#enigmatic fear reblog

[lucyandthepen]

get you alone | ljn ( m )

ideally, jeno should have his hands full with teaching. (un)fortunately, he only seems to have his head full of you.

pairing: tutor!jeno x reader verse: college au rating: r ( minors, do not interact! ) warnings & tags: jeno is a college algebra math tutor & reader is failing, written in lapslock, not beta’d in any shape or form so please excuse mistakes, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, folks), piv, oral (f!receiving), use of pet names (kitten, angel, sweetheart), praise, reader calls jeno ‘sunbae’ until she doesn’t, size kink i guess if u squint! word count: 8.5k

a/n : actually this was written for a different fandom but i’ve decided to make it a jeno fic bc idk why not! first time writing in a different perspective so it’s a bit odd for me & i can't say i fw with this style nor am i particularly proud of this fic but she is ... sumn! also i fear i have a thing for the math tutor trope but that’s neither here nor there AHA enjoy !! 

if you liked it, please consider reblogging to support (especially because this may get flagged for mature content)!

there wasn’t anything special about your case; at least, that’s what jeno had thought when he picked up your request before he met you. before he met you, you were just another student trying to demystify the painfully enigmatic art of getting through college algebra. before he met you, he had already tagged this case as another charity stint — a good way to get brownie points with the dean’s office and the mathematics and natural sciences department. in fact, thinking of all his tutoring cases as community service made them somewhat palatable, if not a little forgettable. he was quite sure, at the time, that you’d be in and out — both of the tutoring center and his memory. such was the case with most of his other tutees, anyway. 

he hadn’t expected you to be… well, you — a pretty little thing, with your sweet smile and your wide doe eyes. on the first day, you’d stood out; you’d arrived at the tutoring center’s lobby in a short dress, knit cardigan, and coquettish makeup, as if every fiber of your being were bidding the spring a solid farewell. multiple heads had turned, including his, as you came up to the front desk and asked for one lee jeno for college algebra. you were eager for summer, jeno had learned as you broke the ice little by little, in part because you looked forward to visiting okinawa with your family, but also because you were eager to get your first semester out of the way. that much, you had in common with most of his other students — almost all of the ones seeking help in college algebra only took it as a depressing core requirement of whatever degree they were doing. you, specifically, were focusing on fashion design; that very vividly explained your attention to your looks. this mathematics class was a thorn in your side, a mandatory thing that was simply supposed to get you through later business-oriented classes in your degree program. for jeno, however, college algebra had become the perfect excuse from the moment he’d laid eyes on you. 

the more time he spends with you, the more he thinks you’re exactly his taste. it starts off with little things he finds attractive, things he picks up while he’s watching you fill out the practice sheets he’s prepared for you on quadratic equations or while trying to get you to understand logarithms — your neat, tiny handwriting, almost like print; your habit of boxing your final answers in firm strokes, even if they’re hopelessly wrong; your colored tabs, cascading down the page side of your textbook. but as the weeks wear on, he sees all the little things in between — the way your long eyelashes quiver when you stop and close your eyes as you think for the answer, the upturn of your plush lips when you have the same answer on the practice sheet as he does, the deepening of your artificial blush with a natural hue when you realize you don’t know the answers to his gentle questions. he notices that you refuse to wear anything longer than a knee-length skirt despite the still-strong winds, notices that your tiny palms are always smooth and pink, that your hair always smells of coconut milk. these are things he can’t help but jot down in his memory — that was exactly what you were, after all: memorable. 

and the more he remembers about you, the more jeno wants you. yet he’s never made a move, never given so much as a hint of his interest, not only because there are prying eyes all around the building but also because you have never so much as shown a smidge of desire back. in fact, he has to wonder if you’ve ever thought of him in a different capacity — not as a tutor, but as a man. if you have, you’ve never made that obvious; you always talk to him respectfully, the little wall you’ve erected between the both of you remaining steady, and you never let your eyes linger on his face for longer than it takes for him to explain what you don’t know. jeno has had his fair share of female students, and in all of them, he’s seen the same kind of hunger — to few, he’s catered to their whims, if only to pass the time, if only for his own benefit. but you, with your ribbons in your hair and your sweet, sweet mouth, have never once shown that same kind of desire. 

he doesn’t know if it frustrates him, but he does know one thing — it makes him want you all the more. 

he wants you even now, as you sit across from him, dolled up as usual. even now, as your eyes take on a glassy sheen of defeat, your cheeks puffing out in the way that tells him you’re admonishing yourself once again, he craves you — maddeningly so. and he realizes that it doesn’t really matter if you're not the one to fall first, as long as he can still have you. 

“time out,” you beg, your fingers meeting the palm of your hand to signal a break. “my brain feels like it’s going to explode.”

“you just had a break ten minutes ago,” jeno reminds you, though there’s a lighthearted amusement to his voice that makes you smile sheepishly. “at this rate, you’ll be on more breaks than you’ll be taking the time to actually learn.”

“i’m trying,” you groan, your fingers curling against your forehead as you bump your head against your fist. “i just don’t think i’m cut out for this polynomial whatever — trial and error bullshit.” 

“you’ll hate me for saying this — but you’ll never know unless you keep trying.” 

“funny.” your sigh rustles the papers in front of you gently. “how do you do it, sunbae?”

“hm?” 

“you’re not only good at this stuff, but you’re so good you’re able to take the time to teach people like me.” 

“strengths and weaknesses — it’s the natural way of the world.” jeno smiles gently at you, and he notes how his chest feels tighter when you return the sentiment shyly. “i could never do what you’re doing in your own degree, try as i might. anyway, you’ll get there. i won’t let you become my first ever failed project, you know.”

“i wouldn’t want to let you down either, sunbae, but—” the back end of your pencil taps lightly against the surface of the table. “it just feels hopeless. i can’t focus on anything. it’s so… so abstract, and everyone here is talking all at once, and i don’t even know what i’m ever going to get out of this class in the long run.” 

even when you’re dejected, you look pretty; your bottom lip juts out naturally when you whine like this, and for a moment, jeno can’t say anything in response. he’s too busy wondering what your mouth would feel like on his — on him. when he snaps himself out of his brief reverie, he notices you’re looking around at everyone else — and he has to agree that with the noise level in this whole building, it isn’t the most conducive site for learning, especially when the learner is already so averse to the subject matter.

“i can’t help much in the way of it being too abstract,” he says kindly. “but it’s not a requirement for us to have our sessions here. i know it can be quite distracting, all these voices flying around, so why don’t you look for a place that better suits you, and we can start meeting there instead? the more comfortable you are in your environment, the better you’ll be able to absorb the material, i’m sure.” 

“you think?” your pencil comes to a slow halt as you refocus on him, a thoughtful light glimmering behind your gaze. “yeah — yeah, i actually wouldn’t mind that. then, i’ll look for a different place for us to meet, and we can start there next week. how does that sound?”

“whatever suits you suits me,” he responds easily. 

he lowers his gaze immediately after you flash him a blinding grin; there are far too many people here, as you both very well know, and if he keeps looking at you and your pretty little expressions any longer, he might just give them something to actually look at. 

it had been your idea, not his, so why did jeno feel like he’d dragged you into a compromising situation?

you’d texted him over the weekend that your search for a new venue had been absolutely fruitless; every cafe and study space you’d been to was either too expensive or equally as packed with people, if not both. jeno had seen the preview to your message, but he hadn’t been prepared for what it read out in full when he’d actually opened it. 

sunbae, would it be too difficult to just meet at my apartment? i attached a map, so let me know!

it wouldn’t be too difficult; logistics-wise, it was walking distance from campus and almost directly across the train station he takes home. it also definitely promised an environment you were comfortable in, and you wouldn’t have to worry about excess noise from any other tutoring groups. no, the difficulty really only lied in himself — you two, all alone, would certainly mean his mind would be up to no good for the two hours every monday, wednesday, and thursday you would be together. 

but for your sake, he’d try to rein it in, with the operative word being try. 

your place is as neat and as pretty as you are; he doesn’t know if you’ve cleaned up for him, or if you’re naturally this organized, but he likes it all the same. it smells of toasted marshmallow and expensive perfume, and all your furniture matches. jeno supposes he likes that in a woman — someone able to care for herself, someone who cares about herself. and you’re always just as neat and pretty to match, with your hair always styled sweetly, your makeup always enhancing your features. 

the problem is that now that he’s in here, where you live, and where you spend most of your time, jeno’s mind seems to wander too much towards thoughts about what you do in private. he rejects studying on the couch, not just because it’s bad for posture and concentration but also because he can’t help but imagine you pressed into the cushions by his hand. he suggests the small dining table you have, but on the second meeting at your place, he starts thinking about what you might look like seated on the table, your ass hanging over the edge and his face buried between your thighs. whenever you look up to ask him something, he drinks in your lovely, made-up face again, and starts wondering what your makeup would look like ruined before he interrupts that trainwreck of a thought with the answer to your question. 

by the end of the week, jeno’s defenses are all but shot, and he realizes that this situation might be optimal for you, but it definitely isn’t doing him and his now constantly straining cock any great favors. 

he supposes that your performance has somewhat improved; you’re less likely to trail off when you’re thinking and can actually do practice sets for a lot longer without all the noise and hubbub around you. your only real hindrance is yourself and your frustration; you have a habit of giving into your carelessness that sends you spiraling into despair, and it doesn’t help that when you press your cheek against the surface of your dining table and whine, the comfort jeno offers is noticeably delayed because he’s too busy thinking about his cock between your lips. 

“my dad’s going to kill me if i fail this midterm,” you grumble, stabbing the practice sheet with your pencil; it skids sideways, and jeno robotically fixes it back into proper alignment for you, careful not to brush against the arm that’s folded inwards, supporting your chin. “he only agreed to let me take this degree because of the business aspect of it. as if i’ll need to know about—” you check the header of the worksheet. “domain and range when i’m doing actual design work.”

“you’ll never know what might be useful later on in life. i definitely thought this was nonsense back in high school — and then i got this job.” 

“and now you’re rolling in dough?” you smile slightly. jeno chuckles. 

“i’m a long way away from having myself a scrooge mcduck golden pool, but i make enough to get by very comfortably, thanks to this.” 

“thanks to me, you mean.”

“you’re not my only student,” he snorts, pinching your elbow; you cry out exaggeratedly. “focus up. the hour’s almost over, and you should have finished with this much earlier.”

“can you leave it as homework?”

“not a chance.”

you blow out a sharp puff of air. “my mom used to do this thing where she’d give me rewards if i did well with my homework. i wish i’d still get something out of this.” 

“what kind of rewards did she give you?” 

“chocolates — candy, or sometimes we’d go out for milk tea together, if i did a particularly good job.”

“this is math tutoring, not a trip to the dentist,” jeno says, amused. 

“a trip to the dentist would be more enjoyable,” you mutter under your breath, picking up your pencil and doodling an angry face next to the number you’re only halfway through solving. “this totally blows.” 

“try to finish this before the hour’s up, and i’ll see if i can get you something nice. out of my own paycheck,” he stresses, prodding at your cheek to shift your attention back to the paper. he doesn’t miss the fact that your eyes light up, childish as the promise is. 

he doesn’t know if that’s really what motivates you, but you do manage to finish the worksheet with a few minutes to spare before the clock hits seven, and that earns you some light, solo applause. it isn’t much by way of true praise, but you flush with pride all the same. jeno packs his things in silence as you get yourself a glass of water, and you see him to the door. only there does he notice your eager eyes, your expectant smile. 

“what’s going through that pretty little head of yours?”

“are you really going to give me a reward? i did great today, you know,” you respond bluntly. 

“you were serious about that?” he laughs. 

“absolutely. i earned it.” you raise a slim finger, wagging it in his face. he trails it with his gaze, no shortage of amusement in his eyes. “next monday, i want something sweet.”

jeno takes in the sight of you, keeping your door open with your hip; he wonders if you know what you’re doing to him, what you’re asking of him — if you even know there’s nothing that could possibly be sweeter than you at this very moment. he drinks in the sight of your feigned haughty expression on your pretty features, the unnervingly low dip of your tank top, the tempting hemline of your shorts, and feels like you must be aware of what he’s going to do next. 

“if it’s something sweet you want, you don’t have to wait until next week.” 

he does it before he can think it through — surely, there’s nothing too harmful about a quick kiss? he angles your chin upward with his thumb and forefinger before you can even react to his words, and he tastes you like that for the first time. you’re just as soft and as sweet as he’d imagined, if not more so. 

when jeno pulls away, you step back; there’s shock written all over your face, your mouth still hanging open slightly. your voice is gentle, shaky when you start speaking. 

“sunbae, wha—”

“see you next week. rest up over the weekend, or there’ll be consequences.” 

he finds it easy to joke with you now, even after what he’s done — finds it easy to wave goodbye with nonchalance as he walks to the elevator, now that he’s gotten one thing out of his system. the look on your face, the growing blush across the bridge of your nose and your temples is indication enough for jeno to feel confident — if you hadn’t thought about him that way before, you were sure to spend the next few days doing exactly that. 

it’s exactly a week before your midterm exam, and jeno notices you’re less than focused. 

he’d let you stew over the weekend, not expecting much by way of communication; indeed, his phone hadn’t once been jostled by your texts. he’d taken that silence to assume that you’d been wrapped up in thoughts of the kiss he’d left you with, and you did not disappoint on that front; the next monday saw you fidgety, flushed, and constantly faltering in your words. you asked less questions, which normally indicated a problem, but today, he’d let it slide; you definitely had a little too much on that pretty little brain of yours. 

he notices you’re still dolled up — your eyelids are shimmery, and your lips are glossy; you’re wearing a tennis skirt that hits all the right buttons for him, too. it’s true that you’re always pretty well-dressed and put together, but today somehow feels different. if before, jeno had always seen you dressed up simply to look good, today it feels a little more like you’re dressed up to look good for him. he knows it’s a little bit egotistical to assume as much, but he also doesn’t miss the side glances you throw at him when you think he’s not looking at you answering your textbook or the way your cheeks glow when you make the slightest bit of eye contact. 

still, you try to focus as much as you can; it’s adorable, in fact, to see all your valiant efforts to appear unperturbed. he figures he’ll play along for as long as you will — what matters to him, after all, is that you’re in the game to begin with. you complain less today, focus on your worksheets, and jeno even manages to witness the sight of your forehead creasing up as you concentrate on a particularly difficult item. you’re adorable, in the kind of way that makes him want to pin you down and have his way with you. 

you finish your work without a fuss today; you only actually asked for his help twice, which was a feat in and of itself. and again, when the session is over, you walk him to the door.

this time, when you linger, he waits; you’re clearly not good at hiding your true intentions, as it’s become clear you have something you want to say. as you try to piece your thoughts together, jeno reaches into his backpack’s front pocket and extracts today’s gift — an actual chocolate bar, albeit a rather run of the mill one. 

