calm counterpoint to Daemon’s rising anger. “Perhaps you would do well to remember that lions do not bow so easily, either.”

The courtiers glance uneasily between them, caught between the quiet intensity of Tyland’s defiance and the barely contained rage simmering beneath Daemon’s casual exterior. Finally, one of them steps forward, bowing slightly to Daemon in an attempt to diffuse the tension.

“Prince Daemon, Lord Tyland,” he says cautiously. “Perhaps… it would be best to keep our focus on the upcoming celebrations. The union between House Targaryen and House Lannister is a boon to the realm.”

Daemon’s gaze flicks to the courtier with a look of faint disdain, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he steps even closer to Tyland, his voice a quiet, venomous whisper. “If you believe that a wedding band and a few pretty words will make you my equal, Tyland, you’re sorely mistaken. You may sit at court, but know this—you will never be part of my family.”

Tyland’s jaw tightens, but he remains composed, his voice level. “I am not here to compete with you, Prince Daemon. My loyalty is to the princess and to the realm. And whether you accept me or not will not change that.”

Daemon’s eyes blaze with a barely concealed fury, and for a moment, it seems as though he might say more—something that would truly cross the line. But instead, he steps back, his smirk returning, though his eyes remain cold.

“Very well,” he says, his tone laced with mockery. “Enjoy your place, Lord Tyland. For as long as it lasts.”

With that, Daemon turns on his heel, his movements sharp, his departure leaving an uncomfortable silence in his wake. The courtiers exchange uncertain glances, unsure of whether to remain or leave, but Tyland merely straightens, his expression unreadable as he watches Daemon disappear into the distance.

One of the lords, still clearly unsettled, clears his throat. “Lord Tyland… are you… all right?”

Tyland looks at him, offering a small, composed smile. “Quite all right,” he says calmly, though his gaze lingers in the direction Daemon had gone. “Let us continue. There’s still much to prepare for the wedding.”

And as he walks forward with the courtiers, Tyland’s mind remains steady, resolute. Whatever Daemon’s anger, whatever his threats, he would face them all—for you, and for the future that now lay firmly within his grasp.

The sun is warm as you sit with your ladies-in-waiting in the gardens, laughter and easy conversation filling the air. The gentle rustle of silk skirts and the soft chatter of voices blend with the birdsong, creating a rare moment of peace in the otherwise bustling Red Keep. You’re reviewing samples of delicate lace, choosing the final details for your wedding gown, when the unmistakable figure of Queen Alicent, flanked by her own ladies, steps into view.

The mood shifts instantly, the easy laughter fading as your ladies fall silent, their gazes respectful yet wary. Alicent approaches with a pleasant smile, her expression warm, though her eyes hold a glint of something sharper, a curiosity laced with subtle calculation.

“Y/N,” she greets you smoothly, her tone polite. “I thought I might join you for a moment. The preparations for your wedding must be keeping you quite busy.”

You rise, offering a polite nod, though you feel the weight of her scrutiny. “Thank you, Your Grace. They are indeed,” you reply, keeping your tone courteous. “There’s so much to plan and consider.”

Alicent nods, her gaze drifting over the lace samples and delicate fabrics before settling on you. “It’s a grand match,” she says, her voice smooth but carrying a faint edge. “A marriage between House Targaryen and House Lannister… it’s quite an alliance. No doubt it will strengthen both Houses considerably.”

You meet her gaze, aware of the probing curiosity behind her words. “That is the intent,” you reply calmly. “Both families stand to gain from this union. And it pleases the King, which is what matters most.”

Alicent’s smile remains in place, though her gaze sharpens subtly. “Yes, and House Lannister has taken a particular interest in this match. Their presence at court has been… substantial as of late. I imagine they must be quite invested in your future.”

You tilt your head slightly, meeting her gaze with a measured smile. “House Lannister has always been loyal to the Crown, Your Grace. They are here to show their support for this alliance, as is expected of any House when one of their own weds a member of the royal family.”

Alicent’s expression doesn’t falter, though you can sense her curiosity deepening, her desire to uncover what she perceives as hidden motives. “Of course,” she murmurs, a hint of skepticism in her tone. “Though I wonder, what is it that Lord Tyland truly seeks? It’s rare for the lions to venture far from the Rock without a purpose.”

You feel a flicker of irritation at her insinuation, but you maintain your composure, lifting your chin slightly. “With respect, Your Grace, I wonder why this marriage concerns you so deeply. After all, it’s a match for a second sister, not a matter of succession. When Rhaenyra wed Laenor Velaryon, her marriage faced far less scrutiny, even though she was named heir to the throne. Yet here we are, with far more interest in my union.”

A faint shadow crosses Alicent’s expression, though she quickly masks it, her smile tightening slightly. “I am only concerned for the stability of the realm, Y/N. House Velaryon was already allied with House Targaryen; their marriage brought unity. But the Lannisters… they are not as close to the Throne as House Velaryon.”

You match her gaze evenly, refusing to back down. “House Lannister is sworn to the Crown, as are all great Houses. Their loyalty is to the King and his family, just as House Velaryon’s was. And Tyland… he has shown nothing but respect for me, for my family, and for the Crown.”

Alicent’s gaze lingers on you, her expression unreadable as she studies you with a mixture of surprise and mild irritation. “I see,” she replies, her tone softening slightly, though you sense she is still unconvinced. “It is… commendable, how you speak in his defense. You seem to have found quite a confidence in Lord Tyland.” Her voice is smooth, but the underlying note of scrutiny remains.

You hold her gaze, refusing to let her subtle implications unsettle you. “Confidence, yes, and respect, Your Grace. Tyland is a man of honor, and I would not have chosen him otherwise. He seeks no undue power—only a bond of loyalty, as any union between two noble Houses should offer. That is the strength we intend to bring to the realm.”

One of your ladies shifts beside you, her gaze flicking between you and the Queen, clearly sensing the tension in the air. But Alicent only smiles, her expression polite, if a bit forced, as if attempting to regain control of the conversation.

“Of course,” she replies smoothly. “Such a strong alliance should bring much-needed stability to the realm, and I am pleased to hear that you are… content in this arrangement. I am certain the King shares my hope that this union will serve the Crown well.”

You nod, your tone unwavering. “I believe it will, Your Grace. House Lannister’s loyalty and wealth will strengthen our position, and I am honored to be part of that bond.”

Alicent’s smile falters for a fraction of a second before she regains her composure, glancing briefly at her ladies before meeting your gaze once more. “Then I am glad to see you so resolved, Y/N. Such confidence befits a Targaryen princess.”

Her tone, though polite, holds an edge—a subtle reminder of the power dynamics at play, of the fact that your future, as much as it now feels like your own choice, will always be entangled with the interests of the realm.

You offer her a courteous nod, unfazed. “Thank you, Your Grace. I have found that confidence often accompanies purpose. And I am grateful for my family’s trust in me to make this choice.”

For a moment, there is a quiet tension between you, a silent clash of wills as Alicent studies you, her expression unreadable. Finally, she inclines her head with a tight smile, her gaze lingering a moment longer before she turns to her ladies.

“Very well,” she says, her tone cool and measured. “We must all be certain of our roles in service to the realm.”

With a final glance your way, she gestures to her entourage, who fall in step behind her as she departs, her graceful form retreating down the garden path. As the quiet settles in her wake, one of your ladies lets out a quiet sigh of relief, her face still flushed from the anxiety of the exchange.

You turn back to your ladies, offering them a reassuring smile as you resume your seat. “It seems, ladies,” you murmur, with a faint but confident smile, “that Queen Alicent is far more invested in this wedding than she cares to admit.”

Your ladies share knowing glances, small smiles pulling at their lips as the atmosphere eases once more. And though the conversation with Alicent still lingers in your mind, a quiet confidence settles within you. Whatever doubts or suspicions she may hold, you know where your heart and loyalty lie—and no amount of scrutiny will change that.

In the dim light of Tyland’s private chambers, the world beyond fades away, leaving only the warmth of his embrace, the press of his skin against yours, and the soft murmur of breaths shared in the quiet aftermath. You lie tangled together, wrapped in each other’s arms, the remnants of your passionate union lingering in the charged air. The warmth of the bed and the intimacy of his presence ground you, and for a few moments, you savor the closeness, resting your head against his chest as his fingers trail lazily over your shoulder.

Tyland’s hand finds yours, his thumb tracing gentle patterns over your skin as he sighs, breaking the comfortable silence with a faint chuckle. “It seems, my love, that our match is not without its share of obstacles.” His voice holds a hint of humor, though there’s an edge of something more in his tone—something darker.

You glance up, meeting his gaze, and he gives you a small, rueful smile. “I had an… encounter, let’s call it, with your dear uncle Daemon in the gardens earlier.” His fingers tighten slightly, his expression hardening as he recalls the moment. “He took it upon himself to remind me of the fire that runs in your family’s blood—and to make certain I understand my place.”

Your brow furrows as you push yourself up slightly, resting a hand on his chest as you watch him. “Daemon,” you murmur, your voice laced with a mixture of exasperation and concern. “He couldn’t resist, could he?”

Tyland lets out a low chuckle, though his eyes remain serious. “Apparently not. He made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t see me as his equal—and that he doesn’t intend to welcome me into the family with open arms.” He pauses, his gaze searching yours. “But I assured him that my loyalty is unwavering. No amount of fire from a Targaryen can scorch my resolve.”

A soft smile tugs at your lips, and you reach up to brush a hand along his cheek, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I’m not surprised Daemon tried to intimidate you. He’s… protective in his own twisted way. But he’ll come around. He’ll have to. I’ve chosen you.”

Tyland’s expression softens, and he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “And for that, I would face dragons a thousand times over.”

You nestle against him, feeling a sense of security in his arms, but the memory of your own recent encounter with Queen Alicent stirs in your mind. Letting out a small sigh, you say softly, “You aren’t the only one who’s had to fend off a member of my family.”

Tyland’s brow arches in interest, his hand coming to rest on your back as he listens. “Oh? Don’t tell me the Queen has taken it upon herself to extend her… concerns.”

You nod, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “You know her well. Alicent came to the gardens earlier, surrounded by her ladies, trying to gauge my intentions—and by extension, yours. She questioned whether House Lannister’s presence at court was truly as benign as it seems.”

Tyland snorts softly, shaking his head. “So she’s taken to examining motives behind every veil and shadow now, has she? What did you tell her?”

“I reminded her,” you reply, a touch of pride in your voice, “that as a second sister, my marriage should hardly warrant such scrutiny. After all, Rhaenyra’s marriage to Laenor faced far less questioning. Alicent didn’t seem pleased by that comparison.”

Tyland chuckles, a faint smirk gracing his lips. “Well said. The Queen may play her games, but you, my love, are more than her match.” He pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “It seems we both have to endure our share of challenges from your family. But I would face a hundred of them if it meant being here with you.”

You smile, nestling closer to him, feeling the strength of his resolve surrounding you like a protective barrier. “Whatever challenges they throw at us, we’ll face them together. Alicent, Daemon… they may doubt, they may question, but our loyalty and love for each other remain unshaken.”

Tyland nods, his expression serious as he gazes into your eyes. “And that, my love, is something neither dragons nor queens can ever take from us.”

Wrapped in each other’s arms, you find solace in the quiet strength of your bond, knowing that, no matter the challenges, you have each other to face them with—unwavering, together.

[danwhobrowses]

Since Critical Role's big endgame battle has begun (as of ep. 113) and looks to give us a fair handful of Lv. 20 combat across the board with VM and later the Nein - and also since the Omen Archive are yet to do a level up overview for Bell's Hells to Lv. 15 like I expected them to do after ep. 112 - I find myself optimistically and curiously wondering how Bells Hells would shape up should they reach Lv. 20.

Admittedly, I do remain worried about how underleveled they are; I know it's intended since the Hells are the 'underdogs not meant to be in this position' group but still, for comparison Essek debuted at Lv. 15 in C2 and Vox Machina ended their campaign at Lv. 18 when the stakes were slightly lower than what we have with Ludinus, the Vanguard, the Imperium, and Predathos. Still, with nothing we can do but pray they make it out alive - and I hope they do - I've decided to indulge that rare bout of optimism and deep dive into what would their Lv. 20 state look like? While also considering what they may add during this final arc should they level up in between like they did the last time they were on Ruidus.

We're gonna go through each character one by one for this, so I'll start with my favourite (aka the one I wanna talk/ramble the most about).

Ashton is perhaps the easiest endgame build to tell class-wise, it's likely Tal will have them go the full 20 since Grog has already done the Fighter dip and there's not many other multiclasses that can be of a greater benefit to them; the intrigue however with Ashton focuses on the ASI they get at levels 16 and 19, the first one particularly if there's still a level up mid-battle. The obvious route for the first ASI is to get back the CON they lost in the shard incident - which I still find an unfair penalty since they gained nothing from surviving the bold and deemed impossible action, 'your reward is you get to live' doesn't stick with me given that the 10 rolls (well, 9 plus the resurrection ring) are proof of survival anyway - and absorbing Dusk Hunger sadly didn't give back, adding to their DEX instead - which, also kinda stubborn of Matt, adding 1 AC isn't exactly worthy of absorbing a legendary item especially compared to what Orym got with Ishta, they were better off trying to dual wield it if Matt's not gonna give stats that'll suit Ashton's wheelhouse, STR and CON, and let the tank be a tank - so it will likely fall into Tal's hands to get Ashton's stats to where they want them to be. Either way, Ashton's STR and CON are going up if they hit Lv. 20 as pure Barbarian, Primal Champion adds 4 to both and increases their max to 24, so without ASI Ashton will have 22 STR and 20 CON by Lv. 20 anyway, with ASI however Ashton can go 24/22 in either direction - and we can't rule out more absorption in the future, since Legendary loot may be yielded from this endgame battle plus Otohan's Backpack, Zathuda's storage cloak and maybe any other armour from the two could be Legendary items just gathering dust among the group, but if Ashton were to take any of them they'd have to wait a day since the Harness only grants 1 permanent and 1 temporary buff per person, and each person who uses it on the same day risks it breaking by 20%. However, we also can't rule out Ashton taking a feat instead of ASI, it's a slim chance but there are some feats that can be of use for Ashton in general or specifically vs Ludinus; Mage Slayer, Strike of the Giants (Hill or Stone Strike, of the two I'd go for Hill because of it causing the prone condition, which will help Ashton and allies, like Orym with that 1d6 extra Force Damage, stack critical damage), and Great Weapon Master could be powerful if they don't focus on ASI. The Tough feat is always good for being tanky too, but such a feat would likely only be used at the Lv. 19 ASI/Feat domain to get the most out of it. The only other places Ashton can get major potential buffs - outside of any new enchanted items that aren't armour - are from Dunamancy and their Titan powers, but neither have provided a clear opening for improvement as of yet. Ashton hit their final Dunamancy path at Lv. 14, where they got Mark of the Messy End (which compared to Essek getting access to stuff like Reality Break doesn't seem to balance out but I guess Wizards are glass cannons so Dunamancy does more with them), but there is a quiet, lingering mystery over how Potions of Possibility and Luxon Beacons will behave if Ashton and their Dunamancy brain interacts with them, given how they have many potions on hand, in general and gifted to them by the Kryn Dynasty before they met with the Nein, and Ludinus using Luxon Beacons as power sources, there is potential for Ashton's Dunamancy to increase that way - or simply through Matt adding an extra Dunamancy path in place of an ASI/Feat, a Dunamancy-based feat, or swapping Primal Champion with something else. The Titan Form could also improve by level, and I kinda hope it does, it's powerful but given the time limit and Exhaustion it's still below the level of Grog's Titanstone Knuckles in terms of utility, if more power or less limitations are imposed the higher their level it could scale Ashton up further in a similar manner to having a Vestige or, in Orym's case, a Relic of the Red Solstice.

