#grant show gif hunt

[rockpaperscissuhs]

HISPANIC HERITAGE MONTH + BAND OF BROTHERS:

JOSEPH "JOE" RAMIREZ

Born October 5th, 1921, in Nebraska

Died April 8th, 1988 (age 66), in Martinez, California

Joe Ramirez enlisted in September 1942 (age 20) in San Francisco, CA, and he trained with Easy Company at Toccoa. Holding the rank of Private, he served in Normandy, Holland, and Bastogne. He was hospitalized in January 1945, and discharged in July 1945. After the war, he was married for many years, and had children and grandchildren. When he passed away he was buried with his wife, who had passed away 11 years earlier. Further information about him is scarce, but the brief character profile in the Band of Brothers series bible describes him as Mexican-American, and his personality as "sensitive and nervous."

Appears in Episodes 1, 3-8, and 10; portrayed by actor Rene L. Moreno

Sources below

A million thanks to @bleedingcoffee42 for tracking down this info for me!

[novaursa]

A little bit of angst here, could I get one with cregan and rhaenyras daughter where, after their first child, reader and cregan are having difficulty making a second child. Eventually reader gets pregnant a joyous day for winterfell. As the weeks pass, cregan and reader are frequently spotted by the folk of winterfell sharing tender moments between one another, maybe a kiss to readers belly, maybe cregan almost always has a hand to her stomach etc. one day (maybe cregan is at the wall or on a hunt) reader receives a raven from dragonstone saying Jacaerys is dead. Readers grief overcomes her and she loses the baby. After news reaches cregan about Jace, he rushes home to comfort his wife, knowing she’d be overcome with grief, and he is met with the aftermath. Cregan is filled with grief and anger and a lust for revenge for the person at the hands of the death of his friend, the grief of his wife and the loss of his child.

The Gullet's Price

Requests are closed!

- Summary: The day you received the news about the death of your brother, another life was lost.

- Pairing: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess

The snow fell gently outside the thick stone walls of Winterfell, casting a blanket of white over the sprawling castle. Inside, however, warmth radiated from every hearth. You sat by the window, watching the snowflakes drift lazily in the twilight, your hand absentmindedly resting on your belly. The room was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the fire and the distant sound of footsteps from the courtyard below.

It had been months—many long, aching months—since you and Cregan had first tried for a second child. After the birth of your son, the heir to Winterfell, you had both longed for another, but it seemed the gods had been slow to answer your prayers. There had been whispers among the maesters, suggestions of herbs and tonics, but nothing had come of it. Each passing moon only deepened the ache in your heart, and though Cregan never showed it, you could see the worry in his eyes, the way his hand lingered on your shoulder a moment too long, the way he would pull you into his arms as if holding you close could somehow solve what was out of your control.

The door creaked open, and there he stood—Cregan, your husband, lord of Winterfell, with his ever-brooding presence softened by the sight of you. His dark hair fell loosely over his shoulders, and his grey eyes—so often stern in the face of duty—softened as they found yours. Without a word, he crossed the room, his boots barely making a sound against the stone floor, and knelt beside you, placing a warm hand on top of yours.

"Still watching the snow, love?" he asked, his voice low and filled with a tenderness reserved only for you.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "It reminds me of the first night I spent here. You used to say the snow welcomed me to the North."

Cregan smiled at the memory, his fingers gently entwining with yours. "Aye, and it seems the North has claimed you as one of its own ever since."

For a moment, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the snow drifting outside, and the fire crackling softly beside you. Then, without warning, Cregan shifted slightly, his free hand coming to rest on your belly—just as it had so many times before, a hopeful gesture, though for so long it had brought neither joy nor comfort.

You looked down at his hand, feeling the familiar warmth of his touch. "Perhaps it's not meant to be," you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Perhaps one child is all we were granted."

Cregan's grip tightened ever so slightly, his thumb brushing gently over the fabric of your dress. "You’ve always been stronger than fate, Y/N. If we are meant to have more children, we will. And if not..." He paused, looking up at you with such intensity that it made your heart skip a beat. "Then we will cherish the family we have."

The sincerity in his words brought tears to your eyes, but you blinked them away, leaning down to press a kiss to his brow. "I love you, Cregan Stark."

"And I love you," he whispered, his lips brushing against the skin of your belly as he spoke. It was such a simple act, but the tenderness of it, the love that radiated from him, made your chest swell with emotion.

The days passed slowly after that, each one blending into the next. Winter held the North in its grip, and though life within Winterfell continued as always, there was a quiet hope that lingered between you and Cregan, an unspoken understanding that perhaps, just perhaps, the gods had not forgotten you after all.

Then one morning, as the sun barely crested the horizon, you woke with a strange feeling in your stomach—not pain, but something else. Something new. You lay still for a moment, waiting, your heart pounding in your chest as realization dawned upon you.

"Cregan," you whispered, nudging him awake beside you.

He stirred, groggy from sleep, but the moment his eyes met yours, he was alert. "What is it?"

"I... I think I'm with child," you said, the words feeling foreign and yet so familiar on your tongue.

For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then, Cregan sat up, his hand already moving to your belly as if to confirm what you had just said. His grey eyes were wide with disbelief, and for the first time in what felt like years, there was unrestrained joy in his expression.

"Are you certain?" he asked, though the hope in his voice was undeniable.

You nodded, tears already welling in your eyes. "I'm certain."

The joy that erupted in the days following was like nothing you had ever experienced before. Winterfell, normally so cold and solemn, felt alive with the news of your pregnancy. The people celebrated quietly at first, but soon the halls were filled with laughter and congratulations. The maesters confirmed your suspicions, and Cregan all but swept you into his arms, grinning like a man who had won the greatest battle of his life.

From that day on, it was rare to see you without Cregan by your side. He was never far from you, his hand constantly finding its way to your stomach as if to remind himself—and everyone else—that life was growing within you. The people of Winterfell spoke of it often, how their lord was more tender with you than they had ever seen before. Some swore they saw him press soft kisses to your belly when he thought no one was watching.

You, too, felt the change in him. His protectiveness over you grew tenfold, but so did his tenderness. He would sit with you by the hearth in the evenings, his hand resting on your belly as the fire crackled beside you. "I can't wait to meet our child," he'd say softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wonder if they'll have your eyes."

"And your stubbornness," you teased, smiling as he chuckled.

Every tender moment between you was a reminder of the love you shared. The people of Winterfell watched with quiet admiration, and as the weeks passed, it became clear that this child—your child—would be born into a house filled with love, protected by both the Starks and Targeryens.

One evening, as the snow began to fall once more, Cregan knelt before you, resting his head against your belly. "Our child will be here soon," he whispered, his voice full of wonder. "And I will love them just as much as I love you."

You smiled down at him, your hand stroking through his dark hair. "I know you will, my love. I know."

The sky was a cold, slate gray, reflecting the heaviness that weighed on your heart. You had been restless all day, your hand unconsciously drifting to your swollen belly as you paced the stone floors of Winterfell. Cregan had gone to the Wall, seeing to matters with the Night's Watch, and while he often left for such duties, his absence felt more pronounced today, leaving you feeling uneasy.

You paused at the window, watching the snow swirl in the bitter northern wind. There had been no ravens for days, no word from Dragonstone, and though you had tried to push away your fears, the growing knot in your stomach told you something was amiss.

And then, it came. The raven. Black wings against the pale sky.

When the maester handed you the scroll, your fingers trembled, sensing the weight of it before your eyes even scanned the words. It was from Dragonstone—your mother’s seal—but it was not her handwriting. The letters blurred as you read them, and the world around you seemed to vanish, leaving only the devastating truth in front of you.

Jacaerys is dead.

He had been slain at the Gullet, struck down during a battle with the greens. The words felt unreal, distant, as if they were written for someone else. But no, they were meant for you. Your Jace, your closest friend, your blood, was gone.

A choked sob escaped your lips, your body trembling as the grief hit you all at once. The scroll slipped from your hands and fell to the floor, unnoticed. All you could feel was the crushing weight of loss—the loss of your brother, of someone who had been part of your life for as long as you could remember. The one you had grown up with, laughed with, fought beside. The one who had been by your side during the most difficult moments of your life.

Jace.

You pressed your hand to your belly, your breaths coming in short, panicked gasps as the sorrow became overwhelming, twisting inside you like a blade. The baby... your baby. You could feel it—something was wrong. The sharp pain in your abdomen stole your breath, and suddenly the warmth you had cherished, the life growing within you, felt cold. Empty.

"No..." you whispered, stumbling backward as another wave of pain coursed through you. You clutched your stomach, but it was no use. The grief, the heartache—it was too much. You collapsed to the floor, clutching at your belly, the realization sinking in that the life you carried had slipped away, just as Jace had. Gone.

Servants found you there, unconscious and bleeding, their screams echoing through the halls of Winterfell as they rushed to fetch the maesters. But no maester, no amount of care, could undo what had already been done. By the time you awoke, it was too late. You had lost the baby.

When Cregan finally returned, having received word of Jacaerys's death at the Wall, his heart was already heavy with the knowledge of how devastated you would be. He had pushed his horse hard, riding through the night to return to you, knowing you would need him now more than ever.

But nothing could have prepared him for what awaited him.

The moment he stepped through the gates of Winterfell, he knew something was wrong. The air was thick with tension, the usual quiet bustle of the castle replaced with a heavy, oppressive silence. The servants barely met his eyes as they bowed, their faces pale. His chest tightened, fear creeping into his heart as he made his way through the familiar halls.

"Cregan," a voice called softly, and he turned to see the Maester Kennet approaching him with a grave expression. The look on his face confirmed Cregan's worst fears.

"She..." the maester began, his voice shaking slightly. "She lost the child, my lord. It happened shortly after the raven arrived from Dragonstone. The grief—"

Cregan didn’t wait for him to finish. He rushed past the maester, his heart pounding in his chest as he made his way to your chambers. He flung the door open, and there you were, lying in bed, pale and weak, your eyes red from crying. The sight of you like this, broken and devastated, was like a dagger to his heart.

You looked up when you heard the door, and when your eyes met Cregan’s, the dam broke again. Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks as you whispered, "He’s gone, Cregan... Jace is gone... and... our baby..."

Cregan crossed the room in an instant, gathering you into his arms, holding you as you wept into his chest. His own heart shattered as he held you, feeling the weight of your loss, your grief. He didn’t speak; words wouldn’t help, not now. All he could do was hold you, his strong arms wrapped around you as if he could somehow protect you from the pain you were feeling. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t shield you from this.

Inside, Cregan’s own grief began to twist into something darker—rage. Jacaerys had been his friend, one of the few he could trust in the turbulent world of war and politics. The news of his death was a blow to his own heart, but seeing you like this—broken and empty, having lost not only your brother but your child—it was unbearable.

He clenched his jaw, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. Whoever was responsible for Jacaerys’s death would pay. He would see to it. The rage that simmered in his veins burned hotter with every passing moment.

"I swear to you," he murmured, his voice low and filled with a quiet fury, "whoever is responsible for Jace’s death will pay. I will see to it myself."