“what’s this?” you ask, your thought process clearly derailed as confusion takes over your features. 

“your reward. for a good job last week and today — you said you wanted one, didn’t you?” 

“but i thought—” you stop yourself, your mouth opening and closing, suddenly wordless. jeno grins. 

“not good enough? i picked that up from a convenience store on my way here, so it definitely isn’t anything special, but i thought it would at least be a good motivator.”

you’re turning red, and there’s turmoil in your eyes — he enjoys this, he realizes, the way he flusters you. if he had known this would be the result, he would have made a move much sooner. you shift your weight from one foot to the other, back and forth, obviously weighing out your options too. finally, you say, “alright.”

“you seem disappointed.”

“i’m not.”

“i’ll get you a better brand next time, if you really don’t like it.” 

“it’s not that.”

“so what is it?” he doesn’t expect you to say it, and you don’t defy expectations; your bottom lip just quivers, and jeno chuckles low under his breath, stepping forward just past your doorway, just a little bit closer to you. “don’t tell me you wanted something completely different?”

you don’t say so, but he knows; he can tell by the way you tilt your head back, the way your lips part slightly, the gloss still trailing along the seam. he can tell by the way your torso arches just a little bit closer, almost like an accident. he can tell by the way your eyes bore into his, almost pleading. 

“what you did last week…” you start, but your voice trails off into nothing soon after. he chuckles again.

“ah, that. i might have gotten ahead of myself.” 

“was that all?” you press.

“and what would you do, if it wasn’t?”

“well — do you always like to play games?”

“i have a penchant for playing with my food before i eat it, if that answers your question.” he smiles down at your still-reddening face. “i was giving you a reward, as you wanted. i came up short on options then and there. you’ll let it slide this once, won’t you?”

“you did that just because i did well last week?”

“of course.”

“well, i did well today, too.” 

“you did, and that’s why you have this.” he gestures to the chocolate bar in your hand. 

“i don’t want this.” your voice is stubborn now, heated and frustrated, and you stuff the chocolate back into his hand. you must not like having to ask for something so blatantly — it’s too bad jeno wants to hear it in those exact words. 

“tell me what you really want, then.” 

you’re still unable to find the words, but your hands do the talking for you; they press into his shoulders and give you leverage to tiptoe until you’re just close enough to his lips. but you don’t close that gap, your mouth quivering only inches away from his, and oh, jeno wants to toy with you, but you’re just too irresistible this close to him. his warm palms press against your jaw, keeping your face steady as he closes the gap, and this time, he doesn’t just get a brief taste of you — jeno claims your lips with the thirst of a man who’s stumbled upon an oasis in the desert. 

you must have thought about this moment long and hard over the weekend, because the nonchalant side of you that’s turned a blind eye to him is completely gone; he drinks in your soft noises and short, breathless gasps — all signs of your eagerness — until he’s drunk on the taste of you. the deeper the kiss gets, the less you can keep up, but you try, and jeno always likes rewarding your efforts, his wide tongue taut and flush against your tiny one in the sweet, warm cavern of your mouth. he licks every inch of it, leaves the mild nicotine taste of himself there, before he pulls away slowly. your eyes are still closed when he creates distance, fluttering open in a happy haze a few seconds later. 

“good enough for you?” he murmurs, tucking a soft lock of hair behind your ear. you hum in assent through your dazed smile, and jeno knows he won’t be the only one looking forward to this coming wednesday.

you’d done really well today.

jeno’s proud of you — prouder than he’s been of most of his students in his career here at the university, actually. you’d finally answered a worksheet almost perfectly, save for a couple of numbers where you’d forgotten to round up, and those things are absolutely negligible at this point (by his books, anyway). you’ve been on your best behavior yet, avoiding all forms of complaint, and he knows fully well why, but he won’t criticize you for your hard work all the same, no matter the motivation behind it. 

in fact, you’ve done so good that he doesn’t wait until he’s about to leave to give you your sweet reward — which is why, twenty minutes before he’s meant to go, he’s got you on your couch, your legs spread, each one hooked over his shoulders. 

truth be told, you’d been good way before the lesson had started; you’d answered the door in a crop top and the tiniest pair of shorts you’ve dared to wear yet — all clothes that you couldn’t yet wear outside yet, given the weather. selfishly, jeno is thankful for this fact, and if he had to list down other things he’s thankful for, just off the top of his head, it’s that you no longer meet in the tutoring center and that your apartment’s walls seem thick and well-reinforced. 

“sunbae, don’t tease me.” your silly little whining voice makes its first appearance of the day, but all jeno does is smile — it’s an almost wicked expression, set firmly between your thighs. “you said i did really well today. don’t tell me you’re backing out on rewarding me?”

“not at all, sweetheart,” he hums, pressing a small kiss to your inner thigh. he likes seeing you shiver at the contact, likes the way you’re chewing on your lip in what appears to be slight agitation. “just thinking of how much of a reward you deserve.” 

in all honesty, jeno would like to take every bit of you now; you’re already so ready for him, anyway. he can smell the faint perfume of your arousal, can see the way you’re anticipating the most from him, and a part of him doesn’t want to deny you of that. the larger part of him has dreamed of burying his cock into you, anyway, and why wouldn’t he do that? but something also tells him to wait — or, rather, to make you wait, to make you want him just a little more. 

and so, he decides.

his mouth finds your skin again, pressing kisses up your thigh; they get wetter, hotter as his mouth moves up, until his nose and lips are buried against your clothed core. you squirm in response, but his grip on your thighs keeps you relatively steady, even as his tongue presses against thin fabric. the wet muscle pushes sharp against your tiny entrance, the tip meeting slight resistance against your shorts and panties, but he finds a way, burying half his tongue in alongside damp cloth. 

you’re already wet like this, and so needy that it might be possible for jeno to get you off just like this, still clothed, but the hunger in him spikes once you call out to him. 

“sunbae, please…”

with a groan, his fingers yank the fabric aside, exposing your pussy to the warmth of his breathing. it’s as pink, as pretty, as tiny as the rest of you, as fuckable as he’d imagined it would be, and he wastes no time in pressing his tongue flat against your folds, dragging it up in a wide, messy stripe; the muscle only tenses when it bumps against your clit, his tongue flicking upwards to tease it. 

you’re so reactive, even at the slightest things — you whimper, you squeeze your eyes shut, you squirm. you’re begging to be fucked, and jeno’s cock is strained tight against his jeans, but your taste is so addicting that he can’t help but dive back in. his tongue eases between your folds now, spreading them apart until they’re lewd and sticky with his saliva, and the nub of your clit has grown so pronounced now — so pert and lovely that he can’t help but purse his lips around it and suck with excess force. 

“sunbae — f—fuck,” you mewl; you almost sound tearful. “f—feels so good…”

jeno wants to tell you how fucking good you taste, how beautiful the sounds you’re making are, but his mouth is too busy; his teeth rake down your cunt lightly, earning him a jerk of your hips, and he has to place pressure down on your thighs again to make sure you’re still enough for him to slip his tongue into your cunt. 

he can tell even just by that how tight you’d be around him; your walls are warm around his tongue, and there’s a pressure against the muscle that tells him how good it’d feel for his cock to take its place. as if to simulate his desires, he presses his tongue deeper in, fucks you shallowly with its wetness until your whimpers become little sobs, broken and choked back. his thumb drags across your slit then settles against your clit, and he can feel the thrum of your pulse against the pad of his finger, beckoning him. he complies, easily, thumb tracing circles around the nub that start off slow, only for him to ramp up the pace alongside his tongue. 

you’re easily at fault for that; the way you whine for him, call him sunbae, tell him how good it feels over and over — why wouldn’t he want more of you? 

he’s not sure which of you really earns the sweet reward today; you cum on his tongue, your cunt trembling against his mouth and your fingers threaded into his hair, but he’s the one who comes out licking his lips like he’s had the best treat of his damn life.

come the middle of next week, jeno finds himself face to face with a test paper — one already clearly marked, with a number circled on the top-right corner. ninety. a stellar grade for anyone, and especially for you. 

you know it, and you look absolutely triumphant; you’re practically shining as you perch on your little dining table, your perfectly manicured finger jabbing at the score in emphasis. 

“flying colors, wouldn’t you say?” 

“color me impressed,” jeno replies smoothly, a genuine smile of pride tugging at his lips; he turns the page over, scanning your responses. you still draw your parabolas a little on the small side, making them a bit difficult to discern, and you’ve still got the habit of not rounding your answers up, but this is tremendous work, and he’ll be the first to praise you for it. “your dad must be filled to the brim with joy now, right?”

“i haven’t told him yet. you were the first.”

“well, i’m proud of you, sweetheart.” 

“proud enough to give me a reward?” 

he looks down at you in feigned thoughtfulness. here you sit, back in your little tennis skirt, looking up at him with hopeful eyes under those long, curled lashes. for someone who spent the first half of this semester acting ostensibly nonchalant, you’d very easily shown your true colors soon after — not that he really minds. in fact, he’s taken a decided kind of liking to how eager and willing you’ve come to be. 

“we’ve only just started our session, though,” he hums out, an idle thumb grazing his chin as he watches your expression turn from bright to cloudy, the beginnings of strategy darkening your gaze. it’s not like he wants to say no; he has no real intention to. but seeing you squirm in want makes him feel good about his decision to hold out a little longer — never mind the ache in his cock even then. “don’t we usually leave the rewards for a later time?” 

“i was thinking — since it’s the start of a new lesson —” 

“we wouldn’t want you falling behind from the start, would we?”

“i promise i won’t,” you pout. “i promise i’ll put in my best effort next time.” 

“next time? sweetheart, don’t tell me you’re thinking to get off scot-free today…” jeno trails off, his hand falling to the nearest surface it can reach — which, logic seems to dictate, is your soft, milky thigh. he feels you tense under his palm, and he bites back a smile, keeping his expression level. “i just don’t know.”

your small hands grip at the front of his shirt, and he hears you, for the first time, doing something he’s always wanted to hear you do. 

“please, sunbae?”

how could he say no to you? he hadn’t really planned on it, had only wanted to see you do this, but it’s still too much and beyond his expectation — your misty gaze, your quivering lip. it’s almost laughable that you don’t think he’d notice the way you shift yourself so that his hand, still warm against your thigh, slides up your skin, the hem of your skirt bunched up in the junction between his thumb and forefinger.

jeno chuckles — isn’t this exactly where and how he’s always wanted you? “how could you ask me like that and expect me to refuse, angel? in that case, i have no real choice but to dedicate all our time today to your reward.” 

your breathing hitches — in anticipation, in desire, in excitement — as his hand continues its trail upward, deliberately now, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. his head dips down, rests into the crook of your neck, and he inhales the thick, sweet scent of your perfume, your shampoo, of you and all that he’ll take from you. 

“just remember, you asked for this,” he murmurs against your skin. “so i’m going to take every bit of you until there’s nothing left for anyone else.” 

you’re so willing, so ready even before he can get his full bearings; your hips are rising slightly off the table, and jeno feels like it’s you that’s telling him to move faster. he tugs down your panties, letting gravity take its course until they’re a tiny puddle of fabric on the floor, and he slots himself between your legs. like this, you have no choice but to spread, and you do so without hesitation, your knees locking against his sides as he pulls you in for a tight, hungry kiss. there’s that taste of you he loves, that clean, sweet buzz that draws him in, and his hands are bruisingly tight on your waist as he reclaims your lips. 

you already look dazed when he pulls away, which is always cute, but a little unfair — jeno wants you to be aware still when he takes you, and damn, if he doesn’t want to take you right fucking now. he kisses you again, harder and more demanding, as if willing your attention back to him, while his hands explore you — run up your thighs, fingers brushing against the plush curve of your ass. it’s not enough, not by a long shot, and he’s pushing the waistline of your skirt up your stomach with his hands, letting his warmth transfer onto your skin; he chuckles as your stomach sucks inward at his touch, just as you let out a gasp against his lips.

and he wants desperately to hear that noise again; in fact, he wants to know what you sound like in every capacity. his mouth works down your neck, pleased to find that suckling wet and languid on a spot just above your collarbone has you writhing and whimpering. are you sensitive or touch-starved? whatever the reason, he wants to draw all of that out of you, his hands drawing back down to hook under your thighs. jeno drags you to the edge of the table, until your bare cunt is flush against the front of his jeans, and he lets you feel him — a brief tease of what’s to come. 

“i’m s—so wet already,” you whisper, as if he doesn’t know — as if you know it’s exactly what he wants to hear anyway. “sunbae, please, i need you.”

“not that,” he murmurs, his teeth grazing your collarbone as he speaks. “not sunbae. jeno. call me jeno, angel.”

“jeno,” you exhale shakily, and it’s music to his ears — as if the last thing holding him back from you had shattered. 

“that’s it — what a good girl,” he purrs, his hips rocking forward against your pussy before they retract, leaving just enough space for his hand to slip between. slender fingers trail down your folds, sticky and slick. “you are all wet for me, aren’t you? ready to take me deep inside?” 

even the way you nod, a tiny movement of assent, drives him wild, yet a part of him still wants to test the limit of your patience, his middle finger stretching to circle your entrance. 

“wouldn’t want to shock your tiny little pussy, though, would i? will you let me stretch you out first, kitten?”

“yes,” you mewl, sounding almost tearful. “anything— anything, please.”

jeno drinks in the long, drawn-out keen you set free when his digit sinks into you; he’s already felt your walls against his tongue, but a small part of him is still surprised at just how tight you are. that same part nags that he might not fit easily into you, but whatever that voice is is easily drowned out by a more assertive promise — he’ll make it fit. 

“can’t tell you how much i’ve wanted to feel your pretty little hole around my cock,” he presses on, his finger pushing deeper in; he feels you tense a delicious kind of tightness, as if it’s almost too much for you. is it? “ever since that first day you came into the tutoring center, dressed up all cute — did you do that on purpose, sweetheart?”

“yes,” you admit, breathless; the syllable is lengthened into a weak moan as jeno pumps his finger into you, slow, deep strokes that tease your tacky walls open. “wanted — wanted to make a good impression…”

“and you did, didn’t you? kept looking so sweet for me, so pretty every single time — got me thinking about all the ways i wanted to have you. got me so fucking hard every time we’d meet — is that what you wanted?”

jeno doesn’t give you much room to respond, but he can make his own answers to appease himself anyway; he reclaims your lips, already eager for another taste of you, and you comply with the same amount of desire, your soft whimpers melting against his teeth. in the space of pseudo silence, wet, messy noises, he manages to tease another digit into you, and you cry out against his lips as it pushes in, joining the first in how deep it reaches. he absorbs that too, takes in every minute sound you make, relishes the way you pulse around his fingers. even without the noises, he can tell your pleasure’s heightening, with the way you clench around him, your hips rocking pitifully as you’re eager to rut against his palm. 