Speaking of Orym, you'd assume that he'll also go for the clean 20, but this is Liam O'Brien we're talking about - he gave Vax a Druid level for his love of Keyleth, so you can't put it past him to add a level in Bard for Dorian. Like Ashton, Orym has 2 ASI waiting for him at levels 16 and 19, due to maxing his DEX - and absorbing Ishta overclocking it (a DEX increase that actually makes sense as a Finesse blade Fighter, adding +1 to AC and attack rolls and a higher DC for enemies to save against superiority die attacks) - Orym has already dipped into feats a lot but could always find room for more. Great Weapon Master, Shield Master, Mage Slayer, and Tough again at level 19 are viable options for Orym and his build, but there's also a unique option of, instead of taking a level in Bard, Magic Initiate: Bard in lieu of Dorian; taking the feat lets him gain the 4th attack Lv. 20 Fighter yields while adding some handy Bard magic such as Friends, Thunderwave, Command, Bane or Cure Wounds - all of which are Level 1 Bard spells. While adding a level in Bard would be a nice gesture, the Magic Initiate feat would probably work better for Orym's build if he wanted to reference his connection to Dorian this way, since he doesn't need 4 extra 1st level spells and he already has a lot of proficiencies and bonuses to cover his rolls anyway, plus he still carries the sending stone if he doesn't want to do either. If he went for ASI, Orym could try to rival Ayden's passive perception by buffing his WIS, but I doubt anybody would hold it against him to be less perceptive than a god. Regardless of ASI and feats, a pure 20 in Fighter does up Orym's lethality immensely, getting a potential 12 attacks with two Action Surges - the second gained in Lv. 17 - in one round (16 attacks if hastened and 17 if hastened and a Time Rage Mark of the Messy End - which I believe allows you to attack with Bonus Actions - is used on an enemy), which would make him an extra efficient killer and protector for combat, which suits his character as well. While multiclassing is an uncommon trait to reference a partner, in Orym's case it's probably moreso cute but unnecessary flavouring.

Adding an element of their partner into their build is something Imogen has done already with decent effect, however. Imogen is another pure 20 likelihood; she has 2 ASI, a Metamagic choice, her final Origin Feature - Warping Implosion: essentially you teleport and anyone within 30 feet will be caught in a gravity fissure - and Sorcerous Restoration - 4 sorcery points restored per short rest - waiting for her at the full 20. As alluded, she already has Laudna influences in the Shadow Touched feat and a vial of her blood in her equipment so she needn't use a feat or a multiclass in further reference to her, which means it comes down to what options she chooses for her ASI/Feats and future skills. With her CHA maxed out already, the two ASI would need to go elsewhere or to feats; War Caster could be used to help her concentration spells, such as the reskinned Hunger of Hadar, Telekinesis, and Investiture of Lightning, unused spells such as her mother's Reverse Gravity, Hold Person, or Globe of Invulnerability, or future 8th-9th level spells such as Dominate Monster, Gate, and Mass Polymorph (turn them all into horses!). Otherwise using one of those ASI to add 1 to INT and WIS will add to saving throws of those stats (+1 for INT and +2 for WIS), she can also remove all her stat negatives by adding an ASI to her STR in place of a feat. Imogen also has options with choosing a final Metamagic from Sorcerer; she has Quickened, Distant, and Twinned Spell already, so the next one needs to also be helpful in combat; the potential of Extended and Transmuted Spell are decent, but Heightened Spell may be the best fit for her - spending 3 Sorcery points to impose disadvantage on a spell save can be very useful when using Imogen's spells such as Psychic Lance, especially against powerful magic users like Ludinus. Going a little extra meta with things, Imogen at Lv. 20 is only going to exist in one-shots or guest appearances - which means short rests aren't likely to faze her as much, also recovering 4 out of a total of 20 Sorcery Points per short rest isn't a lot when you get all of them back after a Long Rest. If Imogen were to pull a swerve and multiclass she could simply sacrifice an ASI for an 18/2 split or just take a 19/1 dip without it doing any negative effect to her current build. Of the multiclassing options, I find that the Tempest Cleric could gel pretty well with her build; connecting her lightning magic and her storm analogies (and her attempt to reach out to the Stormlord) from a narrative perspective, while combat-wise she'd get to use Wrath of the Storm to damage anyone that attacks her (as many times as her WIS, so 1-3 depending on her ASI usage) and, if she goes for the 18/2 split, she can use the class' Channel Divinity to max out a spell's lightning damage - which if used on a 9th Level Lightning Bolt is 76 damage without enhancements! - she also gets some minor healing to add to her repertoire, and with a group without a pure Cleric you can't really have a shortage of players who can heal even if it's a little bit. I can't see any other dip doing her as much benefit, so the full 20 is more likely, even if the maxed out Lightning Bolt would work wonders.

You know who also knows Lightning Bolt? Well, a fair amount of players and NPCs but also Dorian! Let's talk our Boy in Blue - no I did not say 'Blue in Boy' in my head when typing, shush! - he's our last PC likely to be a pure 20 of the group, also because the rest have already multiclassed, but like Imogen there is also the opening for a little bit of multiclassing. The ASI in levels 16 and 19 are probably best put into maxing his CHA stat that's currently at 16, DEX could also go up to 20 for additional Gambolcleft damage but the sword is pretty powerful as it is - it depends if Robbie wants Dorian to focus on Spell or Melee output for stats, but casting is probably the better way to go. Not many feats would help Dorian outside of maybe Tough and War Caster, perhaps Slasher but they do seem like minor additions he can go without, so ASI is likely the best route to take for him. Unlike with Orym where a dip in Bard wouldn't do much good mechanically, Dorian could easily take a dip in Fighter and have it be a solid investment; the Bard's Lv. 20 ability Superior Inspiration only helps if you've used up all of your Inspiration, and as said with Imogen that probably won't come up in a one-shot scenario where Lv. 20 Dorian would likely appear, but by Lv. 19 he will already have added spells from any magic class via his final dip into Magical Secrets - and honestly I have no clue what one he could take because like, all of the spells! Wish is probably the go-to one but Dorian doesn't want anything from the gods so maybe not? - and he'll already have a 9th level spell slot from earlier levels. A 1-level dip in Fighter can give Dorian Second Wind for some self-healing and another Fighting Style to choose from: either Superior Technique - like Orym has - or Duelist would suit best, and if Robbie sacrifices an ASI he can go up to a 2nd level for Action Surge, which is handy should he focus on melee. There aren't many other 1-level dips that would suit Dorian narratively, there was probably Warlock potential in EXU: Prime when the crown was in play but since, again, the group lacks a pure healer, Dorian is probably better off investing his stats and skills towards Bard spells - which in turn bolsters DPS as well as healing.

From one Bard/DPS healer to another, Braius debuted with some pretty high stats to begin with, with only WIS being a negative modifier. As a 12/3 multiclass he can go a few different directions - much like his character arc and selection of deity - but it leaves him at a crossroads - also like his character arc. The 12 levels in Oath of the Ancients Paladin means he's locked out of getting Bard's Magical Secrets, if he maxes out his remaining levels in Bard he gets 2 ASI, a College of Tragedy feature (make crits be at rolls 18, 19 and 20 after an ally is hit with a crit plus a '+10 on a roll but a -10 penalty on the next' skill), Countercharm, and his Bardic Inspiration dice will go up to 1d8, but all of those are kinda covered by Dorian's higher level Bard class and Ashton's Mark of the Messy End while in Luck Rage to a higher or better extent. The 3 levels in Bard however has locked Braius out of Paladin's Aura improvements and the big Elder Champion buff, which is a big loss, if maxed out in Paladin they'll get Cleansing Touch - end a spell on yourself or anyone you can touch as many times as your CHA, one ASI, a 5th level spell slot (handy for Banishing Smite, Circle of Power, Destructive Wave, and Summon Celestial), and Undying Sentinel - which is just a once-a-long-rest Relentless Rage with no CON save. Build-wise, it would be best for Braius to go one of three different paths; either go for a 15/5 split - so no 5th level spell but he gets 1 ASI, Undying Sentinel, and Font of Inspiration for the 1d8 inspiration - a 14/6 split - where we swap Undying Sentinel for the college feature, or go the unique path and add a third class - while the 5th level spell slot has powerful spells Braius' combat is much more melee-based so it is a less likely option. A 14/3/3 triple split sacrifices his ASI/feats but 3 levels in Fighter gives him another Fighting Style, Action Surge, Second Wind, and a Fighter subclass to add to his combat prowess. One unlikely Fighter subclass that could suit Braius is the Rune Knight; with 3 levels Braius will have access to 2 runes, which can be tied to his character's artistry, to add to his gear - the Fire and Cloud Runes being the most useful to him from what I see - they would also get Giant's Might as a skill for an extra 1d6 of damage once per turn. Fighter isn't the only class Braius can benefit from though; he would only need to dip 2 levels in Cleric or Druid to gain their subclass-based abilities; a Shepherd Druid would give the group a slight benefit with the Hawk Spirit skill, using a reaction to attack with advantage and having advantage on perception checks, but similar to Imogen he'd probably benefit a bit more from dipping into Cleric - particularly Grave, War, Ambition, and Peace Domain Clerics, who each have abilities that can further empower him. A dip in Barbarian would be handy for Danger Sense - not so much Rage because you can't use spells - maybe opting for the Zealot path subclass, which also suits narratively, for an extra 1d6 damage, or a dip in the Monster Hunter Ranger to aid in picking out weaknesses. A 12/4/4 split could also work, forgoing Cleansing Touch to grant Braius 2 ASI or feats if Sam wanted them; with that they can balance their WIS to 10 and then max out their CHA and another +1 elsewhere, or just do a feat like Fey Touched - since he was touched plenty by a Fey Hag all across her manor - to max the CHA and gain a spell like Hunter's Mark to aid in combat.

Speaking of Hunters, Chetney may not have been designed to survive the campaign but with Travis rolling the fatal 0 when playing as Grog that old man is still, somehow, kicking. If Travis doesn't pull a Bertrand and allows him to continue defying the odds and live to Lv. 20, Chetney would be in a similar position to Braius - having gone the Tealeaf route and locked himself out of the full 20 in Blood Hunter by having a dip in Rogue - in being in a crossroads of classes. If he invests his remaining levels in Blood Hunter to 19, he still gets a lot from the class; 2 Order Features (advantages on bloodlust saving throws and on any branded creature, then unlimited hybrid transformations on the next feature), 2 ASI, and an extra Blood Maledict. Chetney's 1-level dip in Rogue however means he could also invest into any Rogue subclass for a 17/3 split (or a 16/4 split if he sacrifices a Blood Maledict for 2 ASI over one) instead; Assassin would help his damage output especially since he likes going Invisible, but the Revived subclass would be funny implying that he died but miraculously came back and no longer needed to risk dying in his sleep because he doesn't need to sleep anymore. Chet could also triple class like we suggested with Braius; 3-5 levels in Artificer - since he's a toymaker his toys can be infused beyond the enchanted distractions, going for the Armorer subclass can also be handy for the Thunder Gauntlets ability too, 2 levels in Fighter - for Action Surge, 2-4 levels in Monk - which has decent potential if his chisel is made a dedicated weapon plus the possible boons from Kensei, Mercy, or Open Hand paths, or even 3 levels in Ranger - where Hunter, Gloom Stalker, and Monster Slayer subclasses each have skills that could help Chet in combat, can all be seen as options, but it can also run the risk of being overcomplicated. Despite a Feat sidestepping Chet losing control in his Hybrid Form, logic says that Chet would likely stick with the 19/1 route since the feat only imposes a disadvantage against losing control and he can still do collateral damage, character-wise he'd likely want to keep his Lycanthropy on lock as much as he can. Plus, going to 19 Blood Hunter levels yields unlimited transformations and the second ASI hits at Lv. 19; with the two ASI - which he cannot get from triple classing - he can max out his STR and buff up his CON, DEX, and/or CHA for any additional bonuses, he has no negative stats so any are fair game. I don't see any feats that'd be too helpful, but outside of AC or DC boosts from increasing CON or DEX, upping CHA could also help with persuasion and being persuasive and tricksy.