You lifted your tear-streaked face to look at him, and for a moment, you could see the storm brewing in his eyes. Cregan was always strong, always steady, but now—now there was something else in him. Something dangerous.

"Cregan," you whispered, your voice hoarse from crying. "Don’t... please, don’t go."

His gaze softened as he looked at you, his thumb gently brushing away the tears from your cheek. "I won’t leave you, not now. But justice will be done, Y/N. For Jace, for our child. I promise you."

You closed your eyes, leaning into him, feeling the warmth of his embrace even as the world around you felt cold and desolate. Cregan held you tightly, his mind racing with thoughts of revenge, of the blood that would be spilled in the name of those you had lost.

He would not rest until the one responsible for this pain had paid with their life.

[yanderes-galore]

Hi, could you please do a yandere platonic darth vader? Thank you!

I can try, sure! If something is OOC, I'm so sorry, I still struggle writing Vader.

Yandere! Platonic! Darth Vader Concept

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Kidnapping, Isolation, Brainwashing, Overprotective behavior, Violence, Murder, Forced companionship.

Vader, or even Anakin, would not be the best father.

If things didn't go wrong, he'd probably be loving to his kids.

Yet at the same time, he'd just make an action at some point to poison that bond.

Vader was under the impression his wife and child died.

Which made him who he is now.

In reality, he had three.

Luke, Leia, and you.

He never found out about any of you until much later.

I think it would be an interesting idea if you took a different path than Luke and Leia.

Like, maybe you went to help them during the Death Star and had no idea they were your siblings. (You could just have been raised beside Leia as a childhood friend or something or found them later)

Unfortunately, however, you end up being taken captive by Vader.

Which leads to Vader finding out you're his kid...

Which begins the obsession.

I'm assuming he knew you were his kid via looks and feeling drawn to you (The Force).

So, as OOC as this may be, imagine this...

Vader decides to keep you alive instead of executing you in order to "parent" you.

You hate him yet Vader feels you're a second chance.

This is before he even knew Luke was his kid.

I imagine it would be similar to when Vader said he could convert Luke to the Dark Side.

To protect your life, he'd tell Palpatine you could be useful in tracking Rebels.

Granted, you aren't going to like his plans...

But as a prisoner, your say doesn't matter much.

It would be even more interesting if you were capable of The Force, too.

Vader might've made you either an apprentice or had you help him in other ways if you were.

It's a hard pill to swallow when you learn the real reason Vader took you in.

He's your father.

Even then, you still struggle to play nice.

Knowing he's your father makes you feel sick.

He's never too affectionate, like he's unsure how to approach you.

Yet he teaches you and garners your obedience through manipulation and fear.

He's a quiet man, the only way you know of his presence is his breathing.

He doesn't expect you to like him, even after the truth.

He doesn't expect mutual love, either.

You make him conflicted... reminding him of his one true love.

Again, you may not care for him, but Vader shows he "cares".

He finds time to train you, he gives you Stormtroopers, he protects you.

He does strange little things that one could consider caring or attentive...

Yet you're so separated from one another that it doesn't mean anything to you.

Vader may view giving you guards as protecting you, but to you they're just wardens.

If Vader could ever will himself to say he loves you, it means nothing to you.

He's not a father to you.

Even if he tried he simply couldn't be.

Vader would end up brainwashing you as his captive.

He does everything he can to make you forget the Rebels.

He may not even tell you about your siblings, just to make it seem like he's your only familial connection.

Eventually you don't have to be kept as a prisoner.

He constantly gives you the option to be something more if you just listen.

He does his best to convince you he cares.

You're the closest thing he has to what could've been.

Luke and Leia want him dead.

Yet he's messed with you enough to confuse you.

Eventually, well, what other choice do you have besides joining him?

He's your father, he cares about you...

By now, he's all you have.

He'll train you to hunt Rebels, to be on his side.

He defends you from Palpatine, keeping you under his wing.

He's not afraid to kill, for both his cause and you.

If he killed in your name, he justifies it.

He tells you it had to happen.

You've seen him kill rebels, friends, those you considered family...

And he tells you it's necessary.

You aren't like them.

Rebels are not the good guys, you belong beside your father.

He'll ensure you know that.

He'll make sure you never stray from him.

That alone is another motivation for him to sear through the flesh of another Rebel with his saber, glancing back to make sure you watch.

You'll never leave his side.

Even if he has to lock you away, it's to ensure you stay with him.

So he never loses another one he loves.

Vader himself knows he's not a good man.

Let alone a good father.

Yet you both know he's your father...

There's no one else you can go to now that he has you.

[stellarbit]

hi big fan but too scared to publicly request 😭

could u do the Bad Batch boys reacting to female reader having a boyfriend they didn't know about? like maybe they're on break at the barracks and she starts dressing more revealing and cute and then leaving and they spot her with a man 😭

but ofc, because we love our clones more then other men, something needs to go horribly wrong so she splits up with them and comes back crying or something. you can add whatever twist you want, but (projecting here) perhaps the man was just trying to rush physical things with her and treating her like an object from the beginning and she just wanted to impress him until he started making her uncomfortable. hmm, very specific 🤔

anyway, love your writing so much. thank you 🙏

Your wish is my command

Word Count: 3.3k Pairings: Mostly platonic Bad Batch x fem!reader Warnings: objectifying d-bag bf, lil violence, a beer or two, jealous men Summary: The Bad Batch are back on Coruscant and looking for a night out with you. They find you and your new, unsavory boyfriend.

Frustrated and edged with exhaustion, Crosshair stomped onto the Marauder. He’d spent the last hour scouring the upper level of Coruscant for you to no avail. You’d missed your usual visit with the men of Clone Force 99 when they were on-world.

Visiting you became routine after their first visit to the Capitol. They’d come for special training before they were even assigned their signature armor. Ready for a taste of the real world, they’d snuck out into the city on their first night and right into the arms of swindlers. 

Somehow they’d fallen into the sights of a charming group of people you were all too familiar with. You watched the whole scene unfold from the balcony of your apartment. They promised to show the men a ‘good time’ and you knew that came with some unsavory consequences.

With nothing better planned for your night, you intervened and saved the men from, at the very least, being scammed. It turned out to be an unforgettable night with four new friends to boot and, when leave allowed, they’d find you for some fun.

So, with a few days between mission briefings and not knowing when they’d have leave again, the Batch tried to track you down. The problem was that this time they couldn’t find you anywhere - anywhere being your home or at the store you worked. 

Tech stayed with the ship while the rest looked for you. Hunter, Wrecker, and Echo were the first to turn in, leaving Crosshair to finish the hunt.

Hunter and Echo hung around the cockpit while Wrecker kicked back in a chair near the nav screens when Crosshair returned. As he sunk into the open nav chair next to Wrecker, Tech, wiping his hands on a rag, came aboard. 

Wrecker swiveled to face Crosshair with his head cradled in his hands. “Still can’t find her?”

Leaning onto his elbows, Crosshair growled into his hands. “What gave it away?”

“Did you check her coordinates?” Tech asked, seemingly exasperated by their wasted efforts.

“And how would we check her coordinates?” Echo scoffed from the cockpit. He and Hunter meandered their way towards the other three.

Tech looked between his brothers, disturbed by their blatant ignorance. “With the tracking device I gave her.”

Crosshair’s head shot up, masking his interest with a show of distaste, “You put a tracking device on her?”

Clearly offended by the idea, Tech snapped back, “No.” She wanted to make sure we could find her easily.” The silence that fell between them suggested they didn’t believe him. 

“You were all there.” He insisted, waiting for them to remember only to be met with silence. Sighing, Tech’s shoulders fell and he raised his forearm as he muttered, “Must’ve been when we were alone.”

Wrecker shot forward in his seat, jabbing an accusatory finger at Tech. “When were you alone with her?” The corner of Tech’s lips ticked up as he tapped through his controls, but he didn’t grant Wrecker a response.

They all seemed to forget that Tech kept plenty of information close to the chest. He also tended to be the more sober one of their nights out. They called him a lightweight, but having found it leant him private time with you he called it a fair trade.

After a few seconds, Tech pinpointed your location. Something caught in his throat when he saw how close you were. Tech proudly announced, “Found her. She’s at a lounge one sector over.”

His earlier annoyance faded as Crosshair pushed a toothpick into his smirk, “Sounds like she might need some company.”

“Well boys,” Hunter spoke up with a grin. Tossing a thumb in the direction of the exit he asked the group, “What do you think? Should we crash her night?”

Wrecker bounced up, filling the Marauder with a loud laugh. “You kiddin’? I can’t wait to see the look on her face.”

The men wasted no time in heading your way. Wrecker and Hunter led the group through the crowded streets, followed by Crosshair and Echo with Tech trailing behind with his face in a datapad, making sure they didn’t lose track of you.

Crosshair, noticing Echo’s half-worried look, tapped Echo with his elbow, “Lighten up, Echo. You might have fun for once.”

Used to Crosshair’s prodding, Echo rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the amusement in his voice, “Yeah, well some people don’t like surprises. This is either going to be fine or be a complete disaster.”

“Most likely a disaster.” Tech chimed in from the back.

You were only a few minutes away in a dark, basement floor lounge. Amongst a smattering of half-empty booths and dim lighting, you stood near the bar with a small group of men. 

In the time between Clone Force 99’s last visit and now, you’d fallen in with a man you’d met through work. He was nice enough, persistent in pursuing you and his attention wasn’t unwelcome.

You found yourself answering his calls, meeting his friends, and spending time with him on your days off. Slowly the casual company became intimate and so you stood amongst his friends, in a dark lounge with his hand on the small of your back. The dress you wore, chosen by your new boyfriend, was a little tight for your taste and exposed nearly all of your back.

He claimed it would boost your confidence. The twirling he had you do for his friends suggested it was for his own ego.

Your partner promised you’d be gone by midnight - a promise he’d broken more than once so far. Impatience and boredom dragged the night out, soothed only by cocktails and the bracelet you fidgeted with.

It was a handcrafted gift from Tech and their way to find you. You’d asked for the device in hopes that it would make you miss them less.

It didn’t. You decided that next time you were getting their comm channel out of them even if by force. If there was a next time.

Distracting yourself from the idle conversation around you, your eyes drifted around the mostly empty room. The music was as low as the lighting, only meant to allow conversations to remain private.

The group was having a fun time, some of the jokes even broadened your smile, but generally you were counting the minutes until you could leave. 

Commotion echoed down the front stairwell, breaking the calm of the establishment. Loud, booming laughter quieted your group, piqued your interest, and dialed your attention onto a familiar sound. Your heart stopped when you recognized the sound of shifting armor. For the first time all night, a genuine, albeit hopeful, smile brightened your face.

You stopped breathing all together when the Bad Batch stepped into the room. As impressive as the first time you saw them, your five friends fanned out with each of them scanning the room. Crosshair, ever the eagle eye, spotted you and shoved the brother beside him, Tech, with his elbow.