“look at you now.” he’s selfish, but he doesn’t care — he wants to ruin you, and if the telltale squelch of your cunt as he fucks his fingers into it isn’t indication enough, then the way your mouth hangs open as he pulls away, letting his name fall freely from your lips, definitely is. “legs spread, all desperate to feel good for me. what a needy little kitten you are. this good enough for you, angel?”

you shake your head, only to squeal as he pulls you closer, his fingers shoving deeper into you; your hips are re-angled, allowing him to brush the pads of his digits against the rough, sweet spot, and he feels triumph bloom in his chest as you throw your head back, teary eyes squeezed shut.

“no, no, no,” you babble, and he can see the bob of your throat as you swallow hard, clutching at sense to make words. “want — need your cock, want to cum on your cock so badly, jeno — want you to fuck me, stretch me open, please —”

“greedy, aren’t you?” he murmurs, leaning in to nip at the spot he’d left reddened above your collarbone. “go on then — show me how much you want it. show me what a good girl you are, and cum on my fingers.” 

“but—” 

“come on, angel,” he urges above the squelching noises, increasing surely in volume. his fingers meet resistance when they spread apart inside you, but all it does is create a delicious friction that has you squirming in his hold. “don’t hold back. let me see you fall apart.” 

and you do, so prettily, your eyes rolling back and your voice unrestrained. jeno’s fingers ride you through your orgasm, pumping deep and steady despite how slick you’ve gotten, your juices coating his hand and wrist. he watches the flush rise to your neck, stopping at your cheeks, watches the heaving of your chest, the shine of your skin from a thin sheen of sweat, and he doesn’t want to let you come down from this high, but his cock is aching — practically bursting from his jeans — and all he can do is make the silent vow that the next time you look like this, he’ll be balls deep in you. 

“that’s my girl,” he coos gently, watching the tension slip from your shoulders; his free hand is at the small of your back quickly, easing you down as your torso falls back, and you’re laying on the table. “pretty little thing, aren’t you? cumming so sweetly for me.” 

“jeno,” you groan out weakly, your tiny hand clasping around his wrist. “cock — i want your cock, please—” 

“can’t wait?” he’s indecent for sounding amused, but even that does nothing to stay his arousal; how eager you are simply makes him want you all the more. “okay, angel — since you asked so nicely.” 

a slight twinge of disappointment runs through him as he pulls his fingers out, but it’s quickly buried by the feeling he gets once he gives you a clear sweep of a once-over; how slutty you look, still half-dressed but already half-ruined, your thighs shaking in an effort to keep them open for him, the remnants of your last climax still leaking out of your hole. the sight of you has him so distracted that unbuttoning and unzipping his pants feels like a fever dream of an act; he barely notices what he’s doing until he’s already bare in front of you, and alertness has crawled halfway back into your consciousness as you push yourself up on your elbows to look at him.

“it’s so—” you have the decency to blush, though there’s a pleased look on your face that tells him you’re not really embarrassed. “i didn’t think you’d be this big.” 

“does that worry you?”

“i’ve never had anyone… this big.” pride blooms in his chest — good, he thinks, because if he can’t be as memorable as your first, then he’ll take being the most in something as a prize. “i don’t think — will it fit?”

“does it matter?” he chuckles, and your blush deepens. “no matter what — you’ll take all of me in, won’t you?”

you chew on your bottom lip, as if considering your options, but to jeno, there’s really only one choice — the correct one, and you make it when you nod your head. 

“it’ll feel good, though, you know,” he muses. his hand wrapped around his base, he lines himself up with you, the tip grazing against your folds. “even better than just now.”

with just a little more pressure, he has his shaft flush against you; his girth sits against your slit, the tip pressed against your clit, and he starts to rock his hips — into his fist, against your cunt. your hips quiver, and a shiver runs through you as your pleasure spikes again, but he can tell it isn’t enough. your bottom lip is back between your teeth, and your eyes are flitting between his face and his cock. jeno reaches out, eases your lip out from between your teeth, strokes it gently, almost tenderly. 

“say it,” he commands in a soft, silky voice. 

“fuck me, jeno,” you breathe out, barely missing a beat. “fuck me, fuck my pussy, please.”

and if you ask that desperately, he’ll waste no time; he draws his hips back, dragging his cock down until he’s aligned with your entrance. his eyes are trained on your face, even when he pushes in, so that he can take in your expression — the widening of your eyes as his tip breaches the first wave of resistance, the way your mouth falls agape as his fingers dig hard into your flesh. he’s never seen a prettier sight in his life.

“stretched you out already, but you’re still so fucking tight,” his voice is a soft, melodious croon, a stark contrast to the way he’s forcing past your tightness. “tight and wet, like a good girl.” 

“so big,” you whimper, your fingers stretched far enough to tickle the front of his shirt. “can’t — can’t take it.” 

“of course you can, angel.” jeno doesn’t give you the time to brace yourself fully before he’s rocking his hips in a little more sharply, his cock now halfway into you. your fingers curl into a little fist, immediately flying back to block the noise from your mouth. “ah ah. don’t get shy on me now; you’ve been so noisy for me all this time.”

but he doesn’t really mind the way you clap your palm over your mouth to muffle your high-pitched squeal as he thrusts in fully, the adjustment period after the last movement close to nothing; he’s too busy focusing on how good you feel around him, how warm and wet your insides are. this is heaven, easily, and jeno wants to stay here for as long as he can. 

“god, you’re fucking tight,” he repeats, an appreciatory gaze running over where you’re joined. his thumb stretches over your folds, rubbing them — something of an apology, perhaps, although all it does is stimulate you more, and you shiver at the extra contact. “how deep is it, baby?”

“can feel you here,” you mumble out, your small hand pressing just above your pelvis. he feels the tightness multiply as you place pressure, even just for a moment. “your cock’s so much deeper than anyone else.” 

your hand falls away, limp, as he draws his hips back; you inhale, long and deep, before letting it out as a broken moan when he pushes back in. it drives him crazy, to start off this slow, when all he wants is to find a pace that has you sobbing, but the resistance of your pussy against his length isn’t easy to ignore. jeno works you open, his jaw set and his grip tight against your frame, and it isn’t long before he’s picking up speed, the slap of his flesh against yours fueling him exponentially, mingling with your cries, steadily increasing in volume. 

“that’s it. let everyone hear you,” he eggs on, his thumb now circling tight around your clit; your legs are quivering, threatening to close, but he keeps you steady, one arm wrapped around your thigh. his thrusts grow rougher, more deliberate, and when he looks up from where you’re joined back to your face, he sees your expression as a mixture of incredulity and ecstasy. a thin line of drool hangs from the corner of your mouth, your pretty pink lip gloss smeared, and fuck if he doesn’t want to make sure you look like this every single time he comes over. “let them know who’s fucking you good, angel.”

“j— jeno!” your voice hitches, lilts up as he presses in at a different, deeper angle, and he almost cums right then and there from the way your walls pulse around him. “your cock feels so good, fucking me just right— more, god, more—” 

he complies without hesitation, gathering both your thighs and pushing them closer to your chest; you look even lewder like this, folded in half with your sopping cunt presented to him like it’s all his to take, and it is, isn’t it? there’s an increase in the intensity, the vigor in which he pumps his cock into you, and he knows he’s brushing repeatedly against your spot by the way you’re blubbering his name out in a way that suggests you sincerely think no one else in this building can hear you. 

“that’s my girl,” he hums approvingly, though there’s a thickness in his voice that has him sounding a little more strained. “such a good girl, with your cunt all nice and sloppy for me. do you like it when i go this deep? does it feel good when i fuck you where no one else can?” 

“yes!” you sob out, your hands crumpling the end of your skirt up into tight fists. “jeno, i— cum, i need to cum again, please—”

“i’ve got you, kitten,” his tone is reassuring, a stark contrast to the rigor of his hips. “don’t have to hang on for me, you know; always love seeing you fall apart.” 

“m’close, so close —” 

“let go, then,” he urges, his blunt nails digging into your flesh. “let me feel that sweet cunt cum on my cock.” 

you comply without hesitation, though if you’d done it willingly, he can’t really tell; he has to pin your hips down to stop you from bucking up and causing him to slip out, and you writhe against him as you sob in ecstasy, your walls fluttering before they clench. stray tears leak from your eyes, squeezed shut, and jeno wants nothing more than to eat you up like this — broken, fucked out. 

you’re not even fully down from your high when he feels it — that sudden wrenching in his gut that tells him he’s about to follow suit. with a low groan, he peels your thighs apart again, lets you watch him as he bullies straight into your leaking hole. your voice is a staccato, punctuating every deep, sharp thrust into you, and it’s exactly to that melody that he wants to get off. 

“tell me where you want it, angel.” he doesn’t trust his voice, sharp and short as it is now. “should i mark your pretty face? your stomach?”

“want it against my pussy,” you whisper out, and jeno almost loses his mind as he watches you spread your folds apart with your forefinger and middle finger, inviting him. “make a mess of it, sunbae.”

he’s barely able to pull out before he’s spilling against you; he ruts against your slit, coating your folds and the insides of your thighs in thick, creamy white. you hold your legs apart for as long as you can until they start to tremble, and he catches them and gently eases them down. 

when you sit up to kiss him, you’re still demanding; he feels your hips rock closer, your sticky cunt pressing against the underside of his cock.

“not enough,” you murmur against his lips, and jeno chuckles as you bind your hands around his neck. 

“don’t worry, kitten,” he hums back. “we’ve got all afternoon.”

[leftoverpages]

Loyalty’s embrace

Pairing 𓅪 Benjicot "Davos" Blackwood x betrothed!reader

Tags 𓅪 jealous and protective Benjicot, small fight scene (no gore), fluff at the end, romance, reader uses she/her but no physical description

Notes: i have been writing for years without posting anything so i have a insane number of fics to post, enjoy lol

Wordcount 𓅪 1.3k

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

The grand ballroom of Blackwood Manor was awash with warm candlelight and the soft hum of conversation. The air was filled with the scent of roses and the clinking of crystal glasses. Lady Y/N stood at the edge of the room, a vision in her resplendent gown. Her dress, a masterpiece of crimson silk and midnight velvet, flowed around her like a river of fire and shadow. The bodice, embroidered with intricate patterns of gold thread, clung to her form, highlighting her grace and strength. Across her chest and shoulders, the Blackwood sigil was proudly displayed, a symbol of her new allegiance and her own fierce spirit.

The fabric shimmered in the candlelight, every movement sending ripples of light and shadow cascading over her. The skirt, full and layered, swirled around her feet like a tempest, the deep red contrasting beautifully with the inky black. A delicate gold chain rested at her throat, drawing attention to the elegant curve of her neck.

She stood there as her betrothed, Benjicot Blackwood, engaged in conversation with several lords and ladies. She found herself alone for the moment, sipping a glass of champagne and watching the festivities from afar.

Despite the grandeur, there was a nervous flutter in her stomach. Being betrothed to Benjicot, the fierce and enigmatic heir of House Blackwood, was both an honor and a daunting reality. Their engagement was more strategic than romantic, a union meant to strengthen alliances and secure power. Still, she had hoped to find some genuine connection with him, something to hold onto amidst the political machinations.

"Lady Y/N, you look ravishing tonight," a voice interrupted her thoughts. She turned to see Lord Cedric, a notorious flirt and known for his less-than-honorable intentions, standing far too close for comfort.

"Thank you, Lord Cedric," she replied, forcing a polite smile and taking a small step back.

He didn’t seem to notice—or care. "It's a shame you're tied down to Blackwood. A beauty like you deserves better," he said, his eyes raking all over her in a way that made her skin crawl.

"I am perfectly content with my betrothal, Lord Cedric," she replied firmly, trying to edge away. But Cedric persisted, moving closer, his hand reaching to touch her arm.

"Come now, Y/N, you can’t tell me you’ve never wondered what it would be like to be with someone else," he murmured, his breath hot against her ear.

Before she could respond, a strong hand gripped Cedric's wrist, pulling him away from her. "I believe the lady has made herself clear," Benjicot’s voice was low and dangerous, his dark eyes blazing with anger.

Cedric paled but tried to maintain his bravado. "I meant no harm, Blackwood. Just a bit of fun," he stammered, taking a step back.

Benjicot stepped between Cedric and Y/N, his posture tense and protective. "Your idea of fun is clearly misguided," he said coldly. "If I ever see you bothering her again, I will not be so forgiving."

Cedric sneered, his fear giving way to indignation. "And what will you do, Blackwood, uh? Throw me out of your pretty little ball?"

A dangerous glint appeared in Benjicot’s eyes. "No, Cedric. I’ll do much worse."

Before Cedric could react, Benjicot’s fist connected with his jaw, sending him staggering backward. The ballroom fell silent, guests suddenly turning to witness the confrontation. Cedric, recovering from the initial shock, lunged at Benjicot with a roar, swinging wildly.

Benjicot dodged, his movements controlled and precise. He landed another punch to Cedric's midsection, doubling him over. "You don’t know to quit, do you?" Benjicot muttered, grabbing Cedric by the collar and lifting him to his feet.

"Enough!" Cedric spat, struggling against Benjicot’s grip. "You think you can control everything? Even her?"

Benjicot’s eyes darkened further. "I don’t need to control her, Cedric. I trust her. Something you clearly don’t understand."

With that, Benjicot shoved Cedric away, causing him to stumble and fall to the ground. Cedric, breathing heavily and bruised, glared up at him. "This isn’t over, Blackwood."

"It is," Benjicot replied coldly. "And if you value your life, you’ll stay away from her."

Guards approached then, at Benjicot’s silent command, hauling Cedric to his feet and escorting him out of the ballroom. The guests slowly resumed their conversations, the tension dissipating, but whispers of the altercation lingered.

Benjicot turned to Y/N, his expression softening as he reached out to her. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice gentle.

She nodded, but her composure faltered, and tears welled up in her eyes. "Thank you, Ben. I didn’t know what to do..."

He stepped closer, his hand tenderly cupping her cheek. "You never have to face such things alone. Not while I'm here."

Y/N looked up at him, searching his eyes for any hint of insincerity. Instead, she found a depth of concern and protectiveness that took her by surprise. She had always seen him as distant, a warrior hardened by duty, but now she glimpsed the man beneath the armor.

"Why do you care?" she asked softly, her voice trembling.

Benjicot sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "I know our betrothal was arranged, but that doesn't mean I don't care for your well-being. I've come to admire your strength and grace, Y/N. I want us to be more than just a political alliance."