Persuasive and Tricksy are some of many words you can use to define Fearne, who is also a Rogue multiclass. Her current 10/5 with Wildfire Druid as the majority allows her some wiggle room for her to go a few different directions. The 5 levels in Rogue have locked her out of a second ASI in Druid, the timeless body (not really a big deal for a fey), additional Wild Shape perks, and the 9th Level Spell Slot though, but if she invests only into Druid levels for the full 15 she does still gain one ASI and her Wildfire Feature 'Blazing Revival' - where once per long rest Mister can sacrifice himself (I don't think it's a permadeath sacrifice just like an 'off the board until resummoned' sacrifice) to revive her to half HP if she's downed - alongside a 6th, 7th and 8th level spell slot. If she goes for an even spread of 10 levels each with Rogue's Arcane Trickster however, she gains 2 ASI, 2 more proficiencies, Evasion, Magical Ambush, and a few more lower level spells. Both have valid directions - and as much as Fearne is a 'collector' I think a third class probably won't suit her and will perplex Ashley further - for her character even with mixing the level splits; a 12/8 split will grant her 2 ASI and a 6th level spell slot, while a 14/6 split grants one ASI, a 6th and 7th level spell slot, the Blazing Revival, and 2 proficiencies. Since Fearne doesn't do many sneak attacks and uses her Rogue abilities more for pickpocketing, it would probably be sensible to lean more towards Druid; a 15/5 split if she wants that 8th level spell slot for Sunburst, Incendiary Cloud, or Feeblemind, but a 14/6 split if she can do without - Plane Shift could narratively be on her radar so she can travel to the Feywild as she pleases, but Fire Storm is still a mighty 7th level spell that can be additionally buffed by her titan form which as mentioned with Ashton could also potentially scale up with levels - would give her more stuff to work with, plus extra Druid Levels buffs up Mister's health so he could be looking at 75-80 total HP (5+(Druid Level x 5)) depending on whether Fearne goes level 14 or 15. Since Fearne took War Caster already from her last level and her WIS is already maxed out, ASI to CON could be looked into to add health, AC, and DC, while also improving her chances at holding concentration for her saving throws, alternatively she can up her DEX to improve her pickpocketing so she can finally claim one of those eggs, since she's tragically 0-2 on that. Feat-wise, there is still the Elemental Adept: Fire feat to bypass enemy resistances to Fire too, lots of enemies will have Fire Resistance after all, so if she doesn't want to use ASI there is still that to use it on. So level-wise there is some wiggle room but class-wise she is better off picking one to focus on.

Our final member of the Hells Laudna has already picked her focused class; on a 12/3 Sorlock with her patron bound to a soul anchor - get fucked Delilah - she has implied to go pure Sorcerer from herein. Marisha has previously stated that she saw no gain in any more Warlock levels even when Delilah was still active and while a 6th level in Warlock would grant her an ASI at Lv.4 and unlocks Grave Touched - change damage to Necrotic plus 1 extra damage die when in Form of Dread, which is pretty solid - it does indeed suit narratively for Laudna to avoid more Warlock levels. The 3 levels she has gained from Warlock though have (war)locked her out of her final Sorcery feature of Umbral Form - which would've made her resistant to everything but Force and Radiant Damage, so like Braius' Primal Champion it's quite the loss - but she still looks to get Shadow Walk which aids her mobility, providing that there's darkness or shadows in the vicinity, as well as one ASI and another Metamagic option by continuing the Sorcerer's path, not to mention a dangerous 9th level spell slot. Unlike Imogen, Laudna opted for Empowered Spell in her current Metamagics alongside Quickened and Twinned, doing Heightened or Transmuted probably wouldn't suit Laudna like it does her partner though. Instead, Careful Spell could be a good choice for Laudna since her CHA is maxed out, so she could pick 5 creatures to auto-succeed a saving throw to a spell she sends, but since she doesn't have many AoE spells Extended Spell may be the better fit to keep up concentration on spells like Animate Objects, Mirror Image, or any future powerful concentration spells she'll have access to like Eyebite, Globe of Invulnerability, Reverse Gravity, or Blade of Disaster - which Delilah used pretty effectively in Aeor - ongoing. Even so, the one ASI remains; the Amulet of Health puts her CON to a fixed 19 so if she added one CON it'd be 16 without attunement, which is still pretty good but worthless if she just keeps using the amulet, she could put +1 in her woeful STR so it's a -2 rather than -3, or opt for feats such as War Caster - for those powerful concentration spells - or another Eldritch Invocation with Eldritch Adept, such as Armor of Shadows or Eldritch Spear, which may be more fitting for her fun scary nature.

And that's all of them, for a TL/DR I expect Ashton, Orym, Dorian and Imogen to do the pure 20 for their classes, while Chetney will go 19/1, Braius and Fearne go 14/6, and Laudna goes 17/3. But if it were me, the only ones I'd adjust from those would be Dorian (19/1, adding Fighter), Imogen (18/2, adding Tempest Cleric), and Braius (14/3/3, adding Rune Knight Fighter) just from a meta/fun perspective. Either way I'll just be happy to see them make Level 20, so fingers and every other digit I have stay crossed for whichever route they choose.

[jimmybutlrr]

Mystery Girl

Pairing: Professor -Terry Richmond x Brown-Skinned Women

Warnings : 18+. Romance, Mature Content (Cursing, and Smut) One-Shot, "Getting Slut Out"

Summary: He's that easy, that his draws dropped a few hours after meeting.

A/N: You voted and you shall receive. As always constructive Criticism is welcome and feedback *No Part 2*

“SURPRISE” everyone said. 

Terry clutches his heart feeling happy that his family showed up and out for him. 

“Thank y'all,” Terry said. After going around the party greeting every family member and friends. Terry can be found talking to Mike and the rest of his friend group. “We have to the club, maybe the strip club” Mike said, throwing all the options out there, “calm down, I just came back after being in the military for a few years” Terry said knowing his cousin is not going to take no for an answer. “You're right, we could go to the bar and use your military discount” Mike said, making the men laugh. 

Terry sighs, thinking about the options, laid out in front of him. “Alright, we can go to the bar but only for a few hours because I want to bury these memories”. Terry said in despain, thinking about his time in the military. “I’m going to make those memories disappear” That’s what Mike said a few hours ago, now being too drunk to entertain Terry. 

As Terry sits at the bar talking to the bartender as he has nothing better to do. During the time he spent talking to her, he found out that she had graduated university with a bachelors of social science, has a chihuahua, is collecting another degree  and works at the bar to be able to pay off her classes and debt.  “I really enjoy this talk with you but It’s the end of my shift and I have to switch out now, See you later Handsome .

" The bartender says winking at Terry and leaves before Terry can have a chance to get her number. Drinking the rest of his drink, he looks around for Mike and the boys, seeing them on the dance floor and he walks towards them. Tapping one of his friends on the shoulder, he lets them know that he has to leave and to watch out for Mike. “I have to go, but make sure you guys  make it home safe, alright”. The man nodds to Terry’s words, turning around to continue to dance with the bad gyal in front of him.  

Making his way through the club, throwing a few excuses here and there. He gets to the exit of the club and starts searching for his car when he sees the bartender on the phone, arguing with the uber as he’s not understanding where to go or what she’s saying. Terry walks up to her grabbing her attention, “Hi, I was just walking to my car, when I  saw you upset and I just wanted to make sure that everything was alright, as it’s dark out” Terry said concerned for safety. “I’m alright , it’s just the uber, they're starting to piss me off”. She said upset, “If It makes you feel better, you look sexy when you’re mad” Terry said walking  even closer to her, she blushes feeling flattered, by his compliment. 

“Thank you handsome, you don’t look too bad yourself” She smiles, staring into his eyes, biting her lip, noticing the height difference between them.  “I’m about about to go home, do you need a ride” Terry said breaking the silence, “I would love that” She said putting her head down, Terry wanting to charm her some more, takes to fingers and picks up her head “Don’t put your head down around me”  he demands staring into her eyes some more, feeling a bit chilly as he has no jacket, he put his arm around her neck and starts walking towards his car.

Thinking back to how they met, It really doesn’t explain how she ended up on his bed with her face planted into the sheets, gripping for dear life. “Don’t cum, Don’t cum” Terry demanded “No ppllleeaassee, let.. .me .. .cum, ppllleeeaasse” moans as her stomach starts hurting her. “It hurts, pleassee”. Terry nodds “Alright let it out, when i could to 3 alright” Terry said, lifting up her hand to start slapping her cheeks “ One “Slap” Two “Slap” Three” Terry said feeling her tighten around his dick, feeling like 2 orgasm isn’t enough. 

He starts fucking her through her orgasm, not caring that she’s trying to push his stomach way from her “Please, it too much,plleeaassee” She moans feeling tired. Terry stops, slapping her ass one good time before turning her around. He takes her legs putting them next to her head giving her a small kiss before he starts to bottom her pussy out”OOOMMYY Gooooodddd”. Tears start falling from her eyes, all while her ears start ringing and her body starts twitching. 

Making her reach up to push his body,” Why you running” Terry said, grabbing her hands and choking her. Looking down, Terry smirks, seeing drools fall from her mouth, the whites of her eyes and her delayed speech, trying her hardest to speak English or at least speak at all, it was cute. Terry’s thrust starts rough and slopier, revealing that his nut is getting closer and closer. “Come on, Nut deep inside me, daddy please” She said hoping to be filled. Terry obeys letting of a string of curses while he nuts deep inside her, not caring about the missing condom

Letting go of her body, he falls next to her, both too tired to get up. They fall asleep bare and sheetless.  A few weeks later, Terry wakes up and starts rubbing his eyes. Walking to his bathroom he starts getting ready for his first day being a substitute teacher for a college course that his connections helped him get. He gets to work, taking out the lesson plan from the previous teacher, the students start piling in one by one. Scanning everybody's faces for remembrance, he sees her. Shocked that she turned out to be his student, while also coming to the conclusion that she is equally as shocked as she is seated staring at him with the same eyes that were rolling back, just a few weeks before. When it hits him, He never got her name.

Tags -

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @blackgurlnhermoods

@easybrezzy @planetblaque

@urfavblackbimbo @jenlovey

@avoidthings @kimuzostar

@skvrpion @theereina

@megamindsecretlair @theereina

@melaninpov @mscarter213

[yakamozz3]

❝ I know you can take it ❞

༄ 𝒻ℯ𝒶𝓉𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: sasuke x reader

༄ 𝒯𝒲／𝒞𝒲：fem!reader, boyfriend!sasuke, p in v, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, overstimulation, porn without plot, use of ‘good girl’, praising, choking

𝒫ℛ𝒪ℳ𝒫𝒯 ☆*:・ﾟ

Sasuke just loves you so much, but he also loves to take out his Stress on you <3

“just look at you“ sasuke cooes down at you with a grin on his face while thrusting into you with no mercy. “Taking it all like a good girl” he mockingly says cupping one of your tear stained cheeks with his hand. He just came back from a mission that night -an especially unpleasant one too- that really fucked with him, so why not fuck it out on you when he comes home he thought, and that’s what you’ve been doing ever since.

there you were submissively laying under him as he bullies his large cock into your -by now- sore little cunt. “sasuke” you slur out while other breathy whines escape from your glossy plump lips, the sound of skin slapping against each other and your sasukes groans filling the small room completely.You were completely cock drunk from his deep thrusts and his tip always hitting that one spot which makes you go insane. Your walls clenching so well around his cock, a creamy circle forming at the base of his cock from fucking your balls deep.

“sasuke” you call out again as tears well up in your ( e/c ) eyes from all of the pleasure. The way he rolled his hips, the way deep groans escape his mouth and the way your tummy bulges at his length makes you go feral. And he knows that too. “you’re too deep, I feel it in my tummy!” you barely manage to get out being too distracted from sasukes thick cock in your creamy pussy dragging against your gummy walls with each thrust making tears stream down your face.

“you feel me hm?” he replies with a breathy voice trying not to cum already, at this rate he didn’t just drive you crazy but also himself, getting lost in your wet tight pussy that was also so fucking warm he could come every second if he didn’t take pride in making you cum multiple times before he did. “Mhmm” you moan out while eagerly nod your head as a reply as he wipes away a tear from your cheek. deep groans still escaping his parted lips while his arousal washes away the anger and stress from before. “You’re so good to take your stress out on” he moans seemingly going faster, wrapping his hand tightly around your neck.

“Sasuke!” you moan out with your back arching and pussy clenching around his cock “I can’t take it anymore” you cry out with a whine and tear filled eyes watching sasuke still pounding you without a care.

“I know you can take it”.

𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽ℴ𝓇𝓈 𝓃ℴ𝓉ℯ： this was the first thing I’ve ever written some months ago and I finally got the courage to post it! Ik it has room for improvement so if you have any critic feel free to leave it here for me!!

[thousandyearphantombunker]

https://dailycollegian.com/2023/12/there-is-no-bad-person-disease/#:~:text=There's%20no%20health%20condition%20that,do%20with%20your%20overall%20morality (not sure the links I've given are functional but y'all can copy them into your search bar anyway)

People with NPD are capable of apologizing for past behavior, admitting to weakness, sacrificing themselves, showing others respect and decency, they can have morals and some of them (not all) are capable of empathy which btw is not required in order to do something heroic- also it's possible to act heroic for selfish reasons. they have fragile egos and often can have complexes (like ya know a guilt complex that makes them an overly self sacrificing martyrs) I'm sorry tony being a good person/attempting to be better doesn't negate him from having the 'evil' cluster B personality disorder. Tony's self importance doesn't manifest as being cruel or outwardly selfish it manifests in his guilt complex and playing hero. His belief that he is special fuels his guilt further. He's a perfectionist.

"I expect more of myself than everyone else. I have to be perfect or I'm useless." - a diagnosed narcissist

He is cold and dismissive and he can brag a lot. He's a functional narcissist so he's not gonna freak out when criticized. It's almost like narcissistic people are people and are complex and aren't so solely just a bunch of negative symptoms and traits of their disorder. He's also got several disorders that are comorbid with NPD such as substance abuse disorder and he has an avoidant attachment style- perhaps to protect his own ego and cope with childhood trauma. He used to exploit others heavily and is kind of a toxic boss. He was rejected, and neglected by his father and praised for intelligence so much as a child and had to deal with a lot trauma before getting kidnapped by terrorists. All of the traumas he faced are common in people with npd

tony displays: arrogance, haughty behaviors, and attitudes. a grandiose sense of self-importance. a lack of empathy or an unwillingness to identify with the needs of others and behavior that is exploitative and takes advantage of others to achieve their own ends. It doesn't manifest as outright cruelty like I said his grandiose sense of importance actually motivates him as a hero and makes his ego weaker though he's functioning so he can still take a blow

I am mainly going based off the comics and I'm aware that the MCU tones him down quite a bit but he still displays some of these traits.