They were looking for you, you realized. The thought propelled you towards them, your feet barely touching the ground.

You’d not seen the Batch in months. A part of you had worried for the worst - that you’d never see them again. That nagging part of you grew larger than you’d realized, big enough that the relief of seeing them nearly reduced you to tears.

“C’mere, Mesh’la!” Wrecker bellowed, catching you in his arms as you hurled yourself at him. His hands scorched your back, a sensation you’d not felt in the months of their absence.

The harder you held onto Wrecker the more his armor dug into you, making it even harder to breathe through your excitement. When he finally set you down, you immediately latched onto the next closest man, Echo.

The smell of you overwhelmed him for a moment and he had to bite back a groan when he caught a sight of your exposed back. Echo couldn’t even return the gesture before you pulled away and whacked his chest plate. 

Stiffening your lip, you made a poor attempt at a scowl.

Hunter stepped in on you, not hesitating in wiping away your budding tears. “That look says you didn’t miss us too much.” Being so close to you after so long gave him half a thought to kiss you.

“The tears had me fooled,” taunted Crosshair from somewhere beside Wrecker.

Despite the half-assed scowl, a smile broke through and relief warbled your voice. “Do you even know how long it’s been?” You demanded, casting a look between them all.

Tech came to your side, plucking up your wrist for inspection. “Ninety-eight standard rotations.” He said casually, removing your bracelet without looking up.

The anxiety that spiked as he let you go forced your hand to keep him close. Your touch snapped his head up and you tilted towards him, playfully purring, “Aw, you missed me enough to count?”

He opened his mouth, some witty remark surely on his tongue, but a different voice piped up.

“Should I assume these men are your friends?” Your boyfriend said from behind you. You’d all but forgotten where you were and who you were with. 

Immediately releasing Tech, you turned away from the clones, pivoting to stand between them and your partner. Flashing a weak smile you waved in the direction of the Batch, meaning to introduce them.

Crosshair cut you short by stepping forward, putting himself halfway between you and your partner. Sporting a challenging smile, Crosshair looked the stranger up and down. Clearly unimpressed he scoffed, “What’s it to you?”

A pit formed in your stomach when your boyfriend planted his hand on your back. The possessive touch didn’t carry the same flame Wrecker’s did, something you’d not realized up to that point.

“I try to make a habit of knowing my girlfriend’s friends.” Your partner said, accentuating the sentiment with a kiss to your temple.

Slightly horrified Tech recoiled, incredulously parroting in unison with Hunter, “Girlfriend?”

It would’ve been impossible to inform them while they were away, and you certainly owed them no explanation, nonetheless shame crept through you. Avoiding the eyes of your friends, you grinned at your boyfriend, “Let me introduce you to the finest soldiers the Grand Army of the Republic has to offer.” Proudly inhaling your smile grew and you added, “And my friends.”

Looking between your boyfriend and the group, an odd thought occurred to you. You’d never realized the man beside you was on the short side. Shorter even Hunter at least.

Wrecker placed a hand over his chest, mockingly cooing to Crosshair, “Aww, she likes us.” 

Crosshair snorted, when it wasn’t directed at him Crosshair went along with his Wrecker’s goading. Crossing his arms and leaning towards his larger brother, the sniper mused “She’s even blushing.”

Your boyfriend snapped his head towards you, annoyed to see that you were indeed blushing. He’d not seen you get this easily worked up. Although he knew from the moment you ran into Wrecker’s arms that he wanted you nowhere near the men. 

Slowly scanning your form, a condescending smile perked Crosshair’s lips. “Didn’t know that was your style,” He nodded at you, obviously referring to your outfit.

Crosshair never failed to pull a reaction out of you, this time you were  interrupted by your boyfriend slipping his hand up your back and down your arm. The action knotted frustration in your throat as it was what he had done with his friends. 

The longer Crosshair watched this man with his hands all over you, the harder Crosshair bit down on his toothpick. Since you’d first coerced him to dance, Crosshair’s own hands still ached to find their way back to your waist.

And just as he had with his friends, your boyfriend lifted your arm by your hand. He gave you a light jostle, encouraging you to spin around. “It suits her, doesn’t it? I picked it out myself.” 

Where the eyes of his friends felt oily and unwelcome, you only felt heated embarrassment in front of Clone Force 99.

The dress flattered you and you could admit that, at times, you’d imagined how it’d feel for the clones to see you in something like it. You wondered what it would be like for even one of them to see you as more than a friend. To find you attractive. Maybe even want you. But not like this.

Unbeknownst to you, the men did find you attractive. Exceedingly so even. You were a breath of fresh air for them and the only glimpse of normalcy they had. 

As opposed to spinning, you tried to tug your hand free as you mumbled under a smile, “I don’t want to do that.”

Hunter and Echo exchanged a confused look. Just as your boyfriend hadn’t seen this excited side of you, the Batchers hadn’t seen you like this. You looked uncomfortable.

Meanwhile, your boyfriend firmly held your hand. Groaning, he tilted his head back in feigned exhaustion. “Babe,” he dragged the word out before speaking to you like he was correcting a child. “We talked about this, lighten up and give us a spin.” 

Hunter caught you off guard when he pulled your hand free. While he kept his touch soft in light of whatever new boundaries your boyfriend posed, he wasn’t going to watch you be pushed around. Unwilling to risk your discomfort, he made sure to step out of your space quickly.

You almost stepped with him.

“She said ‘no.’” Hunter said with the authority of his rank. 

Your boyfriend scoffed and drew back in disbelief. “I’m sorry, where did you all even come from?” Either out of misplaced bravado or from the liquid courage, he advanced on Hunter. “Don’t speak for her.”

Blinking away the irony, you tried pulling him back. “He wasn’t,” you whispered in attempts to soothe him.

He yanked out of your touch, earning a growl from Wrecker. Raising his voice in challenge, your boyfriend insisted, “No, I think he was.”

Ever the voice of reason, Echo stepped in beside Hunter. “Why don’t we just take a breath?” Echo’s hazel eyes fell to you, brows pulling together in a silent question.

“I’m fine, Echo.”

“You’re fine?” Your boyfriend whipped his irritation around on you. A beat of fury pulsed between you and all you could do was smile awkwardly. How had this escalated so quickly?

“I’m sorry,” You chuckled in astonishment. “What’s going on with you?”

Neither of you backed down, in fact he only pushed harder by angling his face into your space. “What’s going on with me?” The smell of liquor on his breath finally connected the dots for you. “What other friends do you have that I don’t know about?” 

Suddenly, something caught his eye. Turning his attention to Tech, your boyfriend pointed at your bracelet in Tech’s hand. “What are you doing with that?” He asked suspiciously.

Tech, who had been silently picking the stranger apart, gave a scornful roll of his eyes. Tucking the accessory away in one of his many pockets, Tech said in a dry tone, “I don’t believe what I do with my gift is of any importance to you.” He may or may not have purposely mentioned ‘my gift.’

Wearing a confident smirk, Tech looked directly at the man beside you as he said, “It suits her, doesn’t it?”

As if on cue, your boyfriend gave you a seething, sideways glance, playing right into Tech’s hand.

Heaving a sigh, and trying to lend him the benefit of the doubt, you made another attempt at directing him away from your friends. “Why don’t you-”

This time he smacked your hand hard enough that it stung. This was a side of him you’d not expected and it was not one you liked. 

A snarl rippled through Crosshair as he lunged between you, put his hand over your boyfriend’s face, and thrashed him backwards. Wrecker cackled, only encouraging a wicked smile from Crosshair as he shifted over your splayed out boyfriend.

You winced at the spot of blood coming from his nose. Notably, though, you didn’t intervene this time.

Wrecker came around to you, resisting the urge to step the man on the ground by completely passing over him. Gently, he lowered himself to your eye level and lifted your hand. His touch felt so different from that of the man you were seeing, it made you completely forget the feeling in your hand.

They all made you feel so different. You’d missed them much more than you’d realized.

“You alright, Mesh’la?” Wrecker swiped his palm over your cheek and down your neck to rest on your shoulder.

The soft smile you offered him swelled something in Wrecker’s chest. Your presence created a soft spot in his life, making it harder to leave you with each trip.

You laid a hand over the massive one on your shoulder, “I’m fine, really.” Although it probably wasn’t ‘fine’ that you had to reassure them all over the behavior of someone meant to be your partner.

From the ground, the man in question snickered, “I see it now.” Pushing up onto his elbows, he spat, “You’re just a barracks bunny.”

The insinuation was lost on you but not Echo.

Echo lurched through the group, shoved Crosshair aside and ripped the drunken man by his collar. “You little scumslug!”

For what seemed like the first time ever, Echo had to be the one restrained. Hunter broke in and yanked Echo up before he could drill his scomp into the downed man. You and the rest of his squad all wore similarly surprised expressions. 

Seeing Echo lose his temper was the breaking point for you. The man you’d allowed into your life was still panting on the ground when came to stand over him. He didn’t say anything, knowing full well what the look on your face meant.

“Don’t call me again,” You muttered dismissively and said nothing else as you turned to leave, waving for the others to follow. “Let’s go guys.”

They all followed suit, except for Crosshair. He crouched onto the balls of his feet and leveled a sneer to your newly dubbed ex. Low enough for just the two of them to hear, Crosshair said, “We’ll know if you bother her again.” The sniper drew just an inch closer to hiss, “Come near her again and you’ll never see daylight again.”

Crosshair sat still for a moment, ensuring the promise properly sunk in. Having watched the color drain from the man, Crosshair flicked his toothpick into the sad sack’s face.

When you all finally made it back to your place, it was decided that a quiet night in was well deserved for you all. It didn’t exempt the night from at least a few drinks.

Returning from your kitchen with a round of beers, you settled onto your couch between Echo and Tech. Wrecker lounged on the floor while Crosshair and Hunter occupied the remaining arms chairs.

They regaled you with stories from the front lines in exchange for the quiet comfort of your company. Eventually, you reclined against Tech, eyes shut, as he scrolled through his datapad.

“Echo.” You said, seemingly out of nowhere. Peaking an eye open you lilted a suspicious smile his way. 

Mid-sip, Echo could only hum in acknowledgment. When you asked, “What’s a barracks bunny?” He nearly choked on his drink.

“Yeah,” Wrecker blurted out, the confusion coming back to him. “I was wondering that too?”

All eyes were on Echo as a flush came over him. It hadn’t dawned on him that the men of his new squad had little experience with typical trooper slang or the rumors regarding some regs.

“It’s...” He stuttered to get the definition out, ultimately shaking his head and setting his beer aside. Passing the buck to Tech, he chuckled, “You know what, Tech why don’t you put the holonet to good use and look that one up yourself.”

taglist: @baddest-batchers @bruh-myguy-what @jetii @zahmaddog

a/n: Thank you to everyone who offered me their words of support over the last month. It's been a really dark time and I'm always amazed by how lovely this fandom is. I'm forever grateful to all you barracks bunnies out there.