Her heart skipped a beat at his words. She had longed for some indication that he felt more than obligation towards her. "I want that too, Ben," she whispered.

He smiled then, a rare, genuine smile that made her heart flutter. "Then let's make it so," he said, taking her hand in his. "Together."

As they stood there, hand in hand amidst the glittering ballroom, Y/N felt a warmth spread through her.

Benjicot glanced around the room, the tension in his shoulders easing. He looked back at Y/N, his eyes filled with a tender resolve. "May I have this dance?" he asked, his voice soft and inviting.

Y/N felt her breath catch. She nodded, unable to speak, and he led her to the center of the ballroom. The musicians, sensing the moment, began to play a slow, melodic waltz.

As they took their positions, Benjicot's arm encircled her waist, his hand warm and steady. Her hand rested on his shoulder, and he guided her with a grace that belied his warrior's demeanor. They began to move, their steps perfectly in sync, the world around them fading into a blur of light and sound.

The music swirled around them, a symphony of emotions. They glided across the floor, each step a silent conversation. Y/N felt as if they were floating, the dance a magical respite from the political intrigue and uncertainty that had shadowed their engagement.

Benjicot's eyes never left hers, their dark depths reflecting a myriad of emotions. In that moment, she felt a warmth spread through her chest, a burgeoning hope that perhaps their union could be more than just a strategic alliance.

The music swelled, and Benjicot spun her gracefully, her dress flaring out like a crimson and black flower. When they came back together, he held her a little closer, his gaze softening even further.

"I meant what I said," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want us to be more than a political alliance. I want to know you, Y/N. To truly understand you."

She smiled, her heart fluttering with a mixture of nerves and excitement. "And I want to know you, Ben."

As the final notes of the waltz echoed through the ballroom, they came to a gentle stop. The guests around them erupted into applause, but Y/N and Benjicot remained in their own world, their gazes locked.

"Thank you for the dance," Y/N said softly.

Benjicot brought her hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles. "The pleasure was mine," he replied.

In that moment, surrounded by the approving smiles of their peers, Y/N felt something shift. The alliance they had been forced into was beginning to transform into something real, something hopeful.

The future was uncertain, but for the first time, she felt truly seen and protected. And perhaps, just perhaps, they could find love in each other’s arms.

[misswynters]

Heart of the Beast

beast!Cregan Stark x beauty! gn!reader

[a/n: abit sloppy with the writing for this one…beauty is subjective so your gender doesn’t matter here, time jumps all around kinda feels messy :/

[note | pls don’t just like, but also reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned

A short story inspired by Beauty and the beast. . .

The North was a place of stark beauty and harsh realities, where winter's grip could be both a blessing and a curse. Deep within the ancient walls of Winterfell, Cregan Stark lived a life shadowed by a curse he could not escape. Rumors whispered of his ferocious demeanor, his unapproachable nature, and his solitary existence. But those who knew him best spoke of the man he once was, before the curse transformed him into a beast of legend.

You arrived at Winterfell on a cold, windswept evening, bundled against the chill. Your father's debt had brought you here, a bargain struck to save your family's honor and future. You had heard the stories of the beastly lord, but standing before the towering gates of Winterfell, you felt a mix of fear and determination. You were a Celtigar, after all, and Celtigars did not shy away from challenges.

The castle's great hall was vast and imposing, lit by flickering torches that cast long shadows across the stone walls. As you were led to the heart of Winterfell, you couldn't help but feel a sense of awe mixed with trepidation. The heavy doors creaked open, revealing the figure of Cregan Stark, seated at the head of a long, wooden table.

He rose as you entered, his imposing figure draped in furs. His face was partially obscured by the dim light, but you could see the sharp angles and the intense, brooding eyes that seemed to see straight through you.

"Welcome to Winterfell," he said, his voice a deep, resonant growl. "I trust your journey was not too arduous?"

You inclined your head, meeting his gaze with as much courage as you could muster. "It was long, but I am here now, my lord."

Cregan studied you for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I appreciate your willingness to come. Your father's debt is a heavy burden, and I do not take it lightly."

The weight of his words hung in the air, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. "I am here to fulfill my family's obligation, my lord. Whatever that may entail."

He nodded slowly, a hint of something softer flickering in his eyes. "You are brave, for a Celtigar. Few would come willingly to face the beast of Winterfell."

Days turned into weeks, and you found yourself adjusting to life at Winterfell. The castle's cold, imposing exterior began to feel more like home, and the people within its walls started to warm to your presence. But it was Cregan who remained the most enigmatic, a puzzle you were determined to solve.

He was a man of few words, his actions speaking volumes in their stead. You watched as he cared for his people with a stern but fair hand, his gruff exterior hiding a deep sense of responsibility and honor. He was not the beast of the stories you had heard; he was something much more complex, a man burdened by a curse he could not break.

One evening, as the snow fell softly outside, you found yourself drawn to the godswood. The heart tree stood tall and ancient, its red leaves rustling in the cold wind. You often came here to think, to find solace in the quiet beauty of the sacred place.

Cregan found you there, his presence a comforting shadow amidst the ancient trees. "This place has always brought me peace," he said quietly, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability. "It reminds me of the strength of our ancestors, the resilience that runs through our blood."

You looked up at him, seeing the man beneath the beastly exterior. "And you carry that strength within you, Cregan. You are not defined by the curse, but by the choices you make, the honor you uphold."

He met your gaze, his eyes softening. "You see me as I am, not as the beast the world believes me to be. For that, I am grateful."

A silent understanding passed between you, a connection forged through shared trials and mutual respect. As the days grew shorter and the nights colder, your bond with Cregan deepened. You saw the man he could be, the leader Winterfell needed, and you were determined to help him break the curse that held him captive.

One night, as the moon cast a silver glow over Winterfell, you found yourself standing in the great hall with Cregan. The fire crackled in the hearth, the warmth a stark contrast to the chill outside. Cregan's eyes were filled with an intensity that took your breath away.

"I have lived under this curse for so long," he said, his voice filled with a mixture of sorrow and hope. "But you have shown me that there is more to life than this darkness. You have brought light into my world."

Your heart swelled with emotion, and you took a step closer to him. "And you have shown me the true meaning of strength and honor. We can break this curse, Cregan. I believe in you."

He reached out, his hand gently cupping your cheek. "With you by my side, I feel like i can be myself again."

In that moment, the walls of Winterfell seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you standing together, united by a love that had grown amidst the harshest of conditions. As his lips met yours in a tender, heartfelt kiss, you knew that you had found something rare and precious—a love that could withstand any storm, a bond that could break any curse.

The beast of Winterfell was not the monster of legends, but a man of honor and strength, and with your love, you would face whatever challenges lay ahead, knowing that together, you could conquer anything.

The days passed swiftly, and you and Cregan fell into a comfortable rhythm. He showed you the hidden nooks of Winterfell, places he had discovered as a boy. You spent hours in the library, reading together by the light of a crackling fire. Cregan often found himself captivated by the way your eyes lit up when you discovered something new. The moments of quiet companionship, the laughter, the shared stories—all of it knitted your hearts closer together.

One winter morning, as you both walked through the snow-covered courtyard, Cregan stopped suddenly, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The sky was a clear, crisp blue, the kind of day that promised a bitter cold but also breathtaking beauty.

"Follow me," he said, a rare smile touching his lips.

Curious, you followed him to the stables. He saddled two horses, and soon you were riding out into the wilderness, the cold wind biting at your cheeks. The landscape was a frozen wonderland, the trees heavy with snow, the ground sparkling like a field of diamonds.

Cregan led you to a secluded glen, a place he said he had discovered long ago. A small, frozen pond lay at the center, surrounded by tall pines. The silence was profound, broken only by the occasional rustle of branches in the wind.

"This place," Cregan began, dismounting and helping you down from your horse, "is special to me. It's where I come when I need to think, to find peace."

You looked around, feeling the magic of the place. "It's beautiful, Cregan. Thank you for bringing me here."

He took your hand, his grip warm and reassuring. "I wanted to share it with you. To show you that even in the harshest of places, there can be beauty and peace."

You smiled up at him, your heart full. "You've shown me that, Cregan. You've shown me so much more than I ever expected."

He pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you. For a moment, you both stood there, holding each other in the quiet of the glen, the world outside fading away. It was a moment of pure, unspoken connection, a bond that needed no words.

As the days grew longer and spring began to whisper its arrival, you and Cregan found yourselves spending more and more time together. The bond between you deepened, a blend of friendship, respect, and something more profound—love.

One evening, as the first hints of spring thawed the snow, you sat together in the godswood, the heart tree's red leaves rustling softly in the breeze. The air was still cold, but there was a promise of warmth, of renewal.

Cregan turned to you, his expression serious. "I've been thinking about the future," he said, his voice steady. "About what it means to lead, and what it means to love."

You felt your heart skip a beat. "And what have you decided, my lord?"

He took a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours with unwavering determination. "I've decided that I don't want to face it alone. I want you by my side, not as a tool for a debt, but as my partner, my love."

Your breath caught in your throat, the weight of his words sinking in. "Cregan, I—"

He held up a hand, his expression earnest. "You don't have to answer now. Just know that I love you, more than I ever thought possible. And whatever comes, I want to face it with you."

Tears welled up in your eyes, a mixture of joy and overwhelming emotion. "I love you too, Cregan. More than words can express."

He leaned in, his forehead gently resting against yours. In that moment, surrounded by the ancient trees and the promise of spring, you felt an unshakable sense of peace. The future was uncertain, filled with challenges and unknowns, but one thing was clear: with Cregan by your side, you could face anything.

As the seasons changed and the days grew warmer, you and Cregan began to make plans for the future. The curse that had once loomed so large now seemed like a distant shadow, its power diminished by the strength of your love. Together, you would build a life, a future filled with hope and promise.

Winterfell, once a place of isolation and sorrow, now thrummed with the warmth of love and the promise of new beginnings. The people of the North, once wary and fearful, now looked to you and Cregan with respect and admiration. Your love story had become a beacon of hope, a testament to the power of love and the strength of the human spirit.

That bright, sunny morning, as you stood together on the battlements of Winterfell, looking out over the vast expanse of the North, Cregan took your hand in his. "This is just the beginning," he said, his voice filled with a quiet, determined joy. "Together, we'll build a future, not just for us, but for all who look to Winterfell for strength and guidance."

You squeezed his hand, your heart full of love and hope. "I wouldn't want it any other way, my love."

As the sun set, casting a golden glow over the ancient walls of Winterfell, you stood together, united by love, ready to face whatever the future held. The curse was broken, the beast was tamed, and in its place stood a man of honor. You had brought to him the courage, and a love that would endure through all seasons.

taglist: @benjicotblckwood @travelingmypassion @shoxji @thornsandtulips @spn-obession

[fairilia]

Unlikely Allies ⛓️🌃

Pairing: Mafia!San x fem!reader

Genre: Mafia AU, enemies to lovers, angst, romance

Warning: fem bodied reader, swearing, light smut in future chapters so mdni

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

Will she unravel his secrets, or will the allure of his world consume her?

Chapter 1

Chapter 11

Chapter 111

⤷ San’s perspective

Chapter 1V

.⛧. Teaser :〃➜

In the labyrinthine world of organized crime, Y/N embarks on her most perilous assignment yet infiltrate the enigmatic empire of San, a notorious mafia boss whose presence commands both fear and fascination. As she meets his piercing gaze for the first time in a dimly lit nightclub, a dangerous game of deception and intrigue unfolds, where every move could lead to discovery or doom. Caught between duty and desire, Y/N must navigate the treacherous waters of loyalty and betrayal, unsure if she's the predator or the prey in San's intricate web of power and secrets.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

(っ'-')╮=͟͟͞͞💌 NOTE;

hello! This is my first fanfic series, please like/reblogged if you’d like to read the chapter 1 which will be posted tomorrow! Hope everyone will enjoy this.

[mandoalorian]

but daddy i love him!

Based on the song by Taylor Swift.

Javier Peña x F Reader

WC: 1500

Warnings: abusive parents, mentions of slut shaming

Masterlist

Please reblog if you love Javi and/or Taylor!

In the heart of Colombia's tumultuous landscape, Javier Peña found himself entwined in a love affair that defied all logic and reason. He was the seasoned DEA agent, battle-worn and weary, while you were the enigmatic beauty who danced through life with a reckless abandon that both fascinated and terrified him. Your love was a whirlwind, sweeping you up in its tempestuous embrace, defying the boundaries of convention and societal norms. As whispers of disapproval echoed through the streets, you clung to each other, determined to forge your own path.

From the moment you met, sparks flew like wildfire, igniting a passion that neither could extinguish. Javier was drawn to your fiery spirit, your fearlessness in the face of danger, while you found solace in his strength, his unwavering dedication to his cause.

Before you decided to tell your family about your relationship, you and Javier embarked on a journey to your childhood home. The drive was long, the miles stretching out before you like an endless ribbon of asphalt. But with Javier by your side, the miles seemed to melt away, replaced by the warmth of his presence and the promise of a new beginning.

As you pulled up to the familiar house that held so many memories, you felt a sense of trepidation wash over you. Javier reached over and squeezed your hand reassuringly, his touch grounding you in the present moment.

“They— they’ve never supported me, my family,” you admitted, flushing with heat as you stepped up to your porch. It wasn’t so much shame that filled you, than it was regret. You wished you’d told Javier this sooner.

“You are doing the right thing cariño, telling them the truth. Telling them about us. If they don’t like it then that’s on them, but they’ll never come between our love.” Javier brushed his thumb over your jaw and planted a chaste kiss atop your lips.

You hummed and smiled against his mouth, letting yourself linger before pulling away. Javier was right. God, your family drove you crazy. They drove you manic. And you figured, fuck it, if they don’t like you and Javier then that would be it. Fuck them. You were happy and you deserved this.

Together, you walked up the path to the front door, your heart pounding in your chest with each step. The door swung open, revealing the familiar faces of your family members, their expressions a mix of surprise and curiosity.

And then, as you sat in your childhood home, surrounded by familiar faces, you took a deep breath and prepared to reveal your secret...

But first, you sat down at the dinner table with Javier and your parents. Your father was a newly retired DEA agent and had for sure heard about Javier’s reputation. In fact, he was the one who warned you about Javier in the first place. And now, with his greatest fears realised, Javier was sat at the forefront of the table facing your dad, twirling the pasta around his silverware, idly.

"Mom, Dad, there's something I need to tell you," you began, your voice trembling slightly.

“Let me guess, you’re sleeping with Peña?” Your dad grumbled crudely. “Well, he’s just had about every girl in Bogota, I suppose it was about time he got around to you.”