I remember back then when autism was also just a lost of negative traits/symptoms a school counselor would point to 'an autistic person have no empathy and are completely rigid and black and white in their worldview, they will break down over dumb things are violent etc' being autistic when I was kid didn't mean you were a kid with a disability it meant you were a brat and a burnout. It meant you were unhygienic and aggressive and RIGID- which according to way too many people meant robot control freak rather than seeking comfort in things like routine and lacking the skills/intellectual capacity needed to function outside of them or they have panic attacks when taken out their routine and ya know aren't being manipulative and are having involuntary emotional responses- and I would hear autism parents complain about their kids and i would hear adults raised by autistic people talk about the scars they had been left with and they deserved to vent because yeah it can be traumatic and stressful and they are victims but it became something ugly toward me. People with cluster B personality disorders have it way worse than I ever did (dear god they get criminalized) but I relate for a reason. I like characters like Tony because they have traits associated with stigmatized disorders and shows those traits in action vs how we envision them when hear about the disorder- when you hear self important you automatically assume it means selfish and don't realize how complex and different that trait can look across the board and we get to see that they are complex and capable and even good people. I know not everyone has to agree with the headcanon and I understand why many of Tony's fans get mad at this headcanon but you don't have the best knowledge of NPD I'm guessing. People hear traits like entitled and interested in success and power and automatically think of the worst case scenario- megalomania and taking whatever they want no matter the cost and don't see how those traits can manifest in a variety of ways and not all them are destructive. Your statement apply to some not all narcissists. I don't know if you have trauma and if you do I'm sorry if this reads as cold or mean but I really hate when people talk about personality disorders like this. Npd can manifest in a variety of ways

"everyone is different" yeah including freaking narcissists that wasn't a gotcha. Your statement was legitimately ableist

everyone who says that tony is a narcissist has probably never met a narcissist but as someone who lived with one for Fifteen Fucking Years I can tell u that he isn't even close to one

[urdreamydoodles]

MCU Characters x Reader (Part.1)

How they react when you are angry with them (Part.1)

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker (Tom H.), Stephen Strange & Thor Odinson

I'm back in my MCU era, thanks to Agatha All Along, so expect a lot of MCU headcanons, feel free to request those!

Tony Stark

- When you’re angry with Tony, he’s a little stunned. He’s used to being able to charm his way through things or brush issues off with a joke, but the moment he realizes you’re genuinely upset, he feels the ground shift a little. Tony’s mind races, calculating what he did wrong, and for a second, he considers ignoring the problem—but not with you. You mean too much to him, and he can’t stand the idea of pushing you further away.

- He doesn’t immediately know how to apologize, so he leans into his classic defense mechanism: humor. He’ll try to make you laugh, throwing out quips, hoping you’ll crack a smile. When that doesn’t work, he gets a little awkward, mumbling things like, “This is why I avoid real feelings, you know?” as he fumbles through an apology. He’s not used to admitting fault, but with you, he’s learning to swallow his pride.

- Tony goes all out when he realizes he needs to make it up to you. He’ll throw himself into making amends, maybe even a little too extravagantly. Expect some grand, over-the-top gesture—a private jet to Paris, a limited-edition piece of tech he’s been tinkering on, or a fancy dinner in some exclusive place with an outfit he’s bought just for the occasion. He’s not subtle, and he knows it, but he’ll do anything if it means a smile from you.

- When the big gestures don’t work, he takes a different approach. He shows up at your door, looking strangely vulnerable, with something small and meaningful. Maybe it’s a handwritten letter he’s scribbled out, confessing how much he hates it when things aren’t okay between you two. It’s raw, real, and completely unlike Tony, but he means every word. This time, he wants to show that he’s willing to put the ego aside for you.

- Once you finally let him back in, Tony wraps you in his arms and doesn’t let go. He’ll joke that he’s not letting you get mad at him again, and maybe throw in a flirty quip about “testing his limits,” but there’s something deeper there too. Being loved by you has changed him, and he’s willing to work on himself for the first time in a long time. With you, Tony’s found a softness he didn’t know he had, and he’s not going to risk losing it.

Steve Rogers

- Steve Rogers doesn’t like conflict, especially not with you. When he realizes you’re angry, he immediately wants to address it and resolve it, hoping it won’t escalate. He tries to have a calm, level-headed conversation, but he can see that maybe it’s too soon. Steve’s patient, though; he’ll give you space if you need it, even if it pains him to let go for a while.

- While you’re cooling off, Steve takes time to reflect, replaying the situation in his mind, wondering where he went wrong. He’s his own worst critic and can be hard on himself, especially when it comes to you. He’ll try to see things from your perspective, understanding that sometimes his old-fashioned sense of right and wrong can be rigid. He’s willing to bend if it’s what’s needed to bridge the gap between you.

- When he approaches you again, he’s soft-spoken and earnest, offering a sincere apology. There are no excuses, no justifications—just him, owning up to whatever hurt you. His gaze doesn’t leave yours; he wants you to know he truly means it. And as he speaks, he promises he’ll do better, vowing to always listen to you and consider your feelings.

- To make it up to you, Steve chooses something simple but thoughtful, probably something he knows you love. It could be as quiet as a walk through your favorite park or as gentle as a handwritten note tucked into a book you’re reading. Steve understands that sometimes, it’s the little things that mean the most. He’ll give you the space to talk, letting you vent if you need to, always steady, always attentive.

- Once the air clears, Steve is more affectionate than usual, holding your hand, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, grateful to be back in your good graces. He values trust deeply and doesn’t take your forgiveness for granted. Steve knows relationships take work, and he’s fully committed to making it work with you, one respectful conversation at a time.

Natasha Romanoff

- Natasha doesn’t like it when things are off between you two, but she’s used to people being mad at her. Initially, she tries to shrug it off, acting like she doesn’t care, maybe even trying to ignore it. But you’re different. You’re not just anyone; you’re someone she actually trusts, and seeing you upset with her hits her hard.

- Natasha is far more comfortable dealing with enemies than emotional confrontations, so when she finally comes to you, she does it in a roundabout way. She might casually ask, “Are we good?” as if it’s not a big deal, but the nervous tension in her voice betrays her. She’s not great at apologies, so her attempt is awkward but sincere. It’s clear she’s trying, even if she doesn’t always have the words.

- To make it up to you, Natasha doesn’t go for big gestures but rather something deeply personal. She’ll take you to a place she loves—a quiet spot on a rooftop, a hidden café she discovered, somewhere she can let her guard down. She’s careful, almost shy, as she opens up a little about herself, sharing stories she rarely tells. In her own way, she’s letting you know how much she values you.

- Natasha doesn’t usually do comfort, but she’ll go out of her way to make you feel loved and safe. Maybe she’ll surprise you with breakfast or bring you something she knows you’ve been wanting. She pays attention, after all, even if she doesn’t always show it. Little by little, she’ll find ways to let you know that she’s there, committed to making things right.

- When you finally forgive her, Natasha breathes a sigh of relief, leaning in for a hug that lasts a beat longer than usual. She’s not big on words, but she’ll whisper something soft and sincere, just for you. Natasha’s fiercely protective, and after a falling-out, she’s even more attuned to making sure you feel cared for. She’ll stay close, a steady presence at your side, her quiet way of showing just how much she values you.

Bruce Banner

- When you’re angry with Bruce, he’s instantly anxious, worried he’s done something terribly wrong. Conflict isn’t his strong suit, and he’s painfully aware of his capacity for anger. He’s cautious, almost timid, when he realizes you’re upset, giving you space and time. He doesn’t want to make things worse or risk saying the wrong thing.

- Bruce spends time overthinking the situation, dissecting every detail. He questions himself, often getting caught in a loop of self-blame, wondering if he’s ever really been suited for a relationship. But even though he’s scared of confrontation, he values you too much to leave things unresolved. He wants to show you that he’s willing to work through whatever the issue is.

- When he finally comes to you, Bruce’s apology is soft, heartfelt, and a little self-deprecating. He’ll stumble through his words, not wanting to sound defensive, and there’s an earnestness in his gaze as he tries to convey just how much he wants to make things right. He’s not perfect, but he’s open to listening and doing better.

- To make it up to you, Bruce goes for something intimate and personal. He knows you appreciate small gestures, so he’ll show up with something that reflects his feelings for you—maybe a small book he thinks you’d love, or a little experiment from the lab that made him think of you. He’s shy about it, maybe a little embarrassed, but it’s his way of showing he cares.

- When you finally forgive him, Bruce visibly relaxes, wrapping you in a hug as if he never wants to let go. He’s careful, soft, and almost tentative, savoring the warmth of your embrace. Bruce cherishes the trust you give him and is deeply grateful to have someone willing to weather his insecurities. He might even joke, “You’re way too patient with me,” but the gratitude in his voice is genuine.

Clint Barton

- When Clint realizes you’re angry with him, his first reaction is a mix of regret and a slight laugh. He can’t believe he’s managed to mess things up this badly with you, of all people. He knows he tends to joke around a bit too much, so he tries to laugh it off at first, but when he sees how serious you are, his grin fades. He’ll look a bit awkward, rubbing the back of his neck, knowing he’s got some work to do.

- Clint’s never been one to give big, elaborate apologies. Instead, he’ll pull you aside, speaking quietly and genuinely. He’ll admit that he messed up, explaining that sometimes he forgets to take things seriously or considers others’ feelings the way he should. It’s a simple, heartfelt apology, showing his honest side that not many people get to see.

- Once he’s apologized, Clint is all about making you laugh. He’ll start cracking jokes, doing his best impressions, and even pull some ridiculous faces just to get a reaction out of you. Clint knows humor is his best weapon, and he’s shameless about using it if it means making things right. He’s determined not to let you stay mad at him for long, no matter what it takes.

- When his jokes don’t quite cut it, Clint switches gears and puts effort into something he knows will mean a lot to you. He’s a guy who pays attention to the little things, so he’ll show up with your favorite takeout, a warm blanket, or maybe even a funny book he picked up just for you. He knows that it’s the small gestures that can speak volumes.

- After things settle down, Clint wraps you in a warm, comfortable hug, one arm wrapped around your shoulder, making you feel like everything’s back to normal. He’ll joke about how lucky he is that you put up with him, throwing in a wink, but there’s a hint of seriousness behind his words. Clint doesn’t take his relationships for granted, and he’s grateful you’re in his life, even when he messes up.

Bucky Barnes

- Bucky’s heart sinks when he sees that you’re angry. He’s used to pushing people away, and now that he’s got you, he’s terrified of losing you over a misunderstanding. Bucky’s first instinct is to retreat, his mind already whispering that maybe he doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve you. He’ll avoid confrontation if he can, hoping things might smooth over on their own.

- But when he realizes he needs to talk to you, he’s hesitant, nervous, almost as if he’s bracing himself for rejection. Bucky approaches you carefully, speaking in a low, almost shy voice. He struggles with apologies, but he looks you in the eyes, opening up about how hard he finds it to express his feelings. He’s used to running, and being with you is the first time he’s tried not to.

- Bucky tries to make it up to you in the most low-key, thoughtful way possible. He’s not one for grand gestures, but he’ll do something meaningful and heartfelt, like leaving you a note explaining how much you mean to him or bringing you something that he knows you love. He’s nervous about whether it’ll be enough, hoping you can see the sincerity in his actions.

- When he feels things softening between you, Bucky relaxes just a little, offering his support in any way you need. He’ll stay close, maybe cooking a meal for you or sitting quietly with you, sharing a comfortable silence. He wants you to know that he’s there, without needing to say much, because he’s always believed that actions speak louder than words.

- When you finally forgive him, Bucky is beyond relieved. He’s more open with his affection, drawing you into a tight embrace, his touch lingering as if he’s afraid to let go. He knows he doesn’t have many people he can count on, but he’s grateful that he can count on you. Bucky’s still working on believing he deserves happiness, but having you in his life makes him want to try.

Sam Wilson

- Sam immediately notices when you’re angry, and his first instinct is to find out what’s going on. He’s straightforward and doesn’t like tension hanging in the air, so he’ll ask, “Alright, what did I do?” in his calm, genuine way, hoping you’ll be willing to talk it out. He’s good at reading people, but he wants to hear it from you directly.

- Sam listens intently when you explain what’s bothering you, nodding and giving you his full attention. He’s respectful and thoughtful, making sure you know he understands where you’re coming from. He’s not the type to dodge blame; if he’s at fault, he’ll own up to it right away. There’s no defensiveness, no excuses—just an honest desire to make things right.

- To make it up to you, Sam takes you on a simple, meaningful outing—something where the two of you can connect and have fun. He’s all about shared experiences, so maybe it’s a long walk, a favorite food spot, or even a small adventure he’s planned just for you. He’s careful, attentive, making sure the focus is on you and helping you feel valued.

- When things calm down, Sam offers a mix of humor and reassurance, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and promising to do better. He’ll look you in the eyes and say something like, “I don’t like seeing you mad. Tell me if I mess up again.” He’s genuine and open, showing you he wants to grow from this experience and be a better partner.

- Once everything’s back to normal, Sam goes the extra mile, making sure you’re laughing and relaxed. He’s always there to lift you up, pulling you in for a warm, affectionate hug and giving you his full, unwavering attention. Sam’s presence is solid, reassuring, and he’ll make sure you know just how much he values having you in his life.

Peter Parker (Tom H.)

- Peter’s heart sinks when he realizes you’re angry with him. He’s young, a little clumsy with emotions, and absolutely hates the idea of upsetting you. His mind starts racing, thinking of everything he could have done wrong. He gets a little panicked, maybe even rambling apologies before he knows what’s going on, hoping you’ll give him a chance to explain.

- When you tell him what’s bothering you, Peter listens carefully, nodding along with wide, earnest eyes. He’s genuinely sorry, his voice soft as he stumbles through an apology. He’s never been great at handling relationship tension, but he’ll try his best to make sure you know how much he cares and how sorry he is for letting you down.

- To make it up to you, Peter goes for something heartfelt, maybe even a bit awkward, but completely sincere. He’ll show up at your window with a little homemade gift, something quirky and thoughtful—perhaps a playlist he made just for you or a funny little gadget he put together in the lab. He’s earnest, a little shy about it, hoping you’ll see how much effort he’s putting in.

- Peter spends extra time trying to lift your spirits, using every ounce of his playful personality to make you laugh. He’ll crack jokes, do silly impressions, or even attempt a bad dance routine just to get you smiling again. He knows he’s a bit of a dork, but he doesn’t mind if it means cheering you up. Peter’s all about making you feel comfortable and loved.

- When you finally forgive him, Peter’s face lights up with relief. He’ll pull you into a warm, enthusiastic hug, holding you close and babbling about how he’s “the luckiest person in the world” to have someone like you. He’s young, optimistic, and just incredibly happy that you’re not mad anymore. To Peter, you’re his world, and he’ll always do whatever it takes to make you feel special.

Stephen Strange

- When Stephen realizes you’re angry with him, he’s a bit taken aback. He’s used to being right and doesn’t often see things from others’ perspectives, so it takes him a moment to understand the weight of the situation. His initial reaction might even be a little defensive, but he quickly catches himself, knowing that with you, he has to try harder to listen and understand.

- Stephen struggles with apologies, often trying to explain away his actions or getting caught up in technicalities. He’s intelligent and analytical, but that doesn’t always work when emotions are involved. Eventually, though, he manages to offer a genuine apology, admitting that he’s not always the easiest person to be with and that he respects you enough to take responsibility.