[shantechni]

Related to your post about Mikey "accidentally delivering low blows when stressed" (Aug 2023) would you hc that it's related to his emotional awareness of his family? Like when he blamed Splinter for letting them go up to the surface, he would know Splinter was already questioning his decision to let them do that, or he calls Splinter out on not being affected by his mutated appearance (when Splinter looks uncomfortable being seen by humans/Shredder)? Basically, what are your further thoughts on it? Has he done this elsewhere?

The post in question for the curious cats

This compilation video as well because my big brain remembered me doing that and it's related to this topic and I meant to do a part 2

Oh, that behavior is 100% related to Mikey's emotional awareness. I'd hardly even call it a headcanon, it's just canon lol.

After not only botching their first fight above ground but failing to stop two kidnappings on their watch, the boys immediately start playing the blame game by pointing out each other's rash decisions and dumb mistakes that led to such an outcome. Obviously, the idea of Splinter's decision being yet another mistake of the sorts was hanging somewhere in the air waiting to be grabbed at, but no one readily went for it as something that needed to be acknowledged as mistake. That's why it's so fascinating to see the writers establish Mikey right out of the gate as someone who isn't afraid to comment on Splinter's decisions and his emotional state when he's making those decisions.

He was certainly aware of their father's doubts concerning them going above ground for the first time because a comment like that doesn't just come out of nowhere.

Granted, this instance was him speaking his mind in the heat of the moment and only realizing how much his words would sting after the fact (especially since they're the ones who convinced Splinter to send them off with their begging), but this becoming a continuous trend of his throughout the series further proves the fact of him being more aware of things than a lot of people pegged him to be.

In Mikey Gets Shellacne, his remark about Splinter telling him not to fret about his appearance when he could hardly bring himself to do the same can be interpreted as a more apparent example of him knowing more than he lets on. It's made rather obvious from the start of the series that Splinter wasn't keen on roaming the streets looking like a giant rat, but that's more of a show and tell deal where both the audience and the characters are left on their own to pick up on such an important yet minor detail. Splinter never tells anyone about his insecurity, nor does anyone in the series talk about it amongst each other, so a moment like this can be a bit jarring when it's framed as Mikey calling out Splinter's opinion on his own appearance.

Though the intent of his comment was to simply call Splinter old, the underlying insult is there and Mikey regrets saying something like that to their father of all people.

Other than letting his frustrations get the better of him and unintentionally plucking at Splinter's insecurities, Mikey is greatly in tuned with the emotions of those around him and will usually pick up on any changes rather quickly. Take these two moments with, funnily enough, him and Splinter near the start of Serpent Hunt.

I previously posted the first clip as a funny little observation, but the scene is more intriguing than my jestful sentence made it out to be. Mikey's attention is split between hanging his goofy pieces of artwork on the wooden boards and listening to April as she announces how the restaurant is starting to look like a makeshift home. It's not until he turns around to joke with her about his drawings that he finally has Splinter in his sights, and his attention evidently begins to drift to Splinter as April is responding to his question (you can literally see his head following Splinter's movements while April is speaking to him😭). And just look at how taken aback he is by Splinter's melancholic expression being on full display:

While Splinter answers Mikey by stating that he's concerned for Casey, Leo and Raph because they've been gone for a while, it's pretty obvious that's not all he's bothered by, and him not being subtle about his troubled mind like usual had enough flags raising in Mikey's mind for him to hop up from his spot. Once the scene transitions to the second clip, Mikey lingers with Splinter in the front of the restaurant while April ventures to the back in search of Donnie to check on his progress with the retro-mutagen, as well as to see if the others made it back yet. Mikey and Splinter decide to follow April as soon as Donnie utters Karai's name, and Mikey is visibly bracing himself for another look of heartbreak on their father's visage:

Splinter moments aside, Mikey recognizes when something is up with his brothers and friends, as well as whether or not he should step in. Of course the prominent moments of him demonstrating his ability to calm Leatherhead and Raph down count among the times when he steps in, but the times when he chooses not to step in shouldn't be understated either.

Take the pre-intro scene in The Cosmic Ocean for example, when April breaks the silence and questions where Leo ran off to. We understand where Raph is coming from when he says that it can't be healthy for Leo to confide in a simulated version of Splinter since it could just make him miss their father more than ever, but Mikey suddenly pops from his laid back position off-screen and joins the conversation:

He's knows as well as Raph that speaking with a simulation of their father isn't exactly ideal, but he also knows that Leo is used to coming home to confide in Splinter for advice whenever he feels his confidence as a leader beginning to waver. The whole gang knows all of this, but once again, Mikey's the only one to verbalize it. Sometimes people need to hear something so obvious outloud to really understand or remember its importance, and Mikey seems to know that best.

I don't really need to mention how his emotional awareness extends far beyond simply knowing when someone is down, or when he is or isn't in a position to help them, but it makes for a decent epilogue to this analysis so-

Him being the least (read: least) temperamental of his brothers automatically puts him in the position of a mediator when there's tension in the group, and it's common knowledge that he'd often go out of his way to ease that tension in his own ways. He sometimes makes jokes, both corny and intelligent, just to get everyone's minds off of the heaviness of a situation, even if that moment of reprieve only lasts for a minute. He attempts to break up fights before they get too far, which sometimes doesn't work because they're a stubborn bunch of turtles (literally the entire first five minutes of New Girl in Town lol), but his efforts are commendable and genuine.

He's exceptionally conscious of changes in the atmosphere and a swing in someone's mood, which could go hand in hand with his sixth sense for weird Kraang stuff if you think about it. But all of this comes together to paint an undeniably clear image of Mikey having a great amount of emotional awareness, and just all around being one of the most emotionally intelligent characters of the series.

[tarotwithavi]

Messages from the universe

How to choose a pile?

Close your eyes and take a deep breath and ask the angels to show you the right pile for you and open your eyes. The first pile that catches your attention is the right pile for you.

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Pile 1

Get ready for the amazing times that are about to roll in! Clear out any mental roadblocks both in the whimsical realm and the regular human world because there's an abundance coming your way, and guess what? There's plenty for everyone. It's like a big party, and you're invited! Believe it or not, magic is real, but it won't show up unless you're a believer. Magic is everywhere, especially in nature. you're a part of nature, so that makes you magical too. Embrace it! Your dreams are like precious gems. Keep them snug in your heart until you're ready to let them loose. Some might try to rain on your parade, and we don't want that. I'm like your cosmic genie, ready to grant your every wish just give me the word! Oh, and by the way, I drop hints in your dreams, so keep an ear out for my cosmic whispers. we're talking abundance and prosperity knocking on your door. Plus, get ready to meet your divine masculine! I won't spill the deets because, hey, surprises are the best.

Pile 2

Take a moment to reflect on where you are right now – living the life you once only dreamed of. Embrace the solitude as a chance to be in perfect harmony with everything around you. The greatest treasures often reveal themselves in the quiet moments. Your dreams are not far-fetched; they're grounded in reality. It's time to translate those aspirations into actions. If there's something on your mind, seize the moment and dive into it. Don't overthink; just do it. Sometimes, what you've been neglecting is about to unfold, and it's a hidden blessing. Revealing what's been concealed can bring a sense of liberation. Remember, you're a pure soul. Trust in the innate purity of your heart. Dive deep within, and you'll discover the answers to your lingering questions. Have you ever been told you possess wisdom beyond your years? Now is the perfect moment to tap into that inner wisdom to navigate through the challenges that come your way. Trust yourself—you've got this.

Pile 3

Alright, as you step into this fresh chapter of your life, it's crucial to find that sweet spot between your emotional and logical sides. Let those emotions flow, but also let reason guide you. Now, about those anger issues – time to put them on a leash. This new phase calls for a more composed and collected version of yourself. Picture this as a rebirth – leaving the old you in the rearview mirror. It's a shedding of the unnecessary, starting with those folks who aren't adding value to your journey anymore. Cut ties where needed. And those old habits? Yeah, give them the boot. They've overstayed their welcome. Excitingly enough, your spark is making a comeback. Life is about to get a splash of passion, and you'll feel alive like never before. Things that were lost in the shuffle are about to resurface. It's like a treasure hunt, and sometimes, people come into our lives like treasure hunters, helping us rediscover things we didn't even know were missing. Embrace this upcoming rediscovery – it's about to get interesting!

[tofics]

Let There Be Light

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Part 3 to Almost Like You Need Someone

Summary: You, Dean and Sam are fighting America's monsters together. Coming from a long line of hunters, you fit right in with the Winchester boys, despite having been raised entirely different from the two. Where you were brought up with love and care, John raised Sam and Dean with rules and obedience. Seeing what Dean does for the world, you decide it's time that he gets his own share of love...

The three of you are out on a hunt when Bobby calls. He needs one of you to help out on a different case where one of his hunters isn't making any progress on his own. You open your mouth to volunteer, but Sam beats you to it by a mili-second. There's a strange sense of hastiness in the way he pledges his help to Bobby. Your own perplexity is mirrored in Dean's face as the two of you watch Sam throw his belongings together and then rush out the door in a flurry.

Dean eventually breaks the stunned silence that has settled in the room. "Dying to get out of here much?"

You're unsure of how to respond until he grins at you, his own uncertainty almost entirely hidden behind the boyish charm of his crooked grin. You release your own uncertainty in a short series of giggles which just widen Dean's grin.

"Well, look at it this way! More time for just you and me, then." You smile at him with one of your radiating smiles that, unbeknownst to you, make Dean's stomach flutter - before the realization hits, and the butterflies in his stomach break out into a frenzy.

You come to the realization about the same time as him, that suddenly, it's just the two of you without your buffer.

Oh dear.

One could think it doesn't make that big of a change, but it makes all the difference.

You and Dean return to your motel room late at night, looking like two people who just spent their last few hours digging through dirt, which in your case is more than accurate. Dean offers you to take the first shower and you happily agree. There's bits and pieces of dirt and God-knows-what on and in your clothes and you're itching, literally and figuratively, to just get out of them.

Your case, it turns out, was on the easy side for once. All you had to do was dig up some bones, then give them the old salt & fire treatment. The spirit vanished and that's that, case closed, work done.

Granted, there was a middle part where things got a bit gritty and you got thrown around a bunch, but it wasn't too bad, or at least so you think until the water hits your back and you involuntarily screech out in pain.

Dean calls out to see if you're okay and you call back something assuring, despite the gash on your back that you're somehow only now becoming aware of. It blooms in dark red on just below one of your shoulder blades and, now that you're aware of it, stings like hell. The rest of a shower is an awkward dance of trying to rid yourself of all the dirt while keeping water away from your wound. There have been easier tasks, but you've also been hurt a lot worse, so you don't feel like complaining much. Eventually, you leave the bathroom to make room for Dean, successfully avoiding him spotting the gash before he goes to take a shower. No point in worrying him, you think. You've been off worse. You'll have yourself patched up in no time.

Or so you think. But turns out the gash is in a really uneasy spot to reach, and no matter what, you just can't get the placing of the bandage right.