Javier made a fist but stayed silent. He didn’t have to speak, because you would defend his honour.

“I’m in love with him, daddy.” You said quietly. You weren’t going to fight it. You’d spend your whole life fighting for your parents love and celebration, but now that you had Javi, you didn’t have to anymore.

“You can’t be in love with him. He’s a killer.” Your mother spat.

“Acting like you didn’t marry a killer too, mama,” you quickly countered, narrowing your eyebrows. “I love him.”

With a sleuth of slurs leaving your father’s mouth, about how you were a slut and a disgrace to the family, you decided it was time for you to go.

But not without a bang.

“And there’s something else you should know… I’m having his baby.”

Javier’s eyes snapped to meet yours. Your mother’s complexion greyed and you thought your father might burst a blood vessel. And then, you couldn’t help but smile. You couldn’t hold the joke for too long. You saw your father near cardiac arrest.

“No I’m not! But you should see your faces.” You laughed and Javier felt a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Your sudden burst of laughter was tinged with mania as you stood up, chair scraping against the oak floor, and grabbed your purse.

Your family stared at you in disbelief, their expressions shifting from shock to confusion. But you could see the relief in their eyes, a fleeting glimpse of understanding that you knew would never last.

As you left your childhood home behind, the weight of your deception heavy on your shoulders, you couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. For you had tested their loyalty and found it lacking, confirming what you had always known deep down.

And as you walked away, hand in hand with Javier, you knew that you were bound together by something far stronger than blood or obligation. You were bound by love, a love that would endure against all odds.

Years passed, and your love only grew stronger with each passing day. Despite the challenges you faced, you stood by each other's side, weathering every storm that came your way.

And then, on a warm summer day, you stood together on a secluded beach, the sun setting in a blaze of orange and gold. With the sound of the waves crashing against the shore as your witness, you exchanged vows of love and commitment, promising to stand by each other for all eternity.

It was just the two of you, alone in your love, with no one else to bear witness to your union. For you had learned that true love didn't need the approval of others, that it was enough to have each other.

And as you danced beneath the stars, lost in each other's embrace, you knew that you had found your happily ever after, against all odds.

[kckt88]

Breath Of Doubt.

Summary:

Cerelle Lannister arrives at the Red Keep and immediately sets her sights on Aemond, determined to have him at all costs.

Vaeryna of course is having none of it and unleashes her inner dragon, determined to protect her treasure.

Warning(s): Language, Pranks, Violence, Threats, Kissing, Incest, Voyeurism, Smut - Lactation Kink, Daddy Kink, P in V Sex.

Word Count: - 4242

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

GREENS WIN - ENEMIES TO LOVERS.

One Shot Take My Breath Away - Takes place six months after the birth of Aegar.

AEMOND X O.C

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @snh96, @immyowndefender,

“Gods this is boring” moaned Jaehaeryn.

“Boy, that’s enough” snapped Aemond as the golden horse drawn carriage came to a stop inside the yard.

“Sorry father” muttered Jaehaeryn, subtly moving closer to his mother.

“What’s she even coming here for anyway?” asked Rhaegar.

“Beats the shit out of me” said Vharla shrugging.

“Language” scolded Vaeryna.

“Oops” squeaked Vharla.

“He’s got a point you know-why is Cerelle Lannister coming here?” asked Aegon the Younger.

“Scouting for a husband” mused Jaehaera.

“Good luck, half of the single lords that frequent the Red Keep are wrinkly old cunts”.

“Daenerys” snapped Aemond.

“Apologise father” replied Daenerys her cheeks tinged pink.

“Oh, you have no idea how much this amuses me” breathed Aegon.

“Glad it amuses someone” snarked Aemond.

“Uncle Aegon is single, and he isn’t a wrinkly old cunt” exclaimed Saeryna.

“I knew there was a reason I liked you” said Aegon.

“Shouldn’t have favourites” mused Aerys.

“I don’t have favourites-but if I did it would absolutely be Saeryna” laughed Aegon.

“You are the King-stop acting like a buffoon” snapped Aemond.

“Oh, Aemond remove the stick from your arse and lighten up” replied Aegon.

“Uncle is brave-I’ve seen lesser men almost piss themselves in fear from the look that father is giving him right now” mused Rhaegar.

“All of you quieten down-“ urged Vaeryna,

As the door of the carriage opened, Aerys let out a little gasp as Cerelle emerged from the carriage, her jewelled hand extended to the attending squire.

Indeed, she was rather beautiful, her golden hair shining in the sun, her elegant slim figure swathed in rich red and gold fabric. Her blue eyes sparkling like the rarest of gems from Tarth.

“Lady Lannister welcome to Kings Landing, I hope your journey from Casterly Rock wasn’t too perilous” said Aegon politely as he held out his hand in greeting.

However, she bypassed greeting Aegon and made a beeline for Aemond.

“Rude” scoffed Vaeryna.

“Pleasure to meet you Prince Aemond, I’m Cerelle Lannister”.

“Errr, pleasure to meet you my lady” replied Aemond.

Cerelle Lannister's gaze swept across the crowded hall, where the flickering candlelight danced on polished armour and richly adorned gowns of other ladies in attendance.

The air buzzed with the murmurs of the guest courtiers as they revelled in the grandeur of the occasion, a feast held in celebration of some anniversary of the King.

Yet, amid the sea of faces, her eyes found him - Aemond, the enigmatic figure with flowing silver hair that cascaded down his shoulders like liquid moonlight.

Aemond moved with a graceful confidence, his every step commanding attention.

The scar over his face only heightened the allure, a testament to his bravery and resilience against the bastard strong boy who carved out his eye when they were children.

Cerelle's heart quickened as she took in the sharp features that radiated the ethereal beauty of old Valyria.

His presence was magnetic, drawing her towards him like a moth to flame.

Leather-clad and lithe, Aemond moved with the fluidity of a predator, his every movement deliberate and purposeful.

Cerelle couldn't help but be captivated by the way his attire accentuated the contours of his body, a display of strength and agility that hinted at a warrior's prowess.

Her breath caught as she observed the subtle play of muscles beneath the supple leather.

Cerelle's pulse quickened when she saw Aemond lean over and place a gentle kiss on the cheek of his wife.

Cerelle in her youth had heard of Vaeryna, the silver haired dragon who had sold herself to her enemies and married the man responsible for the deaths of her brother and father.

It often intrigued her, what sort of woman would do that, but then her reasons were made clear when it was revealed that her brother Aegon the Younger was still alive, despite the entirety of the realm believing he perished alongside his brothers in the gullet.

Cerelle actually admired Vaeryna for that, it showed her strength and determination, a true reflection of house Targaryen.

But upon seeing Aemond, Cerelle completely understood the unspoken reasons for Vaeryna’s motivations. She really couldn’t blame her for spreading her legs and birthing the prince’s many children.

His silver haired babes were a testament to Aemond’s virility and fertile seed and Cerelle couldn’t help but feel flustered at the thought of Aemond stuffing her with his cock and breeding her.

His wife should have been a deterrent, a signal to retreat from the allure of forbidden desire. However, Cerelle's determination burned brighter than ever.

Vaeryna, was a mere obstacle in Cerelle's pursuit. Their union did little to extinguish the flames of longing that now roared within her.

Cerelle's ambitions knew no bounds, and the thought of a marital bond meant nothing in the face of the irresistible connection she felt with Aemond.

Undeterred by the constraints of societal norms or the sanctity of marriage, Cerelle set her sights on Aemond with unwavering resolve.

The glint of determination in her eyes mirrored the gleam of silver that adorned Aemond's hair and no matter how much she admired Vaeryna her existence quickly became inconsequential in the grand tapestry of Cerelle's desires.

She planned to move through the courtly intrigues with a grace that masked her audacious intentions. Cerelle knew the art of subtlety, weaving a web of subtle glances and discreet encounters, all aimed at ensnaring Aemond's attention by any means necessary.

Cerelle Lannister observed silently as Aemond engaged in rigorous sword training session in the castle yard.

The sunbathed the training grounds in a warm glow, accentuating Aemond's silver hair and his lithe and powerful frame moving with a grace that only a seasoned warrior possessed, each motion deliberate and precise.

As Aemond practiced his swordplay with the oldest of his sons, beads of sweat formed on his brow, glistening like diamonds against his pale skin.

Cerelle's blue eyes followed the sinuous lines of his movements, appreciating the fluidity of his actions. The intensity of the training session accentuated the contours of his muscular physique, captivating Cerelle's attention with each powerful swing and deft manoeuvre.

Cerelle found herself entranced by the sight of Aemond's dedication to his craft.

 His focus was unwavering, and the sheen of sweat highlighted the exertion he poured into every strike.

Aemond's dedication to his training only heightened his allure in Cerelle's eyes, and an admiring smile played on her lips as she absorbed the captivating display.

The distant clang of swords echoed through the yard as Aemond sparred with his son. Cerelle couldn't help but admire the way he effortlessly dominated the practice, his movements a dance of skill and strength. A subtle sense of longing crept into Cerelle's gaze, and she marvelled at the allure of the warrior before her.

Aemond's silver hair caught the sunlight, creating a mesmerizing halo around him as he continued to hone his swordsmanship.

Cerelle, hidden in the shadows, allowed herself a moment to appreciate the beauty of the scene.

The contrast between the fierce determination etched on Aemond's face and the grace with which he moved stirred a potent cocktail of emotions within Cerelle.

As the training session progressed, Cerelle remained captivated by Aemond's every motion, savouring the sight of his athleticism, strength, and the sheen of sweat that clung to his form.

A subtle smile played on her lips, aware that the next time they spoke, the image of Aemond in the midst of his training would linger in her thoughts, fuelling a newfound admiration and perhaps sparking something more.

Vaeryna felt the subtle tension in the air whenever Cerelle Lannister was near.

The sly glances, the lingering touches, and the carefully chosen words—all seemed orchestrated to seduce her husband, Aemond.

Vaeryna was not blind to the game being played, and it fuelled a storm of emotions within her.

In the quiet moments of the night, Vaeryna found herself reflecting on the delicate balance of power within the social web of the court.

Ever ravenous for the whispers of scandal and salacious behaviours they could use for their own amusement.

Cerelle’s visit to the Red Keep was only meant to last a few weeks, but the visit had been extended in the hopes that Cerelle would be successful in finding herself a husband.

Technically she had been successful and had indeed found herself enamoured with a man who was no doubt the fantasy of most women that caught a glimpse of him, but he was married, and his wife was no slouch.

She was not only a dragon, but the daughter of Daemon Targaryen, whom she embodied not only in mind but in soul and every time she saw Cerelle giggling at Aemond or batting her eyelashes at him, she found her fingers itching to swipe the dagger from Aegon’s belt and skewer the nasty little tart with the pointy end.

However, Vaeryna tried very hard to restrain herself and maintained a calm and dignified facade but beneath the elegant exterior, Vaeryna harboured a storm of conflicting emotions—anger, jealousy, and a determination to shield what was rightfully hers.

Her children however were another story.

Saeryna had spent hours searching for spiders in the gardens only to release them in Cerelle’s chambers, her screams of terror echoing around the Red Keep as Saeryna smiled innocently.

Aerys worked in tandem with Jaehaeryn to swap Cerelle’s fancy bathing oils with stinky pond water and Caelee even helped herself to Cerelle’s pretty powders and used them to paint pictures for her Kepa (Father).

Vharla unstitched the seams of Cerelle's dresses which resulted in a rather embarrassing incident in the gardens with Cerelle being left red faced after her dress all but fell apart leaving her in nothing but her underclothes.

As it turned out Aegon was behind the entire thing, as he was advising the children on what to do and he took great pleasure in the chaos they were causing.

He had taken an instant dislike to Cerelle and was determined to see her suffer for her rudeness and blatently obvious disregard for Vaeryna who Aegon was absolutly NOT in love with.

Vaeryna of course pretended to be scandalised when Saeryna was caught putting worms in Cerelle’s hair, but it was rather endearing that her children had made some unspoken agreement with their uncle Aegon and united against Cerelle, determined to punish her for what she was doing, and it was amusing to see their sweet little faces a picture of pure innocence as they were scolded by Alicent for their behaviour.

The one thing Vaeryna was sure of was Aemond, her husband, was a man of unwavering loyalty and moral integrity.

She knew him well enough to trust in the strength of their bond, convinced that no external charms or temptations could sway him from their shared commitment.

Despite this confidence, the mere fact that Cerelle Lannister sought to weave her subtle web around Aemond was an insult that stung.

The insults were not in the fear of Aemond succumbing to Cerelle's charms, but rather in the audacity of the attempt itself.

It was a slight to their marriage, a challenge to the sanctity of their love, and an affront to the trust they had painstakingly built over the years.

Vaeryna found herself grappling with a mix of emotions—anger at Cerelle's audacious advances, frustration at the need to defend what should be unassailable, and a deep-seated hurt that someone would dare to undermine the sacred connection she shared with Aemond.

Ultimately her thirst for retribution eventually prevailed and she made a vow to herself that when the opportunity presented itself, she would deal with that horse haired slattern if it was the thing she ever did.

The Red Keep was ablaze with light and merriment as the realm gathered to celebrate King Aegon's name day. Banners of House Targaryen fluttered in the breeze, their green and gold scales catching the glow of countless torches that lined the courtyards and corridors.

The air was filled with the fragrant aroma of roasting meats, and the joyful sounds of laughter and music echoed through the throne room.

The throne room was adorned with elaborate tapestries depicting the storied history of House Targaryen. Long tables stretched across the room, groaning under the weight of lavish feasts prepared for the occasion. Golden chalices and plates adorned with dragon motifs sparkled under the soft candlelight, casting a warm and inviting glow.

Nobles from all corners of the Seven Kingdoms mingled with knights, lords, and ladies, all clad in their finest attire. The clinking of goblets and the melodic tunes of harps and lutes filled the air, creating an atmosphere of revelry befitting the celebration. Courtiers in richly coloured gowns and doublets danced gracefully to the music, adding a touch of elegance to the festivities.

In the centre of it all stood King Aegon, resplendent in regal attire befitting his station. His silver hair gleamed in the light, and the crown of the conqueror sat proudly atop his head.

Aegon received well-wishers and gifts with a gracious smile, acknowledging the love and loyalty of his subjects.

The people of the realm still buzzing from the spectacle of the jousting tournament that been held earlier in the day in honour of the king's name day, where knights in gleaming armour clashed with lances under the watchful eyes of the cheering crowd.

Of course, Aemond who claimed he didn’t give a shit about tourneys, entered and won.

Relishing in the cheers for his victory as he crowned his wife Vaeryna the queen of love and beauty. Her sweet smile as he placed the wreath of flowers upon her silver head and her gasp of surprise as he hauled her over the wooden fence and kissed her deeply in front of the realm was endearing for all too see.