- To make things right, Stephen will probably use a bit of magic to create something special just for you. It might be a small charm to keep you safe, a little illusion to make you smile, or even a glimpse into some place you’ve always wanted to see. It’s his way of saying he cares, using the one skill he knows best to bring you a little joy.

- As he tries to smooth things over, Stephen is careful, more attentive than usual, and visibly trying to understand your emotions. He may not be great at expressing his own feelings, but he’s willing to try if it means keeping you close. He’ll listen to you, nodding thoughtfully, and maybe even opening up a bit about his past mistakes and how much he values you.

- Once you forgive him, Stephen is visibly relieved, though he keeps it subtle. He gives you a small smile and pulls you close, brushing a gentle kiss to your forehead as he wraps his arms around you. He might even joke, “Guess I need to work on my bedside manner,” but there’s genuine affection behind his words. Stephen knows he’s lucky to have you, and he’s determined to keep learning how to love you better.

Thor Odinson

- Thor is visibly surprised when he realizes you’re angry with him. He’s naturally cheerful and doesn’t take most things too seriously, so the idea that he’s done something to upset you takes him off guard. At first, he tries to brush it off with a booming laugh, but when he sees the seriousness in your eyes, his smile fades. He immediately wants to fix things, willing to do whatever it takes to get you to smile again.

- Thor is quick to apologize, his voice earnest as he promises he didn’t mean to hurt you. He’s not one to overthink things, but he’s deeply sincere, and his apologies come straight from the heart. He’ll look you in the eyes and tell you he values you and never meant to cause any harm, his words laced with the kind of honesty that only Thor can deliver.

- To make it up to you, Thor goes all out. He’ll sweep you off on a grand adventure, maybe a spontaneous trip to Asgard (or at least what remains of it), or he’ll bring you somewhere beautiful and awe-inspiring. Thor loves to celebrate life and wants to remind you of all the incredible experiences the two of you can share. His enthusiasm is infectious, and he hopes that a bit of excitement will make things right.

- As you spend time together, Thor is extra affectionate, showering you with praise and hugs. He’s genuinely sorry and makes sure you feel loved and appreciated, maybe even telling you tales of his own mistakes and what he’s learned from them. He might tease himself a bit, but it’s all to make you laugh and remind you of his dedication to you.

- When you finally forgive him, Thor’s smile lights up the room. He laughs, pulling you into a bear hug, lifting you off your feet, and spinning you around. There’s nothing subtle about his relief and joy, and he’s not afraid to show it. Thor values you immensely and will do everything he can to make sure you know how much you mean to him, promising that he’ll try to be a little more mindful in the future.

[crescent-blades]

Father!Kokushibo | Part II

Pairings⌇Kokushibō and his child [c/n], & Kokushibō × wife!Reader. Warnings⌇Refusing to eat or drink/starvation, overexertion

A/N⌇If any of you have seen the earlier version of this, you might notice that this is a bit of a repost. The reason I'm sharing it again is that tumblr apparently hates me and won't let me save that post after adding a few things. So, I figured it would just be easier to just put this out there again, lol.

𖤐ˎˊ˗Masterlist ⌇Part: 1

▪︎Kokushibō would begin training his child; being the strongest and most experienced samurai in history, you could bet that the teachings would be of the highest quality.

▪︎Along with weilding the katana, Kokushibō would also be adamant that his child received a proper education. For that, he would entrust you to teach the child to read and write properly, how to write poems [he could step in if you aren't good at it], and whatnot.

▪︎If you had a daughter, Kokushibō would rely on you to guide her in proper conduct. On the other hand, if you had a son, he would take it upon himself to teach him. [Considering his traditional beleifs]

▪︎There would be many things Kokushibō would teach your child—introducing anything and everything he could. One of which included—

"Here.. I wanted to share this with you.."

▪︎'Go'. Aside from all the trainings and whatnot, Kokushibō would enjoy spending time playing strategic board games with his young one. He didn't just play; he carefully watched every move his child made, trying to understand their thought process. This way, he could anticipate their strategies, pushing them further to think even more critically.

▪︎Kokushibō would provide feedback on every move his child made. If there was a mistake, he would express his disappointment, at times suggesting alternative strategies and what else could have been done. On the other hand, if the move was clever, he would offer praise.

▪︎Despite this, Kokushibō always found a way to twist the game in his favour, making it nearly impossible to win against him each time.

▪︎Kokushibō would not only be a father but also a teacher, quick to teach your young one.

▪︎Unlike his own father, Kokushibō would be much more understanding. He would be strict in terms of his child's behaviour, how they conducted themselves, and even in the way of the sword. However, he would also allow them the freedom to explore their interests and to do whatever they wished, recognising the limitations he faced during his own upbringing.

▪︎As for the breathing styles, Kokushibō would ideally want his child to learn sun breathing, but since he couldn't master it himself, he would opt to teach them moon breathing instead. If the child wasn't strong enough, he would be disappointed but wouldn't mind too much. In fact, he would encourage them to perfect their breathing techniques no matter what style they used.

▪︎Kokushibō's approach to training was quite rigorous. He pushed his child to their limits with each exercise, ensuring that consistency and discipline were maintained. While he provided the training, the actual learning and understanding were left to his child. He didn't believe in spoon-feeding knowledge. After all, it was important for them to grow to be independent and make their own decisions.

▪︎Many a times, Kokushibō would take your child to fight demons and train with them [perhaps even fight a hashira if they encountered one]. He would stand back in the distance and observe them silently. He would not intervene in any way; whatever decisions the child made were theirs and not his; each mistake was a lesson, something he would remind them of after the fight, incorporating those lessons into their training for improvement.

▪︎Kokushibō would nurture and raise his child in such a way that they would be disciplined and incredibly determined, striving for excellence much like their own father.

▪︎Speaking of determined, there was a time, however, when your child would not eat or drink, training and pushing themselves to the maximum, which caused you a great deal of concern. Kokushibō, however, appeared rather unfazed by this, expressing that it was commendable how seriously his child was taking the art of swordsmanship and that he even felt moved.

▪︎But then those few hours stretched into many, and nearly a whole day had passed without your child taking even a sip of water. This was the moment when Kokushibō would finally step in—

"Enough.."The demon stood beside his child, his six eyes fixed intently on them. The child was bleeding from their hands, their muscles worn out and pushed to the limit. "No.. I must not give up..!" Just as the child prepared to swing the wooden sword again, before they could even react, the sword would suddenly be snatched and tossed aside, landing far from reach. "There.. is no benefit in continuing. Your body.. has already reached it's maximum exertion. Whatever you are practicing now is pointless.. rest now and continue tomorrow." "But I need to perfect my—" "You are doing yourself more harm than good.. the state you are in.. you will not be able to practice tomorrow.. an entire day.. would be wasted. It would disrupt your progress. Is that.. what you want?"

▪︎In conclusion, Kokushibō would definitely be a strict father . This means you might find yourself being the more nurturing parent.

▪︎But that is not to say he cannot be compassionate; deep down, he holds great love for his child. His strictness stems from the fact that he wants to see his child excel and be the utmost best; even surpass him one day.

[loveanddeepspice]

𝕋𝕖𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕖

✞ synopsis:  you've come back to the small town you grew up in for a visit. though your relationship with the catholic church and faith in general have been strained since you were younger, you find yourself drawn back to the church... or more specifically... the new priest... you aren't ready to share your secret sin with him... but you may not be able to help yourself.

✞ pairing: sylus x curvy fem!reader

✞ rating:  18+ (minors do not engage)

✞ cw:  religion (catholicism), priest, lapsed faith, adultery, priest kink, suicidal mention, dead parent, sex, masturbation, drugs (marijuana), mentions of other drug use, drinking (more will be added when/if they arise)

✞ disclaimer: this fiction explores a romantic relationship between a lapsed Catholic and an unconventional priest. it is not designed to be inflammatory or critical. catholic authors were asked to participate in the process. we hope you enjoy it, but we know that these topics can be sensitive, so please skip this fiction if it will in any way offend you.

✞ chapter:  6 / ?

✞ co-authors:  redbriony, confuseddoughnut (they do not have tumblr)

✞ ao3 link:  here

✞ chapter synopsis: "the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it." - oscar wilde

✞ index: chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5| chapter 6

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Despite what happened, you would have done anything to face Father Sylus again. 

He was the type of person who radiated energy from within, dedication unlike anyone you had ever met - which could be a good or a bad thing. The thoughts became an obsession, all that seemed to fill your brain. The recollection of his touch made you sweat. It was the last thing you thought about before drifting off to sleep, the first thing you thought about when you woke, and the next few days stretched.  One thing was sure: you longed to see him again, if only for the courage to apologize.  But did you even have to apologize? He was the one who had kissed you first, right?  It was so unbelievably confusing. You’d talk yourself through circles; for once, no amount of sleeping seemed to help.  You weren’t even given the option to sleep it all off anyway or mellow properly in your self-pity. Upon learning of your ‘arrest’ from Talia, your father forced you out of the house that Sunday to go to church with him.  “What’s going on with you, Y/N?” Dad raised his eyebrows and frowned as he gripped the steering wheel, and you could tell he was trying hard not to get angry or frustrated. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, hon. You came back, and you’re acting weird.  Can you just tell me what’s wrong?”  Shaking your head, you shrugged, trying your hardest to maintain eye contact on the door handle, ignoring your dad’s question and wishing he’d just leave you alone.  “You went from being happy to totally distraught since you moved out. What am I supposed to think here, huh?”  ‘Maybe everything went to total fucking shit,’ was what you wanted to say, and tried not to roll your eyes. Dad tried so hard to not act like the authoritarian or pushy father, especially after your mother had died. He was never like that. And it was because of that you figured it was time to be at least a little truthful.  “I quit my job. I don’t know what I’m going to do from here, but -” you said, “I just…needed some time to think things through.”  Your dad parked the car and turned to offer you a subtle smile. You were convincing enough, obviously. “Okay, fine. Work in the store until you figure it out. It’ll be like old times.” One hand gripped the steering wheel as he looked at you, almost seeming to peer into your brain as his eyes flicked ever so slightly. “So, uh, is this about your mom? I didn’t know you were still upset about that. I should’ve tried to talk to you more.”  You bit down your reply, feeling a bitter taste in the back of your throat, and willing it away.  “No, it isn’t. Just forget about it.”  A long sigh filled the small space as your father pressed his lips together. “Christ, I can’t be mad at you right now. I’ve always let you do what you want.”  This was strange, a particular ache settling inside and spreading to your limbs like an infection. Maybe it wouldn’t stop now that it had started. And the first instinct was to get away and run. Run and run and just get away.  “Hon, Y/N,” Your Dad’s voice was pleading, and you nearly missed it. “We can go talk to -”  “No!” You blurted, immediately regretting it, mortified at just the thought. How did you speak so fast? “No, it’s fine. Let’s just go inside. We’re gonna be late.”

You didn’t feel any better inside the church, but you weren’t expecting much to begin with. All you could do was suck it up and seat yourself beside your dad. It wasn’t crowded, but there were a few unfamiliar faces, so maybe not everyone would notice your fucked up mood. 

Everything felt surreal. You were sitting there in church with the sun streaming through the stained glass windows, and your gaze landed on the one depicting the Virgin Mary.

The word ethereal came to mind. 

Everything seemed like it would evaporate into thin air. Like if you moved too quickly, you’d wake up from one of those dreams that just turned out to be inside of another dream. 

And when a hush fell over the congregation, you had no choice but to look forward. No matter how your brain fizzes or your fingers tingle. You were forced to look at that handsome face in front of the church and feel the emotion well inside you. Something that felt different than embarrassment or frustration. 

Even from this distance, Father Sylus exudes that particular aura, daring to fill the whole church with its strength. You are once again reminded of how inescapable his presence is—not through belief or goodness, but something, someone who felt unearthly, even celestial, as absurd as it felt. 

Ethereal. Once again, with that pretty word. How could you even begin to explain it? It was so easy to feel some sort of bitterness, perhaps even selfishness. Who could blame you? Everything always seemed too simple when you looked at it from a distance. 

“Good morning,” He began, his voice taking on that strangely powerful, lilting cadence. He paused, hands clasping, and his posture was different. Shoulders broad, spine straight, chin lifted slightly. “I want to take a moment before we begin to discuss why we’re here.” 

You were drawn to his words, which had formed an invisible link to you. Maybe if you closed your eyes like you did at night, you could picture that night in the car. It felt foolish because you were certain your own thoughts were desperate. How stupid did it make you seem, trying to replay the sensation? A stupid crush. That is all you wanted it to amount to, even if looking into his fiery gaze had made you feel like you were melting.

“We’re here, in the house of the Lord. Why is this?” 

If a month’s insistence on chasing after a flame could be compared to anything -

 “Free will.” His tone picked up. “Through our actions, we make conscious decisions. As far as humankind is concerned, free will also makes us human.” 

Your breathing stilled. Something terrible seized your gut, a cramping feeling causing you to grit your teeth. 

“This is a sanctified place,” he continued, voice rich and filled with energy. “Within these walls, you should experience peace. Not conflict or anger. All are free here because it is with our actions that we build ourselves.”

How the hell did he manage this? The words continued spilling from his mouth, something pulling you further. And after a pause, his gaze filtered over the room again - and landed on you. 

Time was beginning to stand still, and you swore your face began to heat up. But, thankfully, the look didn’t linger on you, moving on as he cleared his throat. 

Well, fuck. 

There was only a tiny shift in expression, and perhaps you were the only one to notice how his pause seemed more lengthy than those before it. 

"We - uh.” Father Sylus made a show of glancing down at the notes before him and shuffling a few pages. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat again, a little louder this time. “What I mean to say is, with free will, we struggle against our urges and temptations. Sin beckons - uh,” another loud cough. He looked nervous. Vulnerable. In more ways than one. 

Father Sylus hastily pushed aside the pages, shoulders lifting in a deep breath before looking again at the people gathered. He straightened a little, and his powerful tone returned as he folded his hands neatly. “So, how do we resist? It can be hard to…admit one’s faults.” He let out a little huff of air, glancing down again. Then, he stepped away from the podium, stepping along the carpeted dais, hands clasped behind his back and thumbs tapping against each other. 

The congregation started shifting. A glance here and there, unable to guess what he would say next. Probably wondering why their priest was acting so…off. If you weren’t glued to your seat in, well, any number of the emotions you were feeling now - you would have high-tailed it out of there already. But instead, you were frozen in place, feeling like an outsider, feeling the shift in the air more than the others around you. 

“Take those feelings and multiply them by ten.” He stated, looking towards the back of the church at nothing in particular. It was as if he was somewhere only his mind knew. 