After Dean's turn, he finds you sitting on the bed with a t-shirt pressed to your front. Your back is bare and showing the nasty cut on your left shoulder. His eyes grow wide in shock and then narrow in concern an anger. "When'd this happen?" Three large strides and he's over by the bed. You shudder as his fingertips grace your skin. Dean thinks it's out of pain, but you barely feel the gash in your flesh. All you can think about is how his fingers feel on your skin, in a place he's never touched.

"This needs stitches." You watch as he gets to work and gathers the needed supplies; needle, yarn, a bottle of whiskey. He pours you a glass and then pours some over the needle. "Ready?" You chug your glass down and nod. It stings as the needle penetrates your skin and you hiss at the sensation.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I know."

You know you should be in pain, and you are, but the butterflies in your stomach demand all of your attention, urged on by the whiskey in your system. They flutter around, fluttering against your insides, flapping their little wings so fast that you feel like you're vibrating from the inside out and you just wonder how Dean can't notice when the vibration is so strong that your hands are shaking. Sweetheart. That damn nickname again.

The whiskey reaches your head and sends it for a little spin while Dean continues to work on your back. Each needle pinch burns, but the pads of his other fingers gently resting on your skin to steady his hands are the more present sensation in your head.

"Almost done, sweetheart, you're doing so good." A breathy moan escapes your lips at his praise and you can't see it, but Dean's face is contorted from the pain he thinks he's causing you. He sees your shaking hands and curses himself for not having noticed that you were wounded earlier. With every stitch, the disappointment in himself for not having protected you grows. Every hole that he has to pierce through your skin feeds the growling monster inside of him that has been with him for years. It comes to life when he thinks he didn't do his best, that he let someone down. It roars when that someone is someone he cares about.

Dean stitches you up and the monster inside of him is thrashing and turning and clawing at his insides, furious that you're in pain when he came out unscathed.

You only notice the expression on his face when he's done patching you up. He walks past you with a grim face and pours himself his own glass of whiskey, then his second when the first one is quickly emptied. His anger confuses you - did you do something wrong?

Dean scoffs. "God, no, sweetheart, that one's all on me." There it is again, that nickname that turns your legs into melted butter, but now it's tinged with ugly sarcasm. You slide on your t-shirt carefully, belatedly realizing it's one of Dean's that you mistakenly grabbed from his bag instead of yours. It smells like washing powder and something that's distinctly Dean.

Lord have mercy.

You approach him and gently lay a hand on his arm. "Hey." He turns to you and his forehead is lined with wrinkles, the anger and concern etched into his skin. And despite the butterflies in your stomach, you can't help but lay a hand on his cheek as your protective instincts win.

A breath hitches in Dean's throat as your hand touches his cheek. Your skin feels ever so soft against the stubble on his jaw. It matches the softness in your eyes, the same look he's seen you give to the grieving. "This isn't on you." He sees your lips move and hears the words leave your mouth, but they don't register in his head. His sight and sense of touch are overshadowing everything else. The sight of your lips and the feeling of your hand on his cheek are all he can focus on and he feels like you're flooding him with light from the inside out.

"This isn't on you." You search Dean's face for any recognition of your words, but he doesn't respond. Instead, you watch how his lips part slightly, forming a surprised 'o' as his eyes change from dark to light and you can feel the anger dissipating like water on hot stone. You watch as the older Winchester brother turns from stone to life under your touch and all you can think is how it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

What just happened?

"What...?" You ask with a smile on your lips and Dean feels like his head might explode and shoot fireworks up into the sky.

He decides then that you have to know what you do to people, what you do to him. That your light shines brighter than anyone else's he's ever seen and he needs it more than he needs the sun itself.

His hand finds yours on his cheeks as he cups your face with his other and he sees your pupils widen in response.

"You...," he starts, but can't find the right words to properly articulate what he feels on the inside, the light and warmth you instill in him. The look of concern on your face almost makes him laugh, but instead, it just fills him with more love for you. Here you are, wounded, and yet you're worried that he's feeling too guilty over the fact that you got hurt in the first place.

"Do you know how incredible you are?" The words are out of his mouth before he even realizes it. He watches you blink in surprise and then smile that amazing smile, so full of warmth and happiness and so damn infectious that he feels the corners of his own lips rising.

You have a tendency of surprising Dean, but even so, he never could have predicted your next words. "Do you know how incredible you are?" It's not even a question of whether you mean it, he knows you do. You comment on the good in people often and it always goes over his head how with all the crap that's going on in the world, you still find a way to see the light in everyone. But where he already has trouble seeing light in other people, he doesn't really see it in himself.

"Mhh." Dean brushes a thumb over your cheek. Now or never, he thinks. "'Fraid I don't, but that's what I got you for, hm? You shine so bright, you illuminate everyone around you. Even me. Make me see light where there wasn't any before. Maybe... maybe someday I'll even see it in myself, if you'll help me see it."

Whomp. There it is. He can't believe he's put it out there, just like that. But that's what you do to him. He can bullshit his way through life, even lie to Sammy if he has to, but not to you. You bring out the truth in him like there's no other option in the first place.

Dean watches your face for a reaction, somehow convinced that this is where you'll draw the line and finally shut him out. There's an entire world of people waiting to be touched by your light, why should he get special treatment?

But you don't retreat or draw your hand back from his face. Instead, your beautiful eyes stay locked on his, and despite the uncertainty inside of him he feels the warmth and calm radiating from your gaze and seeping into him. How do you do that?!

And then suddenly, out of all the things you could do, you lean forward and press a gentle kiss to his lips. It's so sudden and your lips are so soft that when they're gone, Dean's not entirely sure he didn't make the moment up in his mind.

"I'll help you see how good you are, no matter how long it takes, Dean Winchester," you whisper and lean your head against his chest.

Sam, of course, notices the difference immediately when he returns. You and Dean are still awkward around each other, but the undertone has changed entirely. You're no longer desperately trying to make your love invisible to each other but to him, entirely unaware of the fact that out of the three of you, Sam was the first to know. But even then, if he hadn't known, it'd still be hard to miss. There are a lot of 'hidden' smiles between the two of you that are anything but hidden and glances at each other that even a blind person would have a hard time missing. Your attempts of staying neutral around each other are so painfully obvious that Sam doesn't last longer than a day before finally speaking up.

"Probably best if I pick my own room at the next stop," he mentions casually while the three of you are on the road to the next hunt. Both Dean and you react confused, but Sam makes quick work of shushing both of you. "Come on, you guys. I know. I'm just glad you two finally do too. Only took you forever to realize that you're in love with each other." Sam rolls his eyes and then stupidly grins to himself about the silence that settles in the car. You and Dean look properly shocked, yet neither of you tries to deny it. One glance in the rearview mirror and Sam sees the smile you're trying to bite away, a bit of color flushing your cheeks. Next to him, his brother has his eyes dead-set on the road ahead of him, but he knows Dean well enough to see the smug-yet-happy expression he's trying his hardest to hide. Sam can't help but chuckle.

"Happy for the two of you. But seriously. I want my own room."

A/N: Here we are, the mini-series is all wrapped up! 🥰 I had so much fun bringing this to the happy end they both deserve. I hope I did everyone's expectations justice - let me know what you thought! :)

Feedback is always appreciated! If you have any requests, feel free to send them my way. I'm always happy to practice my writing! :)

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No pressure taglist: @deans-spinster-witch @zo-byeol @shanimallina87 @zepskies @artyandink

[death---dealer]

Instead of annoying Koba like you always do … you ignore him for an entire day … I already can see his reaction:😡🤬😤

bark bark

Title: Ignoring Is Bliss. Fandom: ( Dawn of the ) Planet of the Apes. Rating: T ( Mentions of aggression, some minor injury. ) Pairing: Implied! Koba x Human!Reader. Words: 2.8K+ Summary: Koba told you he did not want to speak to you anymore in the phase of a heated argument. You're only giving him what he wanted.

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・●・○・

It was a crisp day and you were intent on enjoying it to the best of your ability. Even though you were well aware you were being intensely scrutinized with every move you made, every word that was spoken, every breath you took --- Even down to the minute details like the breeze and how it would shuffle your hair, how you would draw a deeper breath in with that breeze. All watched either in entertainment or unabashed hatred, it was hard to tell at times.

Tilting your head to the side at the Baby Apes scattered around your feet, you twisted your body in a display of power to the eyes watching you and brought the draw cord of your jacket forward to show what it did to the children. There were scatterings of brown fur, orange black and even some red as the crowd you were entertaining before the afternoon lesson, before Maurice arrived, began. Chimps, Bonobo, Orangutan and Gorilla eyes all lit up the same as you smiled at them, bringing the cord to stretch out and then releasing it to spring back in. They all hoo’ed in amazement as you tilted your head to the side in thought as they bunched around your waist in closeness, wanting to touch the item. The only reason why you were being watched like a hawk at the moment wasn’t even your fault! It was remarkable to you how Apes were just as grudge holding as Humans were, if not more as your eyes slid coyly towards the Bonobo whose one good eye was boring a deep and intense hole into your skull, it was hard to ignore with the glower he was sending your way from the topped perch they too council meetings on. The meeting broke over thirty minutes ago, but he was still there, opting to not follow Caesar, Rocket and Blue Eyes to continue more personal conversations that didn't center around the Colony itself. 

“Do NOT talk to KOBA ABOUT ANYTHING.” He roared in such a fashion as tears hit the back of your eyes as if you actually had any sentimental feelings towards the relationship that teetered on the tightrope between blatant hatred and aggressive toleration. In his own words, he was telling you to back off and to leave him alone, your shoulders drawing in on themselves as he had lunged only a few feet forward, but the movement itself was brute and lashed with irritation. 

The shine of his long canines that displayed themselves were enough to drench your entire body in a cold sweat as you swallowed, cowering back a bit until your back hit the wooden wall of the hut you two were standing in. He could pin you to it and rip your throat out. You wished your mind hadn’t thought of that as you were now preoccupied imagining if it would be a swift death or if he would make you suffer.

You had only made a passing comment that maybe his hunting skills needed some improvement after you had gotten some strenuous details out of him about the hunting trip, about how he managed to kill a bear and save Caesar and Blue Eyes. Not true in the slightest, but you made jokes about each other to filter out the otherwise tedious and smothering tension that was brought to light once Caesar granted you permission to stay. 

You left that night, not a word to be said but the moment you were out of view of the Bonobo, you let yourself shudder a sob out at the aspect that even if you considered him an acquaintance, you were nothing more than an ant to him and he’ll snap your neck the moment he had the chance, without recourse. 

That’s how it worked. You pestered each other. Well, more or less. You found it more enjoyable and you had the feeling that Koba only dealt with it because if he chose to lash at you, hurt you in any way, Caesar was going to have to put his fist down on one of his closest advisors. Koba had intense hatred for Humanity, but he also had great respect for the Ape King. 

Maybe even the milky white eye as well was setting your skin on fire, you chuckled to yourself and readjusted your crouched body just enough that he was unable to get any delectations from your face and only was able to see the scape of your back, the curve of your body dipping into a deep crouch, your feet arched accordingly as the baby Apes continued their inspection of your jacket.