Except for Cerelle of course who was seething with envy. Her attempts to tempt Aemond were proving fruitless, and his children with his silver haired bitch of a wife were monsters who needed hard lessons in discipline and the King was no better aiding those little shits in their pranks was truly poor form.

No, she needed to increase her efforts in tempting Aemond, she wanted him and by the gods she was determined to have him, so she donned her most daring dress and joined in the celebrations for the King’s name day.

“Are you really that dense brother-“ snarked Aegon as he took a large sip of wine.

“What are you bleating about now?” snapped Aemond.

“Cerelle Lannister-the lingering looks, the not so subtle touching of your arm when she's talking to you. Brother-your wife is seconds away from kicking the shit out of her and whilst I will shamelessly enjoy such a spectacle, I doubt her morbid cunt of a father would, so you might want to put a stop to whatever fascination Cerelle has with you before blood spills” replied Aegon.

“There is no-“

“You only lost one eye, surely you’re not that blind, the girl is desperate for your cock-“ muttered Aegon.

“Well, she can remain desperate-"

“Listen to your big brother-you’ve only bedded what two women?” said Aegon.

“Three actually”.

“Three? Who was-oh yeah Alys that old whore from Harrenhal, I forgot about her” said Aegon.

“Hm”

“Well, that’s beside the point-I’m more well versed in the ways of women than you are, and I can tell you now that there are some women who don’t take no for an answer and when they set their sights on something they will do whatever it takes to get it” replied Aegon.

“Are you saying that I’m in capable of defending myself against unwanted attention?” asked Aemond, feeling a little insulted over his brothers insinuation.

“In a word-yes I am. That Lannister bitch has had you in her sights since she first arrived here and whilst you remain blissfully unaware-your wife does not”.

“What has Vaeryna said?” questioned Aemond.

“It’s not what she���s said brother, it’s what she hasn’t. No woman ever wants to see another woman pawing at their husband” exclaimed Aegon.

“Do you think Vaeryna will do something?” mused Aemond as he looked over at his wife who was indeed glaring at Cerelle.

“You do know who your wife is right? Whilst Ryna might be a woman, she’s as fierce as any dragon that ever existed, and a dragon will protect what they consider to be theirs-if Cerelle continues playing with fire she’s going to get burned” warned Aegon.

"Oh, for the love of seven" uttered Aemond as he spotted Cerelle walking towards him.

“This isn’t going to end well” urged Aegon grimacing.

“Aemy-I had thought you would ask me to dance” giggled Cerelle.

“I’m not much of a dancer my lady” muttered Aemond.

“That’s not true-he dances often with Vaeryna-you know his wife” said Aegon through gritted teeth.

“Oh, Your Grace, a man may dance with others if he so wishes” said Cerelle her voice mockingly sweet, the underlaying meaning of her comment lingered in the air.

“Not this man” whispered Aemond as he tried to move away from Cerelle.

"Oh, just one dance my Prince" exclaimed Cerelle reaching for Aemond's hand.

"My lady I really must protest-" retorted Aemond moving his hand away from Cerelle's grasp.

"Just one dance-surely you won't begrudge a lady-"

"Oh shit-" muttered Aemond.

“-I bid you farewell Lady Lannister-it was nice knowing you” exclaimed Aegon raising his goblet in a mock toast as Vaeryna came up behind Cerelle and seized her by the hair, dragging her away from Aemond who couldn’t help the surge of arousal that shot through him at his wife’s possessive display.

The fierce determination in her amethyst eyes as she spun Cerelle around and slapped her hard across the face.

Her face twisted with fury as she stood over the shaking form of Cerelle.

“You even dare to approach my husband again and I’ll knock your teeth out-I’ll slit your throat from ear to ear-I’ll rip your fucking face off-AEMOND PUT ME DOWN“ screamed Vaeryna.

“Take it easy there Issa nēdenka zaldrīzes” Aemond as he wrapped his arms around Vaeryna and hauled her away from Cerelle (My fierce dragon).

"No-she laid hands on you; I won't have it-she dares to think that she can take what is MINE" snarled Vaeryna as she struggled against Aemond's grip.

"Nothing to see here-" urged Aegon waving his hands in the air, as he tried to stifle his laughter.

Aemond dragged a furious Vaeryna from the throne room and hauled her against the wall, his arms pinning her body against the cold stone wall.

"Calm down-" urged Aemond.

"Don't tell me to calm down-she's been pawing at you for weeks and I can't stand it any-"

Vaeryna gasped as Aemond surged forward and pressed his lips to hers in a brutal kiss.

“Do you trust me ābrazȳrys” asked Aemond (Wife).

“You know I do” replied Vaeryna breathlessly.

“In that case I may have an idea to stop Cerelle’s pursuit of me-so would you do me the honour of meeting me in the library in half an hour” said Aemond.

“Ok” muttered Vaeryna feeling a little uncertain.

“Don’t worry Issa gevie perzys. Just make sure to wear something less constricting” replied Aemond as he turned on his heel and walked away (My beautiful fire).

Cerelle stared down at the hastily scribbled note and smiled. Aemond had asked to see her, mayhaps he was going to apologise for his clearly deranged wife’s violent behaviour, or he had finally realised their connection and was ready to give in and reciprocate her affections.

Admittedly the library was an odd place to meet, but it didn’t matter.

The moment she had been waiting for was finally upon her and Cerelle was determined to enjoy every single second of it.

As she approached the ornate double wooden doors, Cerelle took a deep breath to steady her nerves before a guard wordlessly opened the doors for her.

The library was almost shrouded in complete darkness save for the few lit candles, giving it an almost eerie yet romantic glow.

“Aemond” called Cerelle.

But no answer came and after a few minutes, Cerelle’s attention was drawn to what sounded like a breathy moan coming from between the bookcases.

As she moved through the labyrinth of tall bookcases, the sounds of moaning grew louder.

Cerelle stood stunned as she spotted Aemond, half naked with his breeches sitting low on his hips, his head pressed into his wife’s neck as he pounded into her.

“N-Nothing and no one compares to you” growled Aemond bracing his hand on the bookshelf as he brutally snapped his against Vaeryna’s.

He was so deep inside her that it was difficult to tell where one ended and the other began.

“Aemond” gasped Vaeryna her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“That’s it ābrazȳrys, take every fucking inch of me-let me fill your sweet cunt” (Wife).

“Oh, please Valzȳrys. I want it. I want all of you” moaned Vaeryna (Husband).

“FUCK” roared Aemond as he hauled Vaeryna away from the bookcase and placed her the edge of a desk.

“Yes-Yes Aemond, Oh gods” breathed Vaeryna.

“I fucking love you-I love you so much” growled Aemond his eye finding its way to Cerelle who shivered as he smirked at her, the sapphire nestled in his eye socket glinting in the candlelight.

Aemond continued to stare at Cerelle as he mercilessly fucked his wife, filling her over and over again with sharp penetrating thrusts.

The muscles of his chest and abdomen flexing as he moved with a brutality that Cerelle had never seen before.

“Aemond-yes, right there. Don’t stop-don’t stop” cried Vaeryna the tears running down her pale cheeks.

“That’s it Issa jorrāelagon. Come on daddy’s cock” rasped Aemond (My love).

Cerelle couldn’t help the flare of arousal that shot between her thighs when Aemond lurched forward and wrapped his lips around one of his wife’s erect nipples.

Suckling greedily and he reached down and began expertly circling her pearl with his long fingers.

“AEMOND” screamed Vaeryna her entire body seizing before going slack and pliant.

“FUCK-I’m going to come-“ groaned Aemond.

“I want it-fill me with your seed Issa dārys” gasped Vaeryna (My King).

“FUUUUUCK” roared Aemond, his head thrown back as his rope after rope of his seed spilled inside his wife’s cunny.

“Aemond” breathed Vaeryna as her husband collapsed on top of her.

“I love you so much-“ replied Aemond.

“-And I love you” whispered Vaeryna.

“I never want you to doubt my love, no one will ever compare to you-my soul mate”.

“Issa idañnykeā perzys” muttered Vaeryna (My twin flame).

“I see that our observer has fled” said Aemond staring at the vacant space that Cerelle had occupied mere moments ago.

“Husband” breathed Vaeryna as she slid her hands into his long silver hair and pulled his face towards hers.

“Wife” replied Aemond as he pressed a kiss to her soft lips.

Vaeryna gasped as felt her husbands cock hardening inside her.

“I think I need to have you again” moaned Aemond as he withdrew his cock from his wife’s cunny until only his tip remained and then thrust forward again.

“You may have me as many times as you desire my love” exclaimed Vaeryna.

“Hm-” sighed Aemond his tongue licking at the seam of Vaeryna’s lips.

His plan had worked perfectly, Cerelle wouldn’t be a problem anymore. She had seen for herself the passion and love that Aemond and Vaeryna had for one another, what a silly lion she was to even think that she could come between two dragons.

As they watched the golden carriage depart the Red Keep, Vaeryna couldn’t help but notice the sly smiles plastered across Aegon and Saeryna’s faces.

“-And what are you two so happy about?” asked Vaeryna.

“We may or may not have left a little going away present in the carriage for the Lady Lannister” said Aegon shrugging.

“Dare I ask-“ mused Vaeryna as a loud shriek echoed across the courtyard.

“I guess she found the slugs” laughed Aegon.

“Or the maggots” replied Saeryna.

“I thought we agreed on slugs-where did you get the maggots from?” asked Aegon as he lifted Saeryna into his arms.

“Found them in the Maester’s room and then I put some in a jug and poured them in a cushion in the carriage” replied Saeryna.

“A-A cushion” exclaimed Vaeryna.

“Don’t worry mama. I left the zippy part open” shrugged Saeryna.

“Gods I love this kid” laughed Aegon.

“I thought I was being nice leaving her presents, not my fault she doesn’t like them”.

“Spoilt bitch” muttered Aegon as Saeryna nodded quickly.

“I’m not going to get into trouble am I mama?”

“No, my sweet you’re not. In fact, I must insist that you receive a reward, how about a new doll or a new dress. Perhaps both?” said Vaeryna smiling.

Saeryna giggled sweetly and pressed her face into Aegon’s neck.

“You know I pity the fool who dares try to court this little one when she’s of age” said Aegon.

“You and me both”

“Is everything ok?” asked Aemond curiously.

“Everything is perfect my love” replied Vaeryna as she took her husband’s hand and headed back inside the Red Keep.

As Vaeryna gave one last fleeting towards the golden carriage moving rapidly away from the Red Keep, she couldn’t help but wonder if Cerelle would ever dare show her face again.

Probably not if her children had anything to with it. What treasures they were.

All eight of them, mayhaps even nine as the moontea Vaeryna had requested that morning had remained untouched in her chambers.

[cheynovak]

Healing Waters - pt 2

Characters: Azriel x F/Reader Y/N     

Summary:  Azriel is sent by Rhysand to the Spring Court to investigate Tamlin's erratic behavior. While spying in the woods, he comes across Y/N, an Illyrian female bathing under a waterfall. Intrigued by her beauty and shocked to see the scars where her wings should have been, he is immediately captivated.

Warnings: Hurt, pain, anger, nudity, spying, aggression, ... (18+ later parts)

English is not my first language 

*This story is my own fanfiction, please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

Part 2/?

* Published September 5th 2024 *

--

**Azriel's POV**

A week had passed, but I couldn’t get her out of my mind. The forest of the Spring Court, usually a place of routine surveillance, now held an entirely different purpose. I was looking for her—the fierce, enigmatic Illyrian female who had managed to surprise me, something no one had done in centuries.

I haven't told anyone I met her, well, no one knew unless Rhys had decided to read my mind, but I trusted him not to unless he asked permission.

I moved through the trees silently, my senses tuned to the surroundings, but I barely needed them. She was there, just ahead, her dark hair shining in the sunlight as she walked among the wildflowers, the brightness of the day making the deep red tones in her hair stand out even more vividly.

She wore a simple dress, old and rough, the kind that spoke of practicality rather than luxury. It was likely the only piece of clothing she had, a stark contrast to the opulence of the Spring Court. Yet, she wore it with a dignity that made it seem like a queen's gown.

I stepped closer, trying to keep my approach as unobtrusive as possible, but before I could speak, she did. Her voice was even more beautiful than I remembered—soft yet firm, carrying the weight of someone who had long since learned to stand on her own.

“I thought me running away was a clear sign I didn’t want to get to know you,” she said without turning around.

Her words hit harder than I expected, but before I could think of a response, she looked up, meeting my eyes. And once again, I froze.

There was something about her gaze, something that pulled me in, made me forget everything else. We stared at each other, the world around us fading into nothingness for just a moment, as if the forest itself had gone silent to give us this space, this time.

But then her gaze shifted, flicking past me, and her expression changed—concern, no, fear crossing her features. “You shouldn’t be here.”

I turned instinctively, but it was too late. Tamlin’s roar shattered the fragile peace of the moment, a sound filled with hate and anger. He moved with the speed and fury of a beast, and before I could react, he was there, towering over us.

His golden eyes blazed with fury, not just at me for my presence but at her—her. As if it was her fault I was there, as if she had somehow brought me into his territory.

“You brought him here, you broke the deal... get off my lands!” he bellowed at her, his voice a mix of rage and betrayal. "I didn't..." she protested but he roared again. “Get off !”

She flinched, just slightly, but it was enough to send a ripple of anger through me. His words, his blame—it was unjust, cruel. But before I could intervene, she dropped her gaze, bowed to this piece of shit and took a step back. "Yes, my lord."

The vulnerability I had seen, made it clear that his words hurt her, far more than she would ever let on.

And I stood there, useless, too stunned by the entire situation, too captivated by her to even draw my blade or defend myself. She didn’t look at me again, didn’t speak, just turned and walked away, disappearing into the forest as quickly as she had come.

As Tamlin’s rage-filled eyes bore into me, I realized two things: I had failed in my mission, and I had been caught in something far more complicated and dangerous than I had anticipated.

But even as I prepared myself for whatever would come next, my thoughts remained with her—wondering where she had gone, and what price she would pay for my presence.

** Y/N's POV **

The young Illyrian wouldn’t leave me alone. I could feel him trailing me through the woods, his presence persistent and unyielding. His words, low and calm, followed me like a shadow. He kept urging me to come with him, to leave this place and go with him to the Night Court.

But I was beyond furious.

For 300 years, I had lived here in peace. I had carved out a life, isolated and free from the madness of war, of court politics, of the nightmares that haunted me. And now, within days of meeting another Illyrian, everything had been ripped away from me.

Banned. Expelled from the only sanctuary I had ever known. All because of him.