“Opportunity is often just an invitation to sin, yes. Free will is a man’s greatest power but also his biggest weakness. With that power comes responsibility. Satan doesn’t come dressed in a red cape and pointy horns in the middle of the night.” 

Oh God.

 There was a tense pause and stillness, and you wonder how you managed to sit here and listen. Those crimson eyes trailed around the room, but for another second, a brief and terrifying second, they burned into you.

“Satan comes as everything you’ve ever wished for.” He laughed, bitter and slightly hoarse. Then his eyes snapped forward again, unabashed. 

He coughed, cleared his throat again, and gestured with a finger above his head. “We all - well, we all think we can overcome any challenge. Big or small. Big and small.” Father Sylus let out a shaky exhale. “Um, the point is...The point is that the devil is ready to collect when you can’t. So, the point is that - uh,” His tone shifted to something smaller that made your insides tremble agonizingly. A breathless, tight sort of anxiousness that stole through your lungs and caused your heart rate to increase. It was impossible to deny that despite the words coming out of his mouth, you actually wanted to hear him continue. “Um, sometimes I think the hardest thing is that we are human, and we are weak.” 

Before he could even continue, his voice cracked. “I’m sorry.” He swallowed, grimacing, an anguish that you recognized. “Excuse me.” He looked like he might break, the wavering tension almost stifling the room, his expression almost tormented. 

“I’m sorry. Excuse me.” And with that, he disappeared into the back, leaving everyone shocked. 

Everyone except for you. 

“And that’s why I’m never going to church again.” You rolled your eyes as you leaned against one of the shelves in your dad’s store, looking over at Rafayel, who was leaning against the counter, making it his personal mission to get every last drop out of an iced coffee. “You should have seen the look on his face. What a fuck up.” 

Rafayel wrinkled his nose, looked around the otherwise empty store, and then glanced at his phone. “Yikes. Poor guy.” He sighed and tapped his foot on the floor. “Talia came home and said he had a migraine - but it’s even more hilarious that a near-public breakdown was because of you.” 

“My God, you are awful.” You frowned and stepped forward to lightly punch his arm, reaching out and catching his elbow with a grimace as he pretended to almost fall over. “That’s a horrible thing to say! You were the one who was practically encouraging me!” 

“I would never,” Rafayel huffed, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. “Anyway, it’s been almost a week now. You’re gonna have to suck it up and face him sooner or later.” With a firm nod, he shook off your hold and dusted his hand on the faded denim of his jeans, turning his attention back to his phone and shaking the ice in the cup he held. 

“How would I do that?” You asked. 

As if oblivious, Rafayel arched a brow and smiled tightly, peering at you over the edge of his phone. His tone was less-than-reassuring, sounding almost pitying. “No fucking idea.” 

You opened your mouth to argue but thought better of it as the shop door opened, just in time for the chilly afternoon to bring in your dad and Xavier. You took a deep breath at the sound of the bell and forced yourself to calm down.

As if on cue, Rafayel pushed himself away from the counter and looked in your direction. “Well, Y/N.” He said, tossing a wink in your direction that made you want to reach out and knock the silly grin off his face. “Good luck.” With that, he turned and walked out of the store with a shake of his head. 

Your dad mumbled something under his breath before tossing a wave a little too late and heading into the back of the small building. 

Unease had settled in your stomach at your friend's departure. You felt as if you had more to say, ask, or get a general idea of as you stared at the shop's door. You ran a hand over your tired face and sighed. 

“Hi,” Xavier gave you a careful, controlled smile as you turned toward his voice. “Need help with anything?” 

You tried your best not to fidget or bite your lip. “No, but it’s nice of you to offer.” You shrugged and glanced away briefly. “Why? Got nothing else to do?” 

“Uh, I work here?” He blinked as he stepped forward. You could take in his softening facial features now that he was closer. His smile didn’t quite fade as he looked around the quiet shop. “Anyway - I um. I tried to call you last night? About dinner?” 

Tilting your head in confusion, you froze. Then, you processed the sentence. 

Dinner. Shit. 

“Oh! My phone went missing. I’m sure it’ll turn up soon or something. Wasn’t the nicest phone anyways,” you brushed some hair behind your ear. “I still can’t figure out how it disappeared!” You forced a laugh at your lie and shifted uncomfortably.

You’d completely forgotten about agreeing to go out with him. How fucking stupid were you? So caught up in the idea of -

“Well, uh, I didn’t plan much. So it’s okay, we can just do something another night. Right?” Xavier suggested, and you couldn’t tell if he had let it go so quickly or was suspicious about your behavior. 

Either way, you smiled, rationalizing with yourself for what felt like the millionth time that spending time with him would be a good thing. Any way to keep your mind distracted. Clearly, he still wanted to go out with you, and you certainly wouldn’t say no. After all, who could blame you for latching on anyone who showed the slightest interest? 

This would be a step in the right direction, right? Things would get better. They had to. No matter how weird it felt for you to think so. 

“That’s fine. Sorry, my head’s all over the place.” 

The worst part of it all was the sudden weight in your stomach, the ache in your chest that was becoming all too tiring. Something pushed you in the complete opposite direction of the young man in front of you, towards what you really wanted, and had no explanation for why you did. 

“Y/N?” Xavier spoke again and stepped closer, watching your expression with careful scrutiny, his hand reaching out to touch yours, giving you a new feeling of unease. “Hey, um, - you alright?” 

Your heart wrenched a little at the worry, and you wondered exactly how pathetic you appeared. “I think so. Can you take over? I gotta step out for a while.”

It grew colder as you walked along the sidewalk, sticking your hands inside your jacket pockets. Clouds gathered in the distance, inching their way towards the suburb. The air smelled fresher, as if it might snow lightly sometime at night. A breeze swept over the street, stirring pieces of your hair from its confines, and you briefly thought you should have remembered your scarf. 

Then, you came to a stop in front of the church. 

You looked down at your outfit, the jeans and the oversized blue sweater you had found in your mom's closet, when you couldn’t be bothered to do your own laundry. Perhaps she would give you strength, or at least enough willpower from wherever she was to give you the courage to turn right the fuck around and go back home.  She was always straightforward in that way, even without the drinking. If only you had taken after her in that aspect. 

For a moment, you almost turned to leave, giving yourself the opportunity to simply walk away and go home. However, after a few seconds of mental debate, you stepped along the worn walkway and up the steps, slipping your hand out of your pocket to place it on the worn wooden door. 

Somewhere in your mind was a glimmer of hope, the possibility of resolve.

Now that you had gathered whatever courage you had left, you took one last, bracing breath before pushing the door open. A jolt of energy speared up your arms, a buzzing sensation against your fingertips. Once you were inside, everything felt eerily silent. Almost too silent. But as the familiar warmth enveloped you, your body relaxed slightly as you shrugged off your jacket. 

The last light from the day was casting through the windows, and the interior was a muted, golden glow and soft orange. It felt warm in more ways than one. Despite the hushed nature of the building, energy thrummed within you. The atmosphere was inviting, but for some reason, you couldn’t quite muster the ability to step forward any further, feet stuck to the floor beneath you. It was ironic, yet in a way, expected; you felt like crying or throwing something, but maybe punching Father Sylus would give you the most satisfaction. 

The chapel seemed alien to you as you made your way further inside. 

Loneliness was all-consuming, a fear ever present and threatening in the back of your mind. You wondered why it hurt so much. And, you considered whether you have ever experienced a real connection in your life. You zeroed in on the cross beyond the rows of pews as if you could use it for answers. It glinted a little in the evening light that filtered through the stained glass. Your eyes felt dry as they fixed upon the illuminated wood, searching, listening, walking towards the front of the church like a mouse. 

“You think this is funny, don’t you?” You asked your question out loud. The silence of the building taunted you in return, and something constricted within your chest. The rush of it all was consuming, filling your every thought with hope and expectation. A breath sucked in, and you shook your head, blinking. Everything felt off, and you had no idea what your body was supposed to do with itself. “This is so fucked. You know, this is all…just so messed up,” you choked out the whisper and, with a small gasp, swallowed. The emotions swelled. Heavy and pounding and suddenly overwhelming. 

Who gave a shit? Nothing would change. 

But, maybe - 

Would God be willing? Could He lift the spell put on you that would continue to grow? 

“Mom is dead, and she’s not coming back.” The words spilled and dropped like shattered glass. “And, uh, it’s just like, that’s fucked up. Isn’t it? Please, it’s - well, I wish I knew, God damn it. Motherfucker!” You swore louder than you should have, not recognizing your own voice. A feeling that had no name gripped your heart. This was it. You were giving up. “Totally fucked up. And you go and make me do stupid shit? What kind of test is that?” 

Only silence answered. You wondered how you should feel. As angry as you were, it felt strange to voice it. Finally, saying the words brought unusual comfort, and it was too easy to admit everything now. “Yeah, yeah. You should really apologize, God. Lord. Jesus. Whatever.” 

“I’m sorry.” The voice that spoke back did not belong to you. Echoing off the walls and the stained glass, it sent a jolt up your spine, causing you to spin in its direction. Leaning against a doorframe was Father Sylus, looking down at the floor, that shameful expression resurfacing on his face. You witnessed the repentant facade as he lifted his head and looked at you. 

It felt like a flood rushed through you, coursing, washing away the anger, seeping into every cell, and filling you with something new. Warm and soft, somehow breaking you apart as it passed. Something indecipherable but true. 

Something almost wonderful and exhilarating. 

He looked like something you could draw. That raw, exposed sort of aura. 

That same warmth enveloped your heart, the comfort expanding across your chest. There was something profound and affectionate within his gaze and the sense that you had underestimated what was truly meant by the phrase ‘care and concern.’

It could have been a few seconds. Or minutes passed as you stood rooted to the spot. The beating of your heart seemed to echo in your ears. Blood pulsed through your veins, the silence around you growing louder. 

“For what?” You were almost afraid to speak up. 

“For whatever you’re feeling,” Father Sylus stated plainly. Then he straightened, and his look shifted, and for a split second, he stepped forward, only to pause with his fingers twitching at his sides. Maybe there was confusion flickering in his gaze. Or longing. But he still didn’t move from where he stood, as if unable to break the tension he had with himself. After a time, he studied your face and added, “For everything and for nothing.” 

After a moment of thought, you shook your head. “That’s vague.” 

“It’s all I’ve got.” Father Sylus ran a hand behind his neck, almost nervously, eyes shifting and gaze searching. Another pause lingered between you, and you blinked a few times. He opened and closed his mouth, finally settling on placing both his hands on his hips, inclining his head to look at the stained glass windows. “That…and guilt.” 

His admission seemed weighted, and his voice was heavy. You watched him take a step forward, then hesitate. 

In that second, there was a great leap in understanding. You understood that he would not look directly at you because it would break this sacred reverence between you and whatever else was going on within his mind. 

Maybe it’d always been a game, and perhaps you knew deep down that this would be his next move. The inevitable, silent communication. Slowly, you folded your shaky arms over your chest. The look that flashed in his eyes made you shudder. With a new boldness, you swallowed and whispered: “Why are you telling me this?” 

Exhaling hard, you weren’t sure whether to scream, laugh, or cry as you awaited your answer.

He swallowed, his dark gaze teeming like a fire in the low light, the red burning. His lip curled. “Because I feel like you can understand it. Why I feel this way.” 

A sick urge, sharp and needy, had you crossing the space between you, the air shaking and trembling as he finally took another stride forward. Your eyes traced over his face. Deep and pained and beautiful. His chest heaved. A strange, bittersweet satisfaction filled you. 

“I - I can’t stop thinking about -” you broke off, words quivering as you spoke. “Us. The other night - it keeps going through my head, what I said, and -” your voice was breaking again, the achy, miserable desperation settling in. 

You could tell he was holding his breath, hands now clenched into fists, gaze searching and uncertain. “I didn’t mean to deceive you.” The words hung heavy as he stepped closer, finally closing the distance between you, tilting your chin, and forcing you to look at him. The grip held you firmly, though his eyes remained gentle and pleading. “I want nothing more than to pray - beg for your forgiveness. Try and restore whatever trust I’ve betrayed - but in all truth, God, I -” 

Another thick swallow, and he paused, the corner of his mouth twisting. He squeezed your chin lightly as if in search of some answer. Then his hand fell to his side, his head turning to look at the cross behind the altar. Something burned beneath your ribs. 

“What is it?” You whispered, trembling with the effort of not spilling all your unresolved thoughts. “Tell me - tell me something, anything, or - or -” You stopped yourself, feeling a little pathetic at not being able to formulate the proper words. 

“My path was never exactly clear, but,” Father Sylus swallowed thickly, sounding more scared than ever. “Someone I loved when I was younger - she -” A long sigh escaped his lips. “We were each other's firsts and…We loved each other very much.” He exhaled again. His face creased into sadness, reminiscent and haunting. A sharp pain, almost. One that lingered from emotions held within. The truth was there, plain as day, naked, heartbroken, and fragile. “She died when she was eighteen.” 

Pain squeezed at you mercilessly, tight and almost bone-crunching. You stepped closer, your brain slowly putting it all together, realization hitting. Then your bottom lip trembles as you reach out, taking hold of his hand and squeezing it. “I’m sorry,” you manage to say after a moment, “that must have been -” Another pause, trying to settle your lungs into a steadier breathing pattern. 

He squeezed your hand, looking at you, catching your gaze and holding it, unwavering. “I went to her funeral in a church far bigger than this one with twice the congregation. And later that day, when they put her down into the ground, I listened to the Monsignor pray over her soul.” He looked away again, this time up at the beams in the ceiling. “And I really listened to what he was saying for the first time. And I don’t know why, I just suddenly felt…” He trailed off, and you moved your hand further up his arm, willing him to continue by pressing your fingertips gently into his forearm. 

He smiled at the ceiling, faint and apologetic. “I felt at peace. Everything clicked into place. As stupid as that sounds. It was like something I couldn’t understand but needed. And, well,” he shrugged. 

“At last, it finally made sense to me,” he muttered. “The power God holds over us was always right there.” Then he turned to face you, his fingers reaching and resting on your cheek, tracing the soft skin of your jaw. “And now, I stand before you - finding these feelings again, the first true connection I’ve felt in years. I don’t mean to doubt anything…but I don’t know how to...” 

He let his voice drift off before tucking your hair behind your ear, movements tender. You wondered what he could see in your expression. 

“How did she die?” You asked quietly as if the question would destroy something in the air, but you needed to ask it anyway. 