You glimmered with happiness as you looked down at the young Apes, all too entranced by the draw band on your jacket as you pulled it out again, proceeding to let it snap back in again with a small ‘thwup’. Pride bubbled in your chest at the fact that the Koba was still staring right at you, your movements all too intentional and all too vile for him to really look away from, as was usually the case. 

He wanted to see your face, you knew from his disposition as you caught his movements out of your periphery. He'd moved alongside with you to now sit on the rock adjacent to him, a smile forming on your face from that but you were able to blame it on the young gorilla who snatched the draw-band right out of your hand and placed it curiously into their mouth. "Nooo," You laughed gently, letting your eyes peer up only for a second as your fingers fished the item out of the young's mouth with a mild, playful scold, "Not food. Plastic. Gross."

Maurice, a gentle grace himself, arrived only a few seconds later, sitting himself in his usual spot as he chittered for the young to come join him. With forlorn eyes, you watched each of them say goodbye to you in their own ways before bouncing towards him, ready for the afternoon lesson that followed the mid-day meal. You were not a teacher by any means, you could only keep their attention by showing them something they had never seen before, you were not well thought out, not in the way that Maurice was, but it was nice to help when you knew that your other favorite activity to do was scolded and disallowed the night before.

With carefully placed feet as you knew the rock got incredibly slick during the wetter months, you trailed downwards towards the bonfire, snuggly warm and ablaze with large frames in the middle of the Colony. The flames stretched into the sky and despite that small trinkle of rain that caught the wind and brought it downwards, the fire refused its relentless pace and was quite literally a warm welcome against the chill of your cheeks as you drew nearer.

You'd consider your mission of the day a complete success after the last biting words that you had gotten from Bonobo himself the night before, you thought to yourself and admired the blaze for only a minute, letting the heat soak into the pores of your skin in a delicious way that left your retinas feeling hot and without moisture. You replayed the topic Koba spat at you last night, all the implications there that he didn't want anything to do with you any more.  That he never wanted to talk to you again.

Deep down, you knew it to be a farce, he enjoyed arguing with you too much to really draw a close to the pastime but you were simply giving him what he wanted by ignoring him the entire day, trying your best to ignore the looks you got at breakfast as you chowed down with Lake and River, the absolutely abysmal stare that you got when you waved them goodbye afterwards, Lake off to tend to her business, River off to go fishing with Blue Eyes and Ash. You were invited, but declined when you decided that the mud and the weather weren’t up your alley.

So, instead you lingered around, looking for things to do. Not much, you had to admit. But, just enough to keep the set of eyes on you entertained. If he wanted you to ignore him, surely you could do that, but you’d make a show out of it.

 Ignorance was always bliss. Unless you were Koba. Then ignorance was a waste and he needed immediate satisfaction in situations to feel good about himself. 

You had skipped lunch in favor of playing with the babies, a well deserved skip as there was nothing quite like having the attention of so many on you at once. Plus, the eyes of another really big baby, if you thought about it that way. Your hungry gaze scanned over a few wicker baskets that had been set out to be grazed upon. Curiously, you reached for a blueberry, the color all too alluring but before it made its way into your mouth, it was viciously slapped, rolling onto the ground below.

Following it, you traced the movements downwards, the rock slightly slanted under foot until it got caught in a crack. Blinking, you recognized that hand - the calloused and ridged fingers that performed the action. Mouth ajar, you looked over, eyes ample, the expression clearly that of surprise as you hadn't even noticed Koba leaving the perch, much less making his way all the way down here to perform such a petty action. And you thought that only Humans did that, at least in Koba's mind. "What the hell?" "You have..." He huffed, "Been ignoring Koba?”

"No?" You feigned innocence and rolled your eyes, bringing your hand down to grasp at another berry. Cautiously this time, you knew he was watching you and you were sure to make the allure of your curved body all the more interesting to him. "What makes you say that?" Silence. You grabbed a handful of berries to take on the road, but they were scattered onto the dirty ground below, probably to be squashed into oblivion by other Apes who traversed the area. A small whine left your lips, your body reactant as you went to pick them up,"That was my lun----" You were being dragged. Picked up into a standing position and dashed to the right.Harder and faster than you were really able to keep up with, your eyes widening on the back of the Bonobo's head, from the proximity, rare with him in the first place, you could spot the sprinkling of gray against his blackened fur. A minute detail you found amusing until you were torn to shreds back into reality.  Your mind went straight to panic.

He was going to take you into the woods and kill you for playing a stupid petty human game, you swallowed hard as he rounded the fish hut, contemplating grasping at the pillar and holding on for dear life but argued against that as Koba could snap your arm off in one intended stroke of his hand. "Koba, I-I was just kidding!" You tried to get your feet skirted into the ground to potentially stop him but to no avail. The sleek rock underfoot gave no traction and your action only caused you to skirt along like you were gliding on ice.

 "S-Seriously, if you kill me, wouldn't it rather be over something that was actually worth it? So-Something you could justify to Caesar?" That gave him pause and you watched as the cogs turned in his head at the idea. Taking the second of non-movement as a blessing, you looked at the grasp he had on your wrist and felt a mild twinge of swelling start to encase the very fragile appendage from the aggression he put forth to get you to move along with him. Bad choice of phrasing, you muttered inside of your mind as he turned his face.

Your eyes entranced against the scarring aspects that everyone always saw first before you catered to your own delectation and swept your gaze along the deeply ingrained wrinkles that surrounded his nose, the slack of his jaw that was morbidly appealing to you, so animalistic that you’d let him touch you with his mouth if he so chose, just to see yourself and riddle away the idea that it was just as mean as the rest of him. You wanted to touch him, but the one time you had tried, he almost bit your fingers off and you were never tempted again. "Would…" Koba’s voice was hard than usual, maybe a bit joking if you wanted to be more optimistic. Which, you weren’t. He was about to murder you and then hang your skin up on a flag pole as a victory for Ape Kind. "Kill you for just being... human. Need no reason." He continued his movements, the gasp that rocketed through your entire body sent a hardened shaft of shock down your entire spine to rest very tediously in the small of your back, near your tailbone. You were in an area of the Colony you had never been one to venture into. Storage huts that were exclusively left alone unless an Ape really needed something there. Mainly, weapons. Your eyes widened at that. He was taking you to a storage hut and he was going to use a spear and---

You were released suddenly, but the momentum you had from his pulling left you flat on the ground, your face smashing into the rock below as you had no time to brace your hands down. You grunted loudly, feeling heat eradicating at your rib bones. It didn't feel like anything was broken, a small trickle of blood hitting your nose and running down your lips and off your chin from the sheer impact, but hey. It was better than being beaten to death by a Bonobo with a grudge against all Humans. “What the hell, Koba?!” The shrill of your voice dulled out the fact that you had actually called him by name, something rare as he had told you time and time again that you weren’t worthy of saying it.

The hackles along his shoulders frilled up, even more so than you had seen with a Chimpanzee like Caesar. It was mesmerizing to an extent, his fur so dark that it appeared viciously white as you scrambled onto your hands and knees, wiping your nose with another grunt before getting your feet to flatten on the ground below. You were swaying, but balance would come back you were sure as you hadn’t actually hit your head that hard. It dawned upon you as you took in the surroundings that Koba brought you here for privacy. No Ape interruptions, no Caesar sitting high above and watching, making a coy comment towards Koba about his relationship with you. If it were even a relationship. It was… You tilted your head minutely. A Tolerationship. 

“Why… Ignore Koba?” You groaned. 

“WHY?!”

“You told me to, you dumb Bonobo!”

You let your temper flare, and without remorse, your back was pinned to the thick wooden branches that made up the hut that was to your left, your shoulders unable to move as Koba had pushed back. Enough force to keep you pinned, but not enough to break anything. You had no time to react, even to breath as you felt your throat close up, Koba’s face coming in just to enjoy the scent of fear that was rising out of you, he fluttered with satisfaction at that, his good eye narrowing on your expression as you had balled up your face, scrunching it so disgustingly that Koba felt a draw to try to pry your eyes open so you were forced to look at him. Looking at the blood from your nose, Koba’s mouth salivated at that and he wanted to take pleasure to know what it tasted like but that thought was severely undercut the moment it took a glance at blossoming. 

“Not dumb,” The grasp he had on your shoulders tightened and you winced slightly, “Dumb Human for listening to Koba.”

Your mouth flew open. “W-What?”

He released you without another word, watching as you slumped against the wood and staggered to keep your balance. Content to leave it as is, Koba knew you were going to go into antagonistically introspection at the words he had just said and as much as he enjoyed thinking about causing you physical ailments, mental were just as fruitful and easier to come by under the gaze of Caesar. Swearing that he smiled at you, he turned away, hunching onto all fours and began walking upwards. Quickly, you placed your hands onto the wood behind you and propelled yourself forward. “What do you mean?” Koba stayed silent intentionally.

“What do you mean?” Silence. Suffocating.

“Tell me!”

Silence, and that's how remained.

[austinsastrology8991]

> Neptune IN the HOUSES < How your DELUSIONS find you RESOLUTIONS

Neptune in the First - You act so naive, and now people actually think your naive. But you hate it when people treat you this way, but your always swaying around and acting oblivious to everything around you, but ik its all a front, and people find you to be mystical and now everyone is entranced by this dance you make acting oblivious. its obvious its an act, but then the more you get to know them you realize its not and thats actually who they are, and you wonder why no one has bonked them on the head yet Neptune in the Second - you dont really value anything, you think everything comes and goes, and your just like a paper bag flowing through the wind tbh. But this quality of letting things be and go, allows you to be molded by life and that can be a useful tool for artisty, but man yall just give up easy tbh. also your voices are like ethereal - kiddd cudiiiiiieee Neptune in the Third - you guys talk like a movie character, and its never the villain but the naive protagonist who just believes in a bunch of bullshit. but everyone thinks your so amusing to lissten to and i suppose you are but sometimes you guys really are playing up this movie trope and well im done watching the same movie i want a re-cast. then next week you will re-cast yourself as a new protagonist and well everyone just loves to watch you be an idiot so keep it up Neptune in the Fourth - Your literally 'good will huntings robin Williams'. you act like you figured out emotions because you let them come and go, but when someone questions whats going on with you, you find a million reasons to explain why you behave this way, and why others do, whilst completely avoiding letting your emotions out because your way too sensitive youd rather keep it at them at a distance that way you can handle it Neptune in the Fifth - You guys are the embodiment of a amusement park. YOu perform a million different acts, and never run out of ideas on how to entertain. Very amusing to watch, but people tend to take you for granted since your always so fun to be around we just expect yalll to keep performing, and you can, but this eats you up inside. then you perform again showing us how you feel as usual, and how it feels being used, and well i guess its all good because you have a never ending source of material - yourselves