The anger boiled over, consuming every rational thought. I whirled around, my hand flying to strike him across the cheek. But before I could make contact, his reflexes kicked in, his hand snapping out to catch my wrist. His grip was firm, not painful, but it made my blood simmer with rage.

“Let go of me!” I hissed, my voice shaking with fury. But he didn’t. He just looked at me, his expression unreadable, as if he was trying to decide what to do next.

And then, without warning, the world around me shifted. The trees, the sunlight, the familiar scents of the Spring Court—all of it vanished in an instant. The next thing I knew, I was standing in a place I never wanted to see again.

The skies above were dark, a perpetual twilight casting everything in shades of deep blue and purple.

The Night Court.

My fury exploded like a storm unleashed. I tore myself from his grasp and swung my fists at him, again and again, each hit fueled by the burning anger inside me. He didn’t fight back. He didn’t even raise a hand to defend himself. He just stood there, taking each blow, his eyes steady on mine.

“Prick! Illyrian scum! Bastard!” I spat the words at him, each one more venomous than the last. I cursed him with every foul name I could think of, my voice echoing in the cold air as my fists pounded against his chest.

But he remained silent, unmoving, letting me release all the rage, all the pain I had kept buried for so long. It only made me angrier, the way he just stood there, as if my fury was nothing more than a passing wind.

Finally, exhausted and shaking, I stopped, my breath ragged, my hands aching. I stared up at him, my vision blurred with a mixture of tears and anger. He was still watching me, his expression softening just slightly, enough to show something I hadn’t expected—understanding. Maybe even regret.

But I didn’t care. I didn’t want his understanding, his pity, or whatever the hell he thought he was doing. I wanted my life back, the life I had fought so hard to build.

“Why couldn’t you just leave me alone?” My voice breaking as I finally let the tears fall. “Why did you have to ruin the one good thing I had?”

I hated the vulnerability in my voice, the way it cracked under the weight of everything I had lost. But in that moment, I was too broken, too defeated to care.

And he—he just kept looking at me, the silence between us stretching on, filled with all the things neither of us knew how to say.

** Azriel's POV **

Why did you have to ruin the one good thing I had?

The moment was raw, charged with an emotion I hadn't expected, and I barely registered the sound of footsteps approaching until Rhysand appeared beside us.

His violet eyes swept over the scene—me standing silent, her trembling with anger and exhaustion—and he raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his expression.

“What’s all this noise about?” Rhysand asked, his voice light, but I could hear the underlying concern. She turned to him sharply, eyes flashing as she spat, “Who the hell are you?”

I was shocked, both by her venom and by the fact that she didn’t recognize him. “How long have you been in the Spring Court?” I blurted out, unable to keep the question from tumbling out.

She frowned, her gaze shifting between us as if we were speaking in a language she barely understood. “Three hundred, maybe four hundred years,” she finally said, as if the number meant nothing to her.

Rhysand’s expression softened, a flicker of understanding passing over his features. He stepped closer, offering her his hand. “I’m Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court. And you are?”

She eyed his hand with suspicion, before recoiling slightly. “Take me back,” she demanded, her voice cold, unwavering. “Take me back to the Spring Court.”

Rhysand didn’t drop his hand, keeping it extended, but his tone became more gentle, more coaxing. “I will,” he promised. “But perhaps after a cup of tea and a talk?”

She looked at him as if he had just asked her to walk into a den of vipers. I could see the battle raging in her eyes—the urge to flee, to fight, to do anything but trust. But Rhysand was nothing if not persuasive. He knew how to draw people in, how to make them feel safe even when they were anything but.

But not her. She wasn’t swayed by his charm, by the soft promises in his voice. All she gave was her name, clipped and devoid of the warmth I knew she had buried deep within her. It was as if that single word, her name, was all she could afford to give us.

Rhysand, ever patient, simply nodded. “Thank you for that. Now, as I said, let’s have a talk. Tamlin is in no state to see anyone right now. It might be best if you stayed here for a while, let him cool off.”

Her reaction was immediate, a step back as if Rhysand’s words were physically pushing her away. “I don’t want to stay here,” she bit out, her voice trembling with the effort to hold back her frustration. “I just want to go back, home.”

I felt a pang of something—something tangled and complicated when she said home. She was out of her depth here, surrounded by people she didn’t trust, in a place she clearly didn’t want to be. But why?

But Rhysand remained calm, giving her space while still holding her gaze. “I understand,” he said quietly. “But I think it would be wise to give it a little time. Let things settle down. Tamlin’s temper can be… dangerous, especially when he feels cornered.”

She didn’t answer, just stared at him with that same defiant fire in her eyes. She didn't have to say a word I knew she thought it was our fault, and in a way it was. I knew Rhysand was trying to help, trying to give her options she hadn’t had in centuries. But she wasn’t ready to hear it, not yet.

As much as I wanted to protect her, to shield her from the pain she had experienced, I knew that she wouldn’t accept it. She would fight us every step of the way, just as she had fought to survive all those years.

Rhysand sighed, lowering his hand but not his offer. “The choice is yours. Stay, let Tamlin cool off, and we can talk. Or, if you truly wish to leave, we won’t stop you. But know that whatever you choose, you’ll have a place here, should you need it.”

She said nothing, her silence speaking louder than any words could. And as we stood there, the three of us caught in a tense, fragile moment, I couldn’t help but wonder what she would choose—and what it would mean... for us.

--

Please like, share or comment when you liked the story. If you liked this, please check out my masterlist for other stories.

Taglist: @lilah-asteria @sidthedollface2

[andypantsx3]

Andie send help. I'm a Nanami stan through and through (Or so I thought...) but with the new jjk season and everyone talking about him, I fear my weak heart can't resist Gojo anymore... OTL

So defeated and ashamed I come to you: do you by any chance have any Gojo x reader fic recs?

Thank you ❤️

Lmfaoooo Gojo is inevitable!! I do have a couple Gojo recs off the top of my head although I am certain I am forgetting some. I will try to come back and add more as I remember them!!

First of all I recommend anything by the ult Gojo simp @stellamancer. Niku has several really good ones, some ongoing, and they are all super different premises but all of them perfectly capture Gojo's annoying enigmatic-ness. Niku also has this really heartfelt style of storytelling; you will eat her fics up with a spoon.

For me, @petrichorium's usurper!Gojo series was like the gateway into Gojo simpery. This is one of my fave series ever, and again Pluvi captures his character so well, he's so dangerous and cocky and yet so soft and careful with the things he really cares about. I want to lick his boots. :/ (Total perfection.)

I recently reblogged @lorelune's fic dawn instinct and I cannot recommend enough. It's purportedly smut but Lore does like insane levels of character work throughout and it's so completely, masterfully executed. I haven't read all their other stuff yet but I added like everything to my TBR, they're so good.

I also recently reblogged @mintmatcha's vignettes in cerulean and hoooly shit. It's short but it's so impactful. Mint's writing is somehow very focused and cerebral and I found myself thinking about this one for days and days after. I think it will stick with you too.

I also have to recommend @yeowchies' whet your appetite fic too. This one literally gave me butterflies. Gojo is so fucking sexy and obnoxious here and I wanted to climb into the fic and beat his ass!! You will love love love his characterization here.

And no Gojo list would be complete without @hawnks's first law of motion!! Mint is one of the most reliable writers in our niche and one thing I love about her fics is how the love interest usually falls fast, and soooo hard! If you want to feel loved and cared for, read this. This one is lengthier too so you will have plenty to simp over!!

Also I haven't read it yet but @seoafin's rip 2 my youth is on my TBR!! It's a Gojo x Reader x Getou fic, and it looks so fucking good. I have seen multiple people dissolving into puddles over this fic, so you know it has to be good. I'm so excited!!

I also haven't read this one yet but I have @shibaraki's the white rabbit on my TBR too!! Monty has the most creative concepts in this entire niche and this one features courtesan Gojo and I am certain it is gonna be both nuanced and sexy as hell hehehe.

Lastly, this isn't an x Reader, but if you are willing to read Gojo x canon characters, I'm absolutely obsessed with this gojohime writer on ao3 called unpetitlapin. Her Gojo is unbearably obnoxious but so good and flawed and so multidimensional kjsfjshdkfjshdkgl. I love it.

Anyway that's what I can think of for now, although I am certain there are ones from earlier in 2022-2021 that I will need to track down and add here. But in the meantime, happy reading!!

[wonderlanddreamer]

Coming soon...

In the shadowy underworld of London, Rosa Sabini has long been ensnared in her brother's ruthless schemes, living a life of servitude and survival. However, when the enigmatic Tommy Shelby enters her world with his own hidden agenda, he finds himself unexpectedly moved by her suffering and mesmerized by her resilience. As Tommy becomes determined to help her break free from her grim existence, he must grapple with whether the perilous path to her freedom is worth the conflict it may unleash.

Warnings: Dark themes - abuse (dubcon/noncon), violence, trauma, manipulation, degradation. Strictly 18+

Excerpt below. Please reblog/comment to be added to the tag list.

The office was suffused with smoke, a heavy shroud that mirrored the tension hanging in the air. Darby Sabini stood behind his desk, eyes locked onto his sister, Rosa, with a brutal gaze that promised retribution. Outside, the city droned on, oblivious, while his men lingered in the shadows, their eyes alight with a dark curiosity as they watched.

"You thought I wouldn't find out, Rosa?" Darby’s voice was deceptively calm, a serpent coiled to strike. "Sneaking off to meet Tommy bloody Shelby. What does he offer that I don’t? Am I not good enough for you anymore?"

Rosa's heart thundered in her chest, fear threading through her. She tried to hold his gaze, her voice tremulous but defiant. "It’s not what you think, Darby. You’re jumping to conclusions."

"Conclusions?" he chuckled, a low, sinister sound that resonated with his watching men. "You believe I'm some fool you can deceive? Ungrateful whore, turning your back on your own blood."

With a swift, viciois motion, Darby charged around to stand behind her, a predator closing in on his prey. His fingers knotted in her hair, wrenching her back before slamming her down onto the desk. Rosa gasped, the familiar sting of pain mingling with the shame of their leering eyes. Her hands clawed at his, desperate and futile.

"Beg," he murmured, leaning over her, his breath a hot, oppressive cloud against her skin. The command was laced with a twisted delight, a game he relished in playing.

Rosa’s eyes, wide and pleading, flickered to the men who watched with undisguised interest, their silent approval as chilling as Darby’s grip. Her mind screamed for escape, but her voice was a ragged whisper. "Please, Darby, I am loyal. I swear it, Tommy Shelby means nothing."

He released her with a shove, stepping back with a satisfied sneer. "Get out of my sight," he growled, his voice a velvet-covered threat. "And pray I dont decide that you're no different than any other traitor."

Rosa straightened slowly, smoothing her dress with trembling fingers, each movement a testament to her struggle to maintain composure. She cast a quick glance at the silent, watching men before walking out with her eyes on the ground, her heart heavy with the knowledge of the dangerous game she was forced to play, and the chilling reminder of the consequences that awaited her defiance.

[the-whispers-of-death]

stone x civilian reader?

See for civilian readers, it'll be ten times harder to get Stone to even interact with you, much less like you. Because that man does not go out when he's home. But he does sometimes, like when he gets henna done on his hands. The person who interacts with him the most when he's home is his neighbor, because that's who gets his groceries.

So imagine with me that you're the neighbor next to Stone's neighbor, you don't see Stone usually unless it's when he gets home at odd hours of the day from his most recent deployment. And then you just won't see him. You know your neighbor brings the enigmatic man groceries, sometimes even vinyl records, but that's the extent of what you see with Stone.

Until one day, Stone's neighbor, your neighbor, can't pick up this week's groceries for Stone because he's busy. So you get up from your couch because there's frantic knocking at your front door and there your neighbor is, on your front porch. He tells you that he can't pick up Stone's groceries because he's late for a meeting and won't be able to do so for the entire day either, so he begs you to do so, offering you the list.

Maybe it's because you're curious to see what Stone is like or maybe it's because you've never seen your neighbor so desperate, but you accept his request and take he list. It's ironically not a long list, you just need to pick up some meat, vegetables, and fruit. Anything perishable, because Stone is stocked up on nonperishables. So you decide to do your groceries as well, careful not to get them mixed up with his.

Flash forward an hour later, and you're taking Stone's groceries to his house. You've never stood on his driveway before, a beat-up black Jeep parked there. You've never seen Stone take it out for a drive and you wonder if it still even works.

You walk up onto the front porch and ring the doorbell three times, something the neighbor had told you to do so Stone would know that it was you and not just ignore the doorbell.

Stone opens the door and he's so tall and intimidating, even in civilian clothes. He wears all black, leather pants despite the heat inside and outside the house. His cold brown eyes give you shivers, his face completely impassive. You've never seen a man more commanding of fear before, but he exudes power. And his brown skin is just covered in so many scars, but you've heard from others in the neighborhood that he was a Fleet Marine Corpsman, so that tracks with the scars.

"Here's your groceries," You say, handing him the bags.

When he takes the bags, his calloused hands that are adorned with intricate, beautiful henna tattoos brushing against your own calloused hands. He merely grunts in response, doesn't even allow you to help him nor does he thank you.

One second you're looking at him, the next he's slamming the door shut in your face.

So, it wasn't a very long interaction with him, but perhaps it won't be the last.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and talk or request something! (SFW requests only, please and thank you)

[regulus-cannot-swim]

Sparkling colors

Author's Note: I know it's been a while since I wrote my last soulmate one so I decided to write another one. This one sounded so cute with the not being able to see colors until you meet your soulmate. I hope you enjoy! Reblog or follow me if you enjoy!

Draco Malfoy had always prided himself on his discerning eye for detail. From the moment he set foot in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he found himself captivated by the enigmatic Y/n Potter. As the years went by, his curiosity grew, as did his awareness of her presence. It seemed as though their paths crossed more often than was mere coincidence.

However, there was one peculiar thing about their connection that remained unknown to both of them. Draco and Y/n were soulmates—two halves of a whole, their destinies entwined. But until they met each other, their world remained colorless, a monotonous landscape of varying shades of gray.

It wasn't until sixth year that their eyes finally met, and in that moment, an explosion of vibrant colors embraced them both. The world around them brightened as if a veil had been lifted, revealing a breathtaking tapestry of hues they had never experienced before. Each sparkling color seemed to hold a message, a secret whispered to them by the universe itself.

Draco, astonished, found himself gazing into Y/n's eyes, a kaleidoscope of blues and greens that spoke of endless oceans and dense forests. Her hair, once merely a shade of dull brown, transformed into a cascading waterfall of golden sunlight. Y/n's lips, once pale and unassuming, now carried the blush of a rose in full bloom.