The corners of his mouth trembled as he stroked his thumb along your jawline, offering you a small, grim smile. “She was mad at something, drank herself sick. Decided a joy ride on a motorcycle might be a good idea,” he turned his gaze to the ceiling again, and it finally hit you that he kept doing that as a trick to keep himself from crying. “She lost control and swerved, hit a wall head-on. Died on impact. Stupid girl with the dumbest ideas. She used to talk about seeing if the world curved or if the stars continued forever. She was funny and smart - but not as smart as she should have been. Her blood alcohol level came back three times the legal limit.” 

“That’s horrible,” you breathed. The puzzle pieces were assembled together. A crash. Drunk. How similar it was to your mother. Only your mother hadn’t met death head-on. It was still one of those things that made you wonder; which would have been worse? The chance was so similar yet unique. Still, as Father Sylus spoke about it, you swore you felt the faint sorrow he must still carry within himself.

“Sylus, I’m -” 

“Don’t be sorry.” He said, finally regaining a certain poise about his face, somehow managing to look warm even at this moment, smiling very softly. 

At his words, you realized you were breathing harder than before, and it didn’t go unnoticed as he scanned your face. You didn’t know what was wrong with you; you felt an emotion you could no longer explain. He had experienced loss, same as you, just not in the same way. 

Father Sylus let out a dry snort. “It’s not a happy memory, but something good comes from pain. Distrust to trust. Fear to courage. Hatred to love. To an extent, those things make you understand and appreciate everything.” 

You nodded, unable to stop yourself from wrapping your arms around his middle, convincing yourself you would forget how to breathe if you didn’t. You embraced him because it felt like the right thing to do, the smoothness of his shirt beneath your fingertips. His hand ran up along your side until it rested on your neck's base, soft, gentle, and warm. He exhaled a little before resting his chin on the top of your head. 

As he held you, you realized that this was what you had wanted. This was what you had really been aching for. Everything shifted again, changing, rushing with a tangle of nerves and dizziness. Nothing else would settle more easily than being cradled right there, where you could breathe him in. 

“Hey, do you -” He leaned back, both hands cupping your face, tilting it to meet his own. It took him a moment to formulate his question. “I shouldn’t ask, but - do you still want me?” 

Of course you did. More than anything. 

But even then, you should have stepped away. Should have walked out without another word, back to whatever fucking regular life you thought you had. But with whatever strength you had left, you pushed everything aside and quietly said, “Yes.” 

He had pressed you against the wooden door of the office, pinning you in place after dragging you in there and shutting the door. Not that you really had any intention of going anywhere. Not with his lips moving against yours, the desperation sending sparks along your skin.  His tongue darted out, parting your lips and moving into your mouth. Hungry and forceful and tasting every inch.

“You know,” he said as he pulled back, taking a second to breathe, “It’s so hard to be good when you’re so…” He trailed off, leaving you to only imagine what he would say. 

No, you had no words or any logical thoughts, really. Perhaps this was the closest thing to heaven you’d ever feel, surely. And Father Sylus ran his hands down your sides, slow and possessive, grabbing fistfuls of your sweater and bunching it up. Heat began spreading throughout your body as his fingertips crept underneath and stoked along the sensitive skin. 

“Will you let me in?” He mumbled, his lips now on the underside of your jaw as his palms spanned across your stomach as if trying to map out every inch of exposed skin. The blood pounded in your veins, pulsing in rhythm with your heartbeat.

“If this is what it feels like to be tempted,” you mused, gasping as he sucked on the skin above your collarbone, gripping the front of his shirt. “I have already failed. Miserably.” 

Letting out a hot breath that sounded an awful lot like laughter, he pulled away, a smile stretching across his lips, amused. “I suppose you really have,” he chuckled. His hands gripped your hips and spun you around so you were against his desk. Then he ducked down to press more kisses along your throat. The shivers returned as he lifted your sweater over your head, tossing it aside with another wicked grin. And for the first time, you noticed the hint of a dimple in the corner of his mouth. 

After a moment, Father Sylus fumbled with the buttons of his shirt until that, too, was discarded, skin suddenly bare. The sight made you stop, observing for a moment. For the first time, your fingers reached out and touched the skin of his chest, moving over the muscles and across his stomach. You marveled at the way he flinched slightly, inhaling sharply at your touch. 

Everything felt…hot, heavy, and inappropriate in the best way. 

And before you knew it, his hands were running up along the bare skin of your stomach, a barely-there brush that made your breath hitch. Then his hands were behind your back, unhooking your bra as his lips found yours again, rough and fervent. As it was removed, there was not a second of delay before his hands cupped both of your breasts, squeezing and drawing his thumbs over your nipples. 

“You’re so beautiful,” his hands shifted, fingers resting along the waistband of your jeans. 

It was like every little action was becoming overwhelming, sending pulsing waves through every nerve, vein, and muscle. When he popped the button, slid the zipper, and slowly eased the jeans down, the pulsing only got stronger—dizzying with its intensity. It was challenging to focus on anything else that would make more sense. Your mind was clouded. 

“Wait,” you breathed, sitting on the desk, pulling the clip from your hair and tossing it to the floor, the waves tumbling out. His hands never left you, still roaming over every little centimeter of you they could get access to, “I -” 

It didn’t need to be said, whatever it was. Because a grin broke out across his lips. A bright, glorious grin as Father Sylus pressed another harsh kiss to your lips like he could swallow the words down.

Stepping closer, he maneuvered you onto your back, your legs dangling over the edge of the desk. The smooth, cool wood pressed against the length of your spine and shoulders as you heard something that sounded like a book fall somewhere behind you. He gripped the soft flesh of your thighs, blunt nails digging in. Breath hitching, your heart thumped at the roughness and passion of his movements. Something animalistic and unrestrained lay just beneath the surface, waiting, ready. 

“Let me,” he urged quietly, fingers winding over the lace underwear, dragging them down the length of your legs. Fingers stroked up again, curling and caressing your inner thighs, one hand finally reaching the place where you were already desperate, soaking wet, and aching to be touched. Without hesitation, a digit dipped, sliding along your slick folds and slipping in easily. The motion made you bite down on your tongue as his other hand ran along the underside of your knee, urging your leg up and apart. 

You felt the pad of his thumb gliding over the little bundle of nerves, back and forth in a way that made you groan. 

“You are,” his voice was low, almost a growl, and his teasing continued. “So gorgeous, laying there. I can’t stop looking at you.” One finger became two. Slick and hot as they moved into you, each stroke moving deeper. All too suddenly, his lips were crashing down against yours, kissing you hard and desperately as if set on devouring you whole. 

The only thing keeping you stable was grabbing his shoulder and his upper arm. The sudden rise of pressure rushed around you. His thumb slipped, pressing down a bit more on your clit, drawing another gasp from you, a sound that filled the room. Then he pulled his hand away, an invisible weight settling when the digits were gone, leaving you empty and still aching for more. 

“I’m on birth control,” you managed, eyes blinking rapidly as you processed that this, in fact, was actually about to happen. The fullness beneath your belly was spooling tighter, coiling. 

It was only a few seconds; that’s all it took for him to undo his belt buckle, his length freed. Straining, leaking, begging to be inside you. The size of it makes you swallow a certain anxious lump in your throat. 

“Please.” The word spilled out before you could stop it. The coil inside you grew more and more tense and throbbing. You needed it now; the consequences didn’t matter, nor did the guilt or shame. “Please.”

His breathing hitched as if a long controlled flame within had been ignited. One of his hands rested on your hip, the other hooking under your opposite knee, parting you further and steadying himself. The tip of his cock pressed at your center. You didn’t have any time to prepare because, at that very moment, he was pushing further, sliding into you inch by inch. 

The heat and fullness and pleasure coursed, trembling through you. 

“Sweetheart,” he breathed, face buried in the crook of your neck, but you could hear the grin in his tone, the soft desperation in his voice. “You, you -” but his breath choked off as he pushed all the way inside, the moan that ripped through him cracked and hoarse. 

It took you a moment to feel him fully, gasping for air and dazed beyond what was really necessary. Holding tight, you wrapped an arm around his neck, exhaling hard. The room became a haze around the two of you, the entire moment almost suspended, paused, put on hold. 

When he moved his hips again, you whimpered as he hit somewhere deep, and your pleasure spiked. 

“Fuck,” he whispered against your skin, raising himself just enough to look at you, eyes glinting with a certain fervor. A little dark, a little feral, something wildly possessive and hungry and yearning all at once. “Oh, fuck,” he hissed, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes. Another jolt shot through you. Another strong thrust, this one harder than the last, followed by another. And another. It took a minute for him to set a rhythm, but when he did - you were sure the air was being pushed from your lungs each time. 

You couldn’t do anything but hang on. His mouth met yours in a sloppy, forceful kiss. Gasping and shuddering, you tried not to shout at the next jolt. The constant grind fills you every time. Deeper and sharper. The steady, thrumming pleasure. Intense and focused, as if Father Sylus were on a mission. Searching for something. Finding each sweet spot with whatever desperate greed drove him. Like now that he’d had the taste of something forbidden, he wanted the best of it - anything you could offer. 

He shifted slightly, and before you knew it, he hooked your leg over his shoulder, the deep angle making you arch from the desk. 

One hand tangled in his hair, the other on his shoulder, gripping hard and pulling him closer, trying to keep him buried deep inside of you. The friction built, the pace driving forward and drawing the pressure up, leaving you malleable and aching for release. But somehow, wanting it to last as long as possible. 

When the pleasure spooled tighter and tighter, every breath came short, coming fast and shorter. Until finally with one long, breathy whimper of an exhale, release washed over you, crashing like a wave. His name slipped out of your mouth, some deep, instinctual part of your brain keeping you present enough to utter it, still pulsing around him, shaking. 

And that brought him there, a little broken sound falling from his lips. Hips snapping, driving just the slightest bit further until he groaned into the side of your neck, spilling inside you. After a moment, the stillness settled between the two of you, heavy and thick. There was no actual sound other than ragged breathing. 

You stared at the ceiling, trembling and a bit boneless, wholly dumbfounded and satisfied. Then, with every ounce of energy left, you sat up, placing a hand on his chest.

“You okay?” 

A rush flooded through you at his question, and you struggled to make sense - to be logical and reasonable. 

“Yeah,” you said quickly, “I just. I…” What was the right wording? You trailed off, eyes focused somewhere beyond him. Struggling, you kept your eyes away. How could you possibly articulate the warmth that had settled over you, the lift in your confusion that had been gnawing at you until this moment? How could you explain feelings that make no real sense? 

“I feel at peace.” A near whisper because your words made it tangible, whatever it was. And really, you did feel lighter. It was as if something weighing on your shoulders had lifted in a way that wasn’t just because of the act that had been performed. 

“Really?” A sharp inhale of his breath. 

You nodded, reaching out to hold his face and running your thumbs along his cheekbones. Father Sylus slowly returned the nod, a tentative but wonderful, hopeful smile quirking up his lips—something bright and genuine, untouched by bitterness or remorse.

Serenity had sunken in with a comforting familiarity. Settling inside, like the feeling of returning home. Like the truth had opened its door. Acceptance and serenity. Understanding. Clarity, even. The knowledge you weren’t as broken or faulty as you thought. 

A moment passed, no words spoken. Then, still breathless and maybe a bit disbelieving, Father Sylus reached out and traced a cross on your brow with his thumb. 

“Did you just -” You blinked, a bit indignant as you huffed. “Did you just…bless me?”

He looked a bit sheepish, hands resting on your shoulders, thumbs rubbing gentle circles along your collarbone. “Guess I did.” With a slight chuckle, he leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on your forehead. 

Tag list: @celestialforce, @readerxyourbabe, @babyx91

[saddled-on-stars]

Hellooo, may I request something Keatlejuice x reader ?

I was thinking of something inspired from the “do you think I’m qualified” scene from the first movie and basically the idea is: Beetlejuice keeps flirting with reader, which hasn’t been very successful so far… But at some point his voice switches back to his “normal” one and reader pauses because since when does he sound so good??

He notices the reaction and kind of uses it to his advantage to make reader swoon hehe

Thank youu :))

okay- don't mess this up, don't mess this up, don't mess this up... HI THERE MY LITTLE LOVELY CONSTELLATION! Okay, full disclosure, I've never watched either of the Beetlejuice movies. I don't really know how the model exactly works, so I'll make it to similar to the musical; where you just find him on the roof. (I HOPE THAT'S OKAY, DARLING) So yeah, I've never watched either of the movies... I KNOW THE PLOT OF THE FIRST ONE THOUGH, AND I WILL EVENTUALLY WATCH THEM BOTH I SWEA- As far as Keatlejuice goes, I don't know a thing about that scene, and nothing came up when I looked it up, so I'm just going to go off of what you typed. 😀 Please feel free to criticize if it's inaccurate. OKAY, HERE YA GO, LOVELY <3 Happy reading! - Star ★ -★-★-★-★-★-★-★- Trigger Warnings: Explicit Language, Suggestive Themes, Mentions of Break-Up -★-★-★-★-★-★-★- Key: ★ (Y/N) = Your Name ★ (L/N) = Last Name -★-★-★-★-★-★-★- - ★ - Spooky Smooth - ★ - Lying on your bed, listening to some music, it's about 2am. You have your earbuds in, connected to your phone, and are wearing some comfortable shorts and your favorite hoodie. You begin fiddling with the drawstrings, thinking of who gave it to you, then you frown in sadness. It was given to you by your now ex-partner, and they were a jerk. A TOTAL JERK. It all ended at dinner last night. But you hung on, and you still can't figure out why. But that's not why you're sad. You're angry and upset and heartbroken all at the same time, for letting yourself believe that they loved you. It crushed your heart into billions of pieces when they repeated to you that you just weren't good enough. They weren't the first ex, definitely not, and so, as usual, you thought they were the one. You poured your heart and soul into that relationship, only to have your heart shattered. You saw them in the bed with that fucking chick from some cheap-ass bar. You were so angry that you did things to them that you weren't proud of. You impaled all four tires on their small old Nissan Versa, to be specific. You wanted to do so much more, but your heart couldn't take it, and it crushed you in the most tragic way possib-