Neptune in the Sixth - IMO the real mvps of delusions. No one is as delusional as them but they dont even care because they have thought of so much bullshit and have found so much evidence for their bullshit that they now realized that what most people believe in is bullshit, so they just think everything is bullshit. They dont even give a fuck anymore because to them everything isnt real, and everything is real, they have trouble understanding reality, because they have seen things no one could ever believe exists Neptune in the Seventh - Hopelessly projecting what they want in the world just for it to never come to fruition. This is actually how they pull, so dont hate their game. but they tell people how they wish things would be, and people want to save them by showing them how the world works, or giving into their stupid delusions and pretending what they believe in is real. Kinda a lot to deal with. But they'll never admit that they act so innocent but then your basically taking care of a baby Neptune in the Eighth - They make the universe bend to their will whether it wants to or not. They will pull every magic trick they know to make sure that their delusions are not delusional anymore. And its impressive how much they believe in there imaginings that it does tend to become real, but i would warn them and whoever is around them; That their fantasies tend towards the dark. so if they want something to be real (and they gonna do everything they can to get it) they may or may not resort to black magic or some shady ass shit Neptune in the Ninth - They believe in god a lot, maybe too much to appear normal. They are the type to make up a cult and behave liek mormons and say it was the will of god. The people ive met with this are strange, and their beliefs alter quite a bit, and for some reason they always have met deities and angels. But they are so delusional in their beleifs that if you hear them out, its so far fetched youll get lost in them because your so curious how someone got so lost in their own religion you wonder if they'll ever return to the real world Neptune in the Tenth - They are openly strange. Bro dennis Rodman has this conj his midheaven and its just iconic really. These guys are the strangest most ethereal beings and everyone gets lost in their cult of personality. Always switching up their identity, they think reality is bullshit and well we are all here for it because yall do the strangest things and i just wanna watch what your gonnna do next. but im still trynna figure out how close i wanna get to you because being seen with you is a risk for my reputation, because you clearly dont give a fuck about yours Neptune in the Eleventh - How many acid shirts do you own. Its like your the public personification of 'make love not war and peace bro' and its cool everyone wants a freidn like you, but no one takes your advice seriously. Because your so lost in the make believe that you think your make believe can actually make someone make believe..... But like cmon how the fuck do you think thats going to change anything. WHen has 'peace bro' ever actually worked. do your charities or whatever but i do not see it working as much as you think it can. sorry not sorry. But i do love you. But get a haircut Neptune in the Twelvth - Your literally the type to lick your finger , put it up in the air and say 'yep it going to rain wednesday' then it actually rains wednesday. And your so cooked no one believes you (because why would you) but then it does happen and now eveyrone thinks your even more cooked because what you had cookin is a real recipe. Now everyone wants to know how you have your third eye or whatever open and now you just want to hide again lmao. Also incredible artists, i recommend you guys keep your intuitive insights to yourself because you are right a lot but why tell people when everyone is just going to question how you see signs rather than heed your advice

[mikavlcs]

Heaven Sent

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x fem!winged!reader

Summary: While sharing a bed, Wednesday finds a new use for your wings.

Warnings: soft/ooc!wednesday(!!!), it’s cute tho i promise

Word count: 1.1k

Notes: this is an adorable request from an anon, hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

Wednesday was not having a particularly good night.

She had spent the entire evening venturing around campus for a new mystery to solve. Hours upon hours were spent searching for something, anything to entertain her and satiate her hunger for a fresh case to sink her teeth into.

But she had failed. Miserably. By the end of her hunt, she felt like she was suffocating in the air of utter boredom that settled comfortably around Nevermore after the Hyde had been detained and Crackstone defeated.

The only saving grace for her dreadful night was the fact that you had invited her to sleep in your dorm. It was something you began doing more often and she could never bring herself to say no. 

Not because she enjoyed it, but because she didn’t want to have to deal with your pouting if she refused.

That was how she ended up outside your door at nearly midnight.

She quickly looked around. With no roaming teachers in sight, she took the chance to speak.

“Thing?”

Her disembodied companion came crawling out of her bag and up to her shoulder. She glanced back at him.

“I will be sleeping here tonight. You go back to my dorm. You know how to bypass the lock, just try not to give Enid a heart attack this time.”

She turned back to face your door, but Thing didn’t move. Confused, she faced him again. “What?”

The hand responded with a series of taps that made Wednesday glare at him.

“You can see her tomorrow. She invited me here, not you.”

Thing didn’t budge, looking as indignant as a sentient limb possibly could. Wednesday clenched her jaw.

“If you go back, I will let you sleep on my bed,” she gritted out. Thing perked up at the proposal. “But I will rescind the offer entirely if you do not move.”

That seemed to be enough to get him going. Thing gave her a soft tap, a gentle “good night” that she couldn’t help but return as he made his way off her arm and onto the floor. He quickly scampered off toward her dorm, clearly excited to have the entire bed to himself. Wednesday rolled her eyes and reached for your door, sighing when it opened with a quick twist.

You liked leaving the door unlocked for her, even though she told you that there was no need. After all, she could pick locks as simple as these in her sleep. But you insisted. She found it equally as endearing as she did utterly stupid, though she’d never admit it.

Stepping inside, she saw your sprawled form on your bed and paused, silently shutting the door behind her. 

You were laid on your stomach in the middle of your bed, one arm hugging your pillow while the other rested under you. Your wings rested peacefully beside you, unevenly splayed across the blankets. Her eyes caught on the way they twitched every now and then, likely in response to whatever you were dreaming about.

She granted herself a moment to simply observe you in your rest. 

During the day, you kept your wings in your harness. You said it was because they were too big and you didn’t want to unknowingly whack someone with them in the halls, but she knew there were underlying reasons as well.

Though they were easily the most magnificent things she had ever laid her eyes on, you were insecure about your wings. You had yet to tell her why and she resolved not to push you, but that made moments like this—when you allowed yourself to be fully exposed, truly yourself—all the more special to her. 

It showed how much you trusted her. And she would be remiss to say that it wasn’t just the slightest bit touching.

Hesitantly, she tore her eyes away from you and focused on what she came here for. She took her boots off and set them on the floor beside yours, dropping her bag there as well, then silently made her way to your dresser, where you kept her spare set of pajamas. 

After she changed, she walked over to your bed. Your wings fluttered lightly at her quiet approach, but you showed no signs of waking.

She stared down at you briefly before lightly shaking you.

No response.

She tried again, harder this time. You only hugged your pillow tighter.

An idea came to mind. One that you wouldn’t like, but she certainly would. 

With a spark of joy in her chest, she leaned down and shoved you off the bed. You crashed to the floor with a loud thud and a pained groan much to her amused satisfaction.

Your head shot up to look at her, affronted. Your wings flared up behind you in a way that was more cute than it was menacing.

“Wednesday! What was that for?!”

“You wouldn’t move,” she shrugged.

“You could’ve just woken me up like a normal person,” you grumbled as you stood and dusted yourself off.

“Well, you don’t wake up like a normal person. So I did what I knew would work.”

The smirk she had been trying to hide was on full display now. She sat down on her side of the bed and gave you an expectant look. You maintained your half-hearted glare for a minute then gave up. 

Your eyes and wings drooped simultaneously under the weight of your exhaustion and Wednesday couldn’t help but be disgusted by how effortlessly adorable you could be.

Oblivious to the effect you had on Wednesday, you flopped down onto the left side of the bed, which you had deemed yours the first time you shared it with her. 

The smaller girl watched as you curled tightly into yourself, ensuring Wednesday her personal space through the night. Her cold heart thawed some at how seriously you took her comfort.

(A small, weak part of herself wished you would disregard it just once and hold her, even if it was just her hand. A negative side effect of being around Pugsley for so much of her life, she estimated.)

“Good night, Wends,” your words slurred slightly, already falling back into your slumber. Wednesday huffed in amusement as she turned your lamp off. She settled down and got comfortable, arms crossing over her chest. 

Not daring to say anything to you directly, she only replied long after you slipped back into your dreams, voice so quiet it could hardly be considered a whisper.

“Good night, cara mia.”

Just as she began to succumb to the cold embrace of sleep, she felt something large and…oddly feathery rest itself on top of her.

Curious, she opened her eyes, and there on her chest lay one of your wings. It covered the upper half of her completely, acting almost as a blanket. 

Her eyes flitted to your sleeping form, scrutinizing you. You were definitely asleep, so you must have covered her subconsciously.

Momentarily, she considered pushing it off, but she dismissed the thought as soon as it came.

Even though she wasn’t a big fan of physical affection, the soft heat and light pressure of your wing on top of her was…not entirely unpleasant. So she decided that she would indulge you, even if you were unconscious. Just this once.

She adjusted her position slightly, huffing at the way your wing twitched in response, and close her eyes once more.

Encompassed in your warmth, Wednesday drifted off into a blissfully dreamless sleep with the smallest of smiles on her face.

[tricksh0t]

★ stag

☾ tywin lannister x top m reader

𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ need that old man part 2, also happy new year

𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 ⛥ 2.43k words

cw: hair pulling, from behind, first time anal for tywin, age gap, use of boy as a nickname for the reader, pretty long, small mention of period-typical homophobia

Tywin was never one for hunts, not the ceremonious ones. Hunting was a necessity. It was not like joustings and tourneys, the entertainment found in the desperation and death of boastful warriors; those, he could understand. It is joy and amusement there, and he knows there is no joy to be found in letting your scouts capture the beast for you. It is duller still to plunge your blade into a helpless creature.

Most of all, there is no necessity to send the Lord Lannister, the commander of the Lannister army, a trusted advisor to the crown hunting. The so-said "better taste" of the game you hunted yourself is nothing but delusion to cover up for the time wasted, he knows this too.

There are always men perfectly capable of hunting for him, and if there aren't any, Westeros is damned for its incompetency.

Tywin only understands a good, old-fashioned hunt with purpose.

His army marches on in its journey to tame the North. Night falls, and dinner must be served. So, he hunts.

He's a noble, still, a man who enjoys the comforts of filling meals and cupbearers and wine, regardless of how worthless they are in showing anything except that he is still wealthy.

That is why here, on the table of his very own tent, he's skinning a stag.

He won't be the only one to eat it, no. The man behind him will, too.

You were, seventeen years ago, a soldier; but, just like now, you were also more than that. You were a killer of Targaryen Generals, which grants you today the title of General too: the Commander of the remaining Baratheon army that is still loyal to the admittedly blonder, true Baratheons.

The Baratheon colors became the Lannister's. Yellow became gold and red, but colors were nothing in the face of loyalty.

Tywin's the Lord of Casterly Rock while you're just a lesser cousin, a distant nephew, the farthest there is from inheriting Storm's End, yet you are only one rank below him in power, and that is something to admire.

Suppose that's why he allows you a cut of his meat.

"You stare." Tywin says.

There's no surprise in the statement, even with his back turned towards you. "I do."

"Yes, you do. Often, might I add. State your intentions, plainly."

You know each other, you might even dare to say, well. Tywin is a clever man, he always considers his alliances and his relationships carefully, and you have his trust. It is not easily given.

That does not mean he won't walk on eggshells around you.