Y/n, equally captivated, looked deeply into Draco's eyes, finding pools of gray that swirled with silver. His platinum hair turned from lifeless cool tones to silver threads of moonlight, and his lips took on a rosy warmth, reminiscent of a sunrise.

In that moment, they both knew. They knew that the connection they had felt all these years was something profound and undeniable. Fate had brought them together, granting them the gift of seeing the world in its full splendor, and with it, the revelation of their shared destiny.

Their interactions began to change. Draco, once aloof and arrogant, found himself seeking Y/n's company more and more. He yearned to explore the world with her, to witness its vibrant wonders at her side. Y/n, once burdened with the fate of being the Chosen One, felt her heart swell as she discovered the soul that completed hers.

Their newfound bond transcended house rivalries, bridging the gap between Slytherin and Gryffindor, as they navigated the challenges of their final year at Hogwarts. They shared their aspirations, their fears, and their dreams, building a love that unfolded like a delicate blossom in full bloom.

Together, they discovered the power of love and its ability to transform not only their own realities but also the realities of those around them. They became beacons of hope for others, showing them that love could conquer even the most seemingly insurmountable obstacles.

Draco and Y/n's love story, etched in shades of vibrant color, became the stuff of legend whispered through Hogwarts' hallowed halls. And as they embarked on their journey beyond these castle walls, they were no longer naive children but warriors, ready to face whatever challenges the world had in store for them.

For Draco and Y/n, their love was an extraordinary adventure that transcended boundaries and inspired all who witnessed it. And as they walked hand in hand into their future, they did so with the knowledge that their souls were forever entwined, their hearts beating as one.

[theearlgreymage]

“Arrogant…” Levi grumbles, turning away from Erwin to focus on the task at hand — kneading a fresh loaf of bread for them. He punches and folds the dough roughly. “Hey,” Erwin tries to sooth over his misstep. Entering Levi’s space and placing his hands over Levi’s biceps in a comforting gesture. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I know that this world can be cruel.” Levi tenses, but doesn’t shake Erwin’s hands off of him. “Yeah? And just what do you know of the cruelties of this world?” “I know what it’s like to never know one's own history — to be the cause of another’s death.” “Stop speaking in riddles, I’m in no mood for your cryptic enigmatics.” “My mother perished while delivering me,” Erwin’s voice is a ghost of a whisper against Levi’s ear. The admission eases Levi’s kneading of the dough, Erwin’s hands sliding down to his forearms. “I never knew my father.” “My father was put to death because of my actions…” Levi can hear the strain in Erwin’s voice as he unravels his tale. He can feel the way Erwin’s heart staggers against his spine with how close they’re pressed together. “He was a scholar, but he wanted to say goodbye to her, my mother. Nothing nefarious, nothing evil, he simply wanted to let her know that she could rest easy. That we loved her and that he would protect me.” Levi bites his lip at the admission. Communing with the dead is dangerous — even if the intent is whole and good. “I was excited to talk to my mother, mentioned it while in the market. The royal guards were on our doorstep the next day, and they strung my father up in the gallows.” Erwin’s hands are now on Levi’s own and Levi finally relents on his working of the dough. He knows Erwin doesn’t worry about filth in the same way he does, so he simply spins around in Erwin’s hold. It forces Erwin to drop his hands from Levi, but Levi places his own flour covered fingers to Erwin’s jaw. “Don’t blame yourself. Those people, the masses,” Levi swallows, he’s never been good with words. He’s brilliant with the ancient tongues that summon power from his core, but he’s shit when it comes to talking to people. “They never understand. They always fear what they can’t see. Only trust what those pious lot in the church tell them about the unknown.” Erwin let’s Levi’s words pull at the corners of his lips, but the look in his eyes is still downturned. “They burned my mother,” Levi confesses. “She was an herbalist, but that didn’t garner enough to put food on the table. So she had other clients in the evenings. One asked for too much…” Levi swallows, emotions he’s never quite faced bubbling in his stomach. They’re sour and acrid, and leave a rancid taste of sulfur on the back of his throat. “They asked for me, and she…She told him no.” Levi is shaking now, using his hold on Erwin and the counter behind him for support as he remembers that night. The way his mother had screamed at the man. He’d torn her dress, and she’d ripped out a chunk of his hair as he’d made a move towards Levi. She’d yelled at Levi to run, but he’d been too afraid to move — he’d cried for his mother, begging her to make the bad man leave. In the end, she’d thrown a vial of giant hogweed sap at him. The glass shattered against the back of his head, glass digging into his neck and ear while the burning extract seeped into the pores of his skin. He’d screeched in agony and called Levi’s sweet mother a witch. “The village burned her that very night.” “Oh Levi…” Erwin wraps his arms around Levi’s slim waist. “Oh my sweet Poppy.” Levi allows the contact, slipping his arms further up and around Erwin’s neck. He buries his face against the soft skin of Erwin’s throat and breathes in the scent of pine and leather and musk. He doesn’t see the way Erwin’s grin turns nefarious above his head.

The amazing @gravesecret and I teamed up for an exciting Halloween Collab, and it has been a ton of fun working with them. They're so gosh talented it is insane, and the art they created for this one-shot is stunning. It took my breath away from the very first rough-sketch. The final piece left me absolutely floored.

Make sure you go give the artwork a like and reblog here on Tumblr or over on X. And give them a follow on the new haven that is Bluesky.

Read "My Poppy Witch" here on AO3

Rating, Tags, and Summary Beneath the Cut ✂

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Shigeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Author Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Levi Ackerman/Erwin Smith, Levi Ackerman & Erwin Smith

Characters: Levi Ackerman, Erwin Smith. Hange Zoë

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magic, Witch Levi Ackerman, Alchemist Erwin Smith, Demonic Possession, Demon Summoning, Demon Deals, Witchcraft, Manipulative Erwin Smith, Ackerbond | Ackerman Bonding (Shingeki no Kyojin), Top Erwin Smith, Bottom Levi Ackerman, Bottom Levi Ackerman/Top Erwin Smith, Dubious Consent, Messy, Fingerfucking, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Coming Untouched, Loss of Virginity, Gay Sex, poppy flowers

Summary: It becomes easier, after the events at the riverbank, for Levi to trust Erwin.

Erwin never gets in Levi’s way, letting him perform his spells and rituals out in the open without judgment. He doesn’t pry, doesn’t ask to be taught, but instead observes and only offers to help where he can. Levi is appreciative of Erwin’s regard for his space, and finds himself slowly growing accustomed to having another person with him in the solace of his woods.

Levi has an affinity for plants, Erwin discovers. He watches as Levi heals the delicate stems of baby’s breath and coaxes stubborn lilacs to bloom. Under the light of a full moon, Erwin is granted the privilege of observing Levi’s protection rituals around the forest. He finds himself mesmerized by the fireflies and moths that flock to Levi’s hands, accepting droplets of magic like rain before fluttering back into the woods — depositing magical charms throughout the glen.

It’s more than Erwin could have ever imagined, hoped, to find in a witch.

[nekoannie-chan]

Bewitched crossroads

Title: “Bewitched crossroads”

Ship: Morgan le Fay X Stephen Strange (Love).

Word count: 502 words.

Rating: Teen.

Square: I2 “Blue collar warlock”.

Summary: Disadvantages of being the Supreme Sorcerer.

Warnings/Tags: Sad ending, forbidden love.

A/N: This is my entry to @marvelrarepairbingo​  @marvelrarepairs MarvelRarePair Bingo Round 2 2023. Annie MRP-066.

You can read it on Wattpad and Ao3 too.

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

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In the darkest corners of the multiverse, where planes collide and realities intertwine, there existed a forgotten corner where a Sorcerer Supreme resided. Stephen Strange has experienced countless epic battles and saved the world on countless occasions.

One day, while Strange was exploring unknown dimensions, he encountered a mysterious presence, Morgan le Fay. Both were surprised by the other's presence, although their worlds were radically different.

Morgan, unlike Strange, was known as an evil witch, but behind her enigmatic facade lay a complex history filled with loss and loneliness. Magic was the only solace in her life—a tool to protect herself from a hostile world that feared her.

For days and nights, Strange and Morgan shared knowledge and experiences. Through their conversations, Morgan began to see Strange differently, not only as the powerful wizard who knew the world but also as a man with doubts and longings, struggling to balance duty and passion.

On the other hand, Strange was captivated by Morgan's wisdom and unique understanding of magic. Magic, which had once been just a tool for him, became a means to discover the deeper meaning of his existence.

As their relationship deepened, Strange and Morgan began to explore the darkest corners of the multiverse together, facing unimaginable dangers and uncovering secrets that had remained hidden for millennia. With each new discovery, their connection grew stronger, and soon they realized they had fallen in love.

Despite the differences in their worlds and their reputations, Strange and Morgan fell in love. However, their feelings were not shared by all. Many wizards and witches considered them a dangerous couple, joining forces between two opposing worlds.

Several even claimed it was something that should never have happened, and many others were horrified.

One day, while exploring one of the many dimensions, they found an object that had been sought for centuries by the most powerful wizards of the multiverse. That object that had the power to control time had long been lost. They both knew they had to protect it no matter what, as its power could be used for good or for evil, the multiverse could be in a huge danger in wrong hands.

But another problem appeared in their lives; they knew that the rest of the wizards were going to separate them one way or another, even if it meant war.

Strange and Morgan found themselves in a dilemma. They knew that the outcome of the battle could end their lives and their love. But they also knew they could not turn their backs on their duty.

It was at that moment that Morgan made a decision. She would use all her magic to protect Strange during the battle, even if it meant her own death. She didn't care about the cost; maybe in some other life, they could be together.

That night, Morgan sent him to safety place while he slept. She hoped that someday he would forgive her and understand her reasons; perhaps the rumors about her were true.

[notveryimpressed]

Butterflies

Prompt from @lefttomyownvices

"We might have a slight problem," Sidekick said, clutching their side as they watched Villain advance on them. Hero whirled around. "Are you hurt?" Sidekick shook their head, looking a little nauseous. "No," they mumbled. "Just a bad case of butterflies." Villain sauntered closer. Hero groaned. "Please tell me it's not for them," they said. Sidekick's expression said it all.

"We might be in a right pickle, I reckon," Sidekick drawled, gripping their side with a hint of distress as they observed Villain strutting towards them.

Hero swiftly spun around, his eyes filled with concern. "Are ye injured, pard? Doth the scoundrel hath thee in his clutches?"

Sidekick shook their head, a touch of queasiness evident in their face. "Nay, good sir," they muttered, their voice quivering like a leaf in autumn. "Tis but a terrible swarm of butterflies plaguing my innards."

Villain's malevolent steps grew closer, eliciting a groan from Hero's lips. "Pray tell me, dear companion, that thy ailment hath naught to do with this nefarious rascal approachin'," Hero implored, his face etched with desperation.

The expression on Sidekick's countenance conveyed the unfortunate truth before a word was uttered. With a heavy sigh, they confessed, "Verily, dear Hero, the butterflies within me doth flutter for none other than this villainous miscreant."

Hero's features contorted in exasperation, his hands clenching into fists. "Alas! We find ourselves in a dire situation indeed," he lamented, his voice tinged with a touch of melodrama. "A battle of steel and might, overshadowed by the skirmish within thy very soul."

Sidekick nodded solemnly, their face a picture of inner turmoil. "Aye, 'tis a tumultuous conflict, my companion, one that leaves me torn betwixt dread and fascination."

Villain closed the distance, a wicked grin stretching across his face. Hero, wearied but resolute, prepared to defend against the impending onslaught. Yet, he couldn't help but interject with a tinge of annoyance, "In the annals of heroic tales, I hath never encountered such an inconvenience as butterflies deciding to meddle in matters of valor."

Sidekick offered a weak smile, a glimmer of sheepishness in their eyes. "'Tis a curious affliction, indeed," they murmured, their voice carrying a hint of apology. "But fear not, dear Hero, for amidst the flutters and fluttering, I shall stand strong by thy side."

Hero's frustration melted into a sigh, his gaze unwavering upon the approaching Villain. "Very well, Sidekick. Let us vanquish this scoundrel, even if we must contend with your peculiar ailment. Together, we shall conquer both the foe without and the butterflies within."

With newfound determination, the duo braced themselves, ready to face the looming battle. The clash of blades and the tumultuous dance of heroism were about to commence, while Sidekick wrestled with the ever-enigmatic whims of their wayward butterflies. In this tale of valor and peculiarity, they were prepared to weather the storm, for in the realm of heroes and villains, anything was possible—butterflies and all.

Please follow me or reblog my writing. it really motivates me to write

[ctrl-alt-deleting-yr-face]

I’M PUTTING BEDMAN PROPAGANDA RIGHT HERE IN THE REBLOGS BECAUSE IM GONNA GO FUCKING INSANE

Bedman, or Romeo as I usually end up calling him, is an enigmatic figure who we still don’t know much about. What we do know is the extent of why he is in a comatose state in the games. Romeo- and his sister Delilah- were born with a brain condition that has caused their minds to rapidly develop, giving them extremely high intelligence for a price. What is that price?

Their bodies can’t keep up with their own minds, and they will overheat and die if they are conscious.

Neither of them asked to live like this. To be forced into a coma for their survival. Romeo’s actions throughout the game is his way of attempting to fix this issue that he didn’t want to be born with.

Romeo wants to create the absolute world. A world free of uncertainty and doubt, where life can be manipulated like a lucid dream. A world where he and his sister can live in the waking world without the cold hands of death immediately claiming them. A world where he can bring back all the lives he took to get there.

His powers are very much linked to his dream state as well, implying he’s lived in it for so long that he’s learned how to use it to his advantage. His most notable abilities are teleportation, his ability to read his opponents’ actions, and his Deja Vu mechanic- which involved Romeo leaving a sigil after using certain attacks, which allows him to use that attack a second time in that location when activated, and also his autism-coded IK in which he puts his opponent on a stage and shows them their worst fear.

He has lived in his deep sleep state for so long that- despite his clear hatred of it- he understands it better than most any other character and has learned how to use it to make himself stronger. So strong, in fact, that he rivals several characters who are practically gods in their own right, and manages to make Slayer- and immortal vampire who to my knowledge has only expressed discomfort in a battle setting once or twice- NERVOUS.

Bedman is powerful, understands what he’s working with in his comatose state, and he also manages to manipulate his dream to both live in a run down movie theater AND to kill his opponents with extreme efficiency. We love him.

ROUND 2A, MATCH 3 OUT OF 8!

Propaganda Under the Cut:

Bedman:

[No Propaganda Submitted]

Judd:

He's an immortal cat with telepathy that was kept in cryosleep for at least 10,000 years and has outlived every other mammal. His owner just loved him that much. Probably just the wildest character in Splatoon in general.

[gxdsetmxnsters]

And I said,