You drift back to reality as you hear something shuffling above you. It sounds like it's coming from the attic or the roof. You assume it's some sort of critter, and almost fix your earbuds back into your ear, until you hear something... sobbing, perhaps? Sniffling? Letting your curiosity get the best of you, you push your earbuds back in, still listening to the sad, yet comforting music, and you climb out of your window onto the roof. You climb up to the top, and quickly find yourself captivated by the stars. It seems to ground you for the first time you've felt content in a while. You pause your music, hearing something else. It's the sound of a small flyer blowing in front of you. Curiously, you grab it, wondering what it might say. Betelguese - The Bio-Exorcist. Speak my name three times. Betelguese? Like the star? Eh, sounds strange, and this flyer seems pretty aged and old. But how'd it get up high on the roof? You consider calling whoever this 'Betelguese' person is. If they're a bio-exorcist, then they could get rid of your nasty ex. After all, that bitch has some shit comin'. "Bettle-goose, Bettle-goose, Bettle-goose." You close your eyes, expecting something crazy to happen, but the only movement and sound are the stars twinkling and the crickets below chirping. You suddenly see another flyer blow by, and you pick that one up as well. Beetlejuice - The Bio-Exorcist. Speak my name three times. Now you understood. Whoever this person is, they must be here, and so, you put your earbuds back in their designated case, preparing for what's to come. You hold your hoodie in a self-hug, bracing yourself and you begin: "Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice." You close your eyes once again, fearing that something large might happen that might spook you, but instead you hear a raspy voice say, "It's showtime~" Suddenly, a giant puff of green smoke appears in front of you, and you're slightly startled, but your curiosity overpowers your fear. Standing there before you is some sort of creature? No, this must be the Beetlejuice guy. He's in a black-and-white striped tuxedo, complete with some typical black shoes. Though, it's all dirty, covered in green spots from here to there. His hair is a pale green, sticking out in all different directions, and his eyes are surrounded by black circles, and you can't tell if it's a fashion choice or not. "Hiya, Babes!", he says, his voice still raspy and rough. "H-Hello..", you reply, slightly still startled. He comes over and sits on the roof in front of you. "So, I heard ya' called m'name three times! Tre!", he says as he's holding up three fingers, his fingernails looking a little overgrown. 'He knows Italian? How strange...', you think. He puts his elbows on his knees, and lays his head on his hand, in a relaxed position. "So what's a pretty lil' thing like YOU doing, callin' a bio-exorcist?", he says, his eyes filled with flirtation. Damn. Straight to the point, you guess. "I-I've had my heart broken by some bitch, and I need you to get rid of them...", you say, while trying to avoid eye contact, as you can feel your eyes show your anger. His other hand comes up to his face as well, until he's resting in both of his hands. "Well then, who's the bastard, and we can make a deal, Babes! Don't worry, I don't bite-", he says as his hands come back to his knees and he leans closer.

"Unless... if you're into that sort of thing, Babes..", he says as he winks, his voice suddenly changed. It's no longer raspy and rough, but DAMN, it's smooth and gentle. You feel your cheeks flush, definitely flustered from his flirtatious remark. "I- uh, uhm-...", you stutter, trying to find the words to respond. He chuckles at your reaction, and he replies to you stuttering, "So, what do ya say, Babes? Wanna make a deal with the devilishly sexy?”.

He's so close to your face now, it's almost burning with electricity. You nod slowly, not knowing how else to respond. You've been holding your breath for a long time now, but your lungs are far from their limit. He winks, and brushes your thigh with his hand, and snaps his fingers. You release the breath you've been holding, as you realize that he's dissappeared into a cloud of smoke, leaving you breathless. "Damn, that voice..."

- ★ - Written by Saddled_On_Stars - ★ -

[anim-ttrpgs]

More rambling On the subject of TTRPGs as a disrespected artform.

There’s a bunch of reasons for this disrespect being present that I could get into but I’m going to focus on the most relevant one to this topic: TTRPGs are helpless.

To explain what I mean I’m going to make a comparison to video games, or at least action-adventure type video games. Those have a lot of similarity to “trad” and “neo-trad” TTRPGs, which are nominally the most popular style of TTRPG (even though it seems like half the player base would rather be playing something else but again another tangent). Both of these are usually about protagonists using abilities to avoid or defeat adversaries and avoid traps and progress through a series of hazardous areas.

Video games are not helpless. They can assert themselves on the player. When you lose in a video game and you’re like “Aw no way, I didn’t want that to happen!” The video game can say “No, Mario fell in the pit, Master Chief got blown up by a grenade, Pac-man got caught by a ghost, you lose. According to the rules of the game, you have to try again from a checkpoint.” And you have to do it. The game forces you to start over.

In a TTRPG, if your guy gets killed and you object to that, the TTRPG can at most offer a weak textual protest as you or the game master flips the die over to a more favorable number.

Of course plenty of video games have cheat codes, hacks, mods, etc. that can remove that power from the video game to force you to follow the rules of the game, but not everyone has the knowledge or skills to use those, whereas everyone can flip a die over or just lie about the number. Plus, doing this is looked upon less favorably in the culture of video games than in the culture of ttrpgs. I mean, it’s in the name. “Cheat” codes. You’re cheating.

If somebody brags about how they beat Elden Ring with no deaths but then you mention that you hacked the game to give your character infinite HP, people will go “hey wait a minute,” but if you brag about how your character was so badass when they defeated a hundred cultists at once in D&D5e, because the DM kept saying the cultists missed every time the rules say they should’ve hit and you kept saying your character hits every time the rules say their attack should miss, nobody bats an eye. It’s even more accepted and expected that a DMPC will materialize out of thin air to kill everything every time the party picks a fight they can’t win.

Ultimately, a lot of the urge to cheat like this I think comes from the fact that people are introduced to neo-trad TTRPGs like D&D5e through critical role and also its playerbase’s general fixation on pre-planned plots and heavily scripted scenes that rely on characters never dying(which was not invented by critical role but was heavily bolstered by them). The only way that these goals can be achieved is by cheating, since D&D5e really doesn’t support that kind of thing, so they get into a habit of cheating. They get into the mindset that the rules don’t matter and can only get in the way of their intended gameplay. Which is of course because their intended gameplay is not something D&D5e was made for.

Then gradually they trickle into other games besides D&D5e, and assume that those games’ rules don’t matter either, completely deflecting and disregarding the experience that the designer intended players to have with their art. Or worse, they become TTRPG designers themselves, and write their own rules based on the assumption that the rules don’t matter which not only results in shitty gameplay experiences for people who are trying to follow these thoughtlessly-written rules, but also further reinforces the infectious idea that TTRPG rules don’t matter. But dude. TTRPGs aren’t anything *but* rules. The rules text is the whole game. Saying the rules don’t matter is like saying the paint on the canvas doesn’t matter! Yes! It matters because those colors of paint in those places placed there intentionally by the artists are what makes it a painting and make up the whole experience of experiencing the painting!

So we have a huge demographic in the TTRPG fanbase that thinks that the very artform itself is, at best, valueless and at worst actively bad!

Reading comprehension check!

Things I did not say in this post:

“We need to expel any particular demographic and never let them play.” (But maybe if they don’t like our artform, they should try to find one more suited to their needs instead of twisting another artform into something else.)

“You’re never allowed to adjust or homebrew a rule to fit the intentional gameplay experience you’re going for.” (But if you find yourself doing this all the time, either before you have even played the game normally, or constantly on the fly in most or all sessions, maybe you need to find a different game altogether.)

Exerpt from Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy. (with art by @theblackwarden )

[nickyflowers]

as someone who both leeches off someone else’s paid spotify subscription and maintains an extensive local mp3 collection, i do find it useful for discovering/listening to new music without dedicating myself to downloading or buying it right away. not useful enough to pay for it myself if i ever get booted though

you should check out these really good ways of finding new music that have nothing to do with spotify:

bandcamp tags

soulseek

browsing record stores

asking your friends

finding music critics you like

rateyourmusic

discogs

the radio

podcasts

going to local shows

the section of a well-liked artists' wikipedia page that lists their influences

hearing something while out & about and using shazam

making some up yourself (hard mode)

i genuinely hope this helps!! spotify's algorithmic recommendations are not as good as people like to think they are tbh!!!

[milliesfishes]

hiiiiiiiiiiii millie mouse!!!!! hope you’re doing good bb :) i’m craving some billy fluff :( could you write up a lil something about billy babying reader a lil, maybes she upset about something? i just need some good old millie’s billy :(

-🧸🎀

ofc lovey! also oh millie's billy made me smile <3 <3

౨ৎ꣑ৎbilly babying you౨ৎ꣑ৎ fem reader x billy the kid

Shutting the door behind you and dropping your bag, you fled into the bedroom, flopping down face first atop the sheets you’d painstakingly straightened this morning. You could hear Billy in the other room, likely just coming in from a day outside, but you didn’t make a move. After today, you wanted but a few moments of peace before having to explain yourself.

It was always something when you went into town. Some apparent wrong move or gesture or word that stemmed from you, all criticized no matter what. You tried to be kind. All you ever wanted to be was kind. But it never seemed to be enough. You’d observed the other townspeople and tried to mimic them. After all, you weren’t born and raised here like so many of the other women, so maybe it was that you didn’t understand the dynamics yet.

But still nothing worked. You were shunned, even spoken cruelly to. Today, when you’d been purchasing a spool of yarn, you had complimented the dress of the woman ringing you up, and had been met with a frosty glare, a snipped one word answer.

All the way home you’d held it together, gripping the reins of your horse and trying not to cry over something so stupid. It wasn’t their fault- maybe you needed to be nicer, do some of the same activities they did. Still, tears poked at your eyes, and you didn’t let yourself cry until you were inside, even though there weren’t any neighbors for miles.

There was a wet spot in the bed where your tears had soaked in, and you burnt with shame over it. Covering it with your arms, you buried your face into them, back trembling as you let out everything suppressed from the second you stepped into the store. You hated that you were upset over this when you were the one who’d done something wrong. The only problem was that you couldn’t figure out what it was, and the frustration only made you cry more.

The bedroom door was opened, and you tried to slow down your crying to no avail. There was one set of footsteps, along with the pitter-patter of four paws on the floor. A weight was deposited on the bed, soft fur rubbing against your head as a throaty purr started up. When you felt a second tail brush against your back, you realized Billy must have carried one cat in while the other followed.

When his big, warm palm settled on your back, you sniffled, another bout of tears welling up. He gathered your hair, smoothing it carefully and pushing it to the side so he could rub your back. All the while, the two cats purred and nuzzled at your head, causing you to look up, lips twitching when you saw Willow’s pretty face and sleepy eyes. She must have been the one Billy carried in. Fish only teamed up with him when you were in distress, and even then that courtesy did not extend to picking-up privileges.

Billy continued his stroking as you sat up, leaning into him and wrapping your arms around his neck. The material of his shirt was worn from years of use, but you found comfort in familiarity. His hair was a mess from being under his hat, and one set of your fingers found the soft curls at the nape of his neck. He held you gently, starting to rock back and forth. It was a go-to when you were upset, and for a reason. Your tears began to slow down, softened by his love.

“Thought the cats might help,” he murmured into your hair, and a little laugh escaped you.

“They did,” you said, muffled by his chest. “You all did.”

Pulling back, you looked up into his eyes, seeing them brimming with worry the way you knew they would. He caught a stray tear with his thumb, smoothing over your cheekbone. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” you promised, and he visibly relaxed, just a little. Reaching up to hold his wrist, you could feel it all at the tip of your tongue, about to spill over. He had that effect on you, where you wanted to tell him everything. Billy softened the protective walls you’d built, found a key to your locked doors and asked if he could use it. But you found yourself letting him in anyways every time.

“I want them to like me,” you whispered, cheeks going rosy as you looked down. It was such a silly thing to cry over, but he didn’t act as though he thought so. “The people in town. I don’t know what I did wrong-“

“Nothing.” Billy cut you off, cupping your cheek as Fish rubbed at your side, prompting you to give him a scratch under the chin. “Baby you couldn’ta done anything wrong. Look at you.” He lifted his other hand, giving it a home at the other side of your face. “My perfect girl…couldn’t do bad if you tried.”

A weak smile lifted your lips. “I must have.”

His expression grew somber, and he exhaled softly, searching your eyes. “Honey…ain’t nothin’ you did, alright? If I know you I know you’ve been sweet as can be.” Billy brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, returning his hand to your cheek. “But some folks don’t like that I’m around.”

The pang in your heart stilled you for a moment. Just by the look in his eyes you knew he was telling the truth, but it wasn’t one you wanted to hear. He was trying to tell you it wasn’t your fault, but now you wanted it to be. It would be so much easier if it was something you could fix.

Reminders that not everybody loved him the way you did came often from all directions, and you avoided them at every turn. Refused to believe people could be so cruel, so critical of someone they hadn’t even met, who hadn’t done any wrong by the law for several years now. But it caught up everywhere you went, driving you to move around wherever the wind blew, hoping this would be the town where nobody had heard of him.

He’d promised this place would be special. That this was a place for staying. You’d settled in happily, believing him the way you always did. Billy avoided town as much as he could, so you had been positive that there wasn’t any reason to be cruel towards him. But now you’d been proved wrong. Even sparingly, they would always find a way.

Seeing the realization in your eyes, Billy pulled you in again, holding you tight to his chest. He dropped his lips to the top of your head, nose buried in your hair. “It’s not you, darlin’. Never you. They can’t get to me so they figure you’re the next best thing. It ain’t right, I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

Your tears fell silently as a rush of shame washed over you. He was guilty because you hadn’t been able to handle yourself over one person’s unkindness. Slumping against his chest, you let him pull you onto his lap as he settled on the bed, the telltale thump of his boots hitting the floor as he nudged them off. Billy scooted back against the headboard, hauling you up under your arms and setting you back on his thighs, face hidden in his shoulder.

“You shouldn’t be punished for lovin’ someone,” he breathed, fingers bunching up and down over the space between your shoulders. “For seein’ good in every damn person. That’s just who you are and you should be praised for it. Not shunned. I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry.”

Shaking your head, you clung to his collar, nuzzling against his neck. “It’s not your fault.”

“Shh,” Billy soothed, laying another kiss to your hair. “It’s okay, sweet girl. It’s okay.” His thumb rubbed a relaxing path over your shoulder as you melted into him, calming as you became consumed by his presence.

The problem surrounded your bubble like a storm cloud, but you ignored it, choosing to revel in what you had. The man you loved, comforting you, letting you lean on him when you were upset. And it was bothering him too, you could feel the tension in his body, swept under the rug in favor of keeping you relaxed.

Fish and Willow curled up around you both, their sleepy purring only helping you further calm down. Billy kept you laying against his chest, his voice dropping to a whisper with the last of your tears and sniffling. “I know baby, I know.” He shifted slowly so that you were lying down on top of him, body between his lazily spread legs. “Shh, it’s okay.”

And it was. It all melted away as you snuggled into his chest, everything the world thought of you and him suddenly nothing.

There was only him and you and your cats, safely stowed away where nobody could touch you.