"You know, there's reason to my staring. You're easy to stare at."

"Choose your next words carefully."

You have your worth, you're valueable, you're irreplacable. Digging a dagger into your throat won't be easy.

He wedges the butcher's knife into the table with a strong stab. It'd be anger, if that wasn't his usual way of doing it. Here, it's a show of strength. He turns to face you.

"I apologize, my Lord, it appears I wasn't speaking plainly." You play. Oh, you play. You Baratheons don't know when to quit. "You look good. Not good like the pretty princesses in their skirts, but like the men, if you have seen it, if you can understand it, the men on hot summer days that are still bound to the sword, training, muscles golden under the sun."

Tywin doesn't realize he's entertaining you when he says, "We are under shade. It is almost fall."

"Then let me fix it." You look interested now, sitting up, it's a pursuit. "You hide your body under armor, because one does not need to see your body to see your strength. You are commanding, powerful, outside of the physical. Your voice is deep and it allures me even though you don't intend it."

He raises a brow. At this point, not denying you is encouraging you.

You serve him. He could execute you just for saying this. Men have been killed for less, though that is a kind of command he has never given. This is a first, to be wanted like this, by a man, no less, and since many years.

Tywin picks up his knife, turns towards the table, back to the stag, back to skinning it. He's busying his hands. "Continue."

You stride forward, boot upon the earth like you're sneaking up to prey. He does not move to turn, nor does he open his mouth to stop you.

"You're an admirable man, you're ruthless, you're cunning. You plan ahead, you lead the Crown's army." You huff out something of a laugh at yourself, "I am only feeding your ego now, am I not?"

"You think that will get you somewhere?" Tywin returns. HIs knife separates a stubborn bit of the stag's skin from its muscles with a sickening schlick.

"No, I don't believe so." Your hands come to rest on the table on either side of him. It'd be trapping him if he were any other man but Tywin.

He wields the knife.

"And you think this will get you somewhere?"

"Maybe." Your voice is closer to his ear now. He almost flinches. Instead, you press your nose against his neck, and the rest of your head against the back of his.

Intimacy, warmth. It gets colder the further north you go, but he knows that's not why he isn't pushing you away now.

"I think, you'd have ordered my head or killed me yourself if you weren't interested."

Silence is enough of an answer.

You have been, at times, that man bound to the sword in the summer. Tywin has seen it, though he's never allowed himself more than a glance. He knows the sight of them, but pressed up against him now, he can feel your muscles beneath the thinner garments you wear under your armor.

Much the way you admire the strength of him, he can feel your strength; and again, he has seen it in the way you cleave down your enemies, but he is feeling it now, and it is different.

His silence was enough then, and his words won't be enough now, not unless they are stop or you're dead. So he chooses, instead, to poke fun at you.

"You aren't even the age I was when the Mad King was felled, do you know that, boy?"

If it is a night of entertainment that he'll find today, then he might as well have his fun. After all, he's a noble, still, a man who enjoys his comforts.

"Is that supposed to stop me?" You laugh against the skin of his neck.

The knife comes down into the wood of the table again, threateningly close to your hand. You don't flinch. He admires that.

There's the first couple of kisses against his neck. They're wet, which isn't quite his preference, but they're tolerable.

Tywin sighs, which he regrets quickly.

He gave you an inch, and you took a mile. "What was that?"

"A sigh, boy." His voice is stern. It'd be threatening, if you didn't hear that tone all the time. "Keep going."

Your hands undo the clasps of his leather overgarment, then untuck the shirt from his pants, and then meet his skin. They're cold against his stomach, but quickly warming up as you rub over it, like a lady's belly.

He sneers. "Don't keep that up. Move on."

You laugh. He should smack you, but he doesn't. "Apologies, my Lord."

"Does it please you to call me that?" His hand comes back to grab a handful of your hair, a grasp for control in this situation.

"Yes." You don't deny it.

This desire you have for him is his upper hand. He turns around and roughly tugs your hair back, pulling a wince from you.

He's rougher still with the laces of your pants, undoing them quickly and finally wrapping a hand around your cock. You're different from him, unrestrained, already groaning. "Do you want me because I'm the Lord of Casterly Rock and you're insignificant to the Baratheon house? Are you trying to see which is the highest bed you can sleep on?"

"No-no, my Lord."

That surprises him. He works you quickly, root to tip, the cold and the dryness of it all don't help. "Then what is it?"

"I want you," Instinct calls and you pathetically thrust your hips into his hand. "fuck, because it's your strength and power that make my cock stir."

"Funny, that it's my hand now."

For a moment, Tywin considers if he should continue the affair. Since Stannis and Renly Baratheon's individual rebellions, he hasn't been entirely sure of your loyalty. Blood is thicker than water, and it seems the Baratheon blood in his grandchildren has spread thinner than even water.

You'd be his pet, if he kept this up. The Baratheon army that follows you would be entirely his, secured.

"But a hand isn't what you want, is it?"

He spits on his hand then continues to jerk you off, and, "Fuuck."

"You aren't making it easy to tell." Tywin laughs, thoroughly amused.

"No, my Lord," You gulp back a moan to speak properly in front of your Lord, "I wanna fuck you."

"Fuck me? That's hilarious."

He considers it. It's true that it's something he's never tried, but he's not sure if he's willing to try it at all. Well, then again, men are driven by their cocks, and you're no exception.

"Please."

You sound so pathetic, it's cute. Tywin sighs again, letting go of you. "Alright. Go fetch oil. That is what you men use, yes?"

Tywin was not a youth seventeen years ago, and he is much less a youth now.

That does not mean that his knees are weak, nor that he can't fuck, just that he tires easily. His only concern was to take it with caution.

Sex is such a vulnerable act, after all. That's why it's such a powerful tool.

He never cleaned up the table. There was still blood on it, steadily but lazily flowing out of the stag where he'd cut open right down the middle.

Tywin cared for his cleanliness, but he didn't seem to care right now. His well-established dominance had faded into pleasured sighs and heavy breaths, as this was a sensation he'd never felt before.

It isn't how he imagined it, like a cold, struggling humping against his back and into the only hole he'd let you use.

Instead, there's pleasure in it, his nerves lighting up with shocks as if lightning. Then there was one that spot you'd rub against sometimes with terrible consistency.

It's carnal, is what it is.

Your lips find his neck again, and he lets out a shaky sigh. The kisses you give are wet, and he likes it.

With each time your pelvis meets his ass, his breath gets shakier.

"My Lord–"

"Don't speak."

It's terrifying, how much Tywin likes this. He'd always thought queer men to be bumbling fools, if only he knew the pleasure that came with it.

Your hand finds it, he takes it, squeezes it. It's somewhat of a blood union, with stag's blood.

The irony of it, a dead stag, a Baratheon fucking him.

Some sort of possession runs through him. You wear his colors.

"Fuck." He says, an indecency. This is indecent. This is fraternization. Oh, but he couldn't care less right now.

His head comes back, finds your hair again. He tugs, causing your lips to pull off his neck with a smack. He does it for nothing but the pleasure of hearing you gasp, a grasp for control where he finds it.

"My Lord." You don't seek to speak this time, he knows it. You're only moaning out for him, and it's rather pleasing.

He leans down further, pressing his ass into you, pushing your cock deeper into him. His back arches like a whore's. It's unbecoming.

And yet the heat feeds into it. It's still cold, here, but the way you work your bodies heats the both of you up in what feels like a mania to have more, to seek more, to want more, to fuck because you need it.

It's like a fire in his old, worn body.

The hand that was holding his travels down to his body, grasping his cock. Tywin gasps. His hand quickly follows, wrapping around your wrist with a slapping sound, and yet he doesn't pull it off.

It's stimulation on both sides, your hand around his cock and his asshole clenching around yours.

He almost loses his mind.

He tugs at your hair again, pulling another groan from your lips. It's a reminder of his control. You enjoy calling him your Lord, so he has to remind you that the title has meaning to it, before he loses himself to instinct.

He does, in the next moment, opening his mouth to let out a breath of a groan.

He shuts it, quickly. Tents are only fabric.

His hips follow in pursuit of instinct and pleasure, anyway; forward into your hand, finding pleasure for his length, then backwards onto your cock, spearing himself open.

When he cums, his mouth falls just slightly open to moan as quiet as instinct allows, and his hole clenches around you in tandem. You follow soon enough, groaning into his skin with enough restraint to remember you are an army general.

Tywin leans against the dirty table to catch his breath, before he's back to a fearsome commander the next moment.

"Get yourself tidied up." He's pulling his garments back on rather impersonally, because he cannot stay vulnerable. "And do not speak a word of this to anyone."

Despite that, there is some joy to knowing he's enjoyed this, especially as you wipe off the evidence of his pleasure on the dirty rag he'd been using to clean the blood off his hands. "Yes, my Lord."

"Keep that smirk off your face, boy." Tywin's face is back to cold and emotionless, though there is something of an amused lift to his eyes. "When next you decide to seduce me, do pick a better location. Army encampments are dreadful enough."

You can hardly speak about next time before he waves you off.

You'll see him later tonight, anyhow.

Tywin does not care to make sure you're walking away when he turns around, because it's the best he can do to hide the amused smirk that rises on his lips. A new pet, hm?

A smell makes itself apparent and Tywin remembers there is still a stag to skin.

[cece693]

My Little Dove (Lestat de Lioncourt x M! Reader)

This is something quick I came up with since I feel like Lestat is just a lonely soul who covers it with sarcasm and anger. You can use either Lestat (movie or TV show), but I envisioned it to be from the movie.

Summary: M/N was tired of being a prisoner. He longs to explore the world, but his sire, Lestat, has other ideas. What could be the reason behind this behavior?

tags: typical Lestat, the reader wants to see the world, mentions of Claudia and Louis but they don't impact the story too much, takes place before the duo flee to Paris, happy ending?

"You can't keep me locked up like some type of animal!" M/N screamed, glaring daggers at Lestat's back. It was the same old argument; when Lestat had bestowed the dark gift upon him, M/N believed he had been granted freedom—a chance to transcend the limits of mortality and explore the world. But once his eyes opened to this new life, M/N found himself a prisoner.

The vampire couldn't fathom why his sire forbade him from stepping outside. Louis and Claudia came and went as they pleased, why couldn't M/N do the same? He'd already spent a decade stuck inside the house, his only connection to the outside world being stories told by Louis and Claudia. "I thought you said I was free." M/N continued, his voice trembling. "But this isn't freedom. This is a gilded cage."

Lestat finally turned around, his gaze softened with something akin to regret before morphing into indifference. "The world is not as kind as you imagine. There are dangers you cannot fathom. I only seek to protect you."

"Protect me from what?" M/N shot back. "From living? From feeling the wind on my face and the thrill of the hunt? I would rather face those dangers than rot away in here."

M/N felt himself stiffen when Lestat's eyes turned cold. "Someday you'll understand why I do this, M/N." Lestat hissed, the monster inside him dangerously close to the surface. "But right now, you're led by these ridiculous emotions that cloud your judgment."

"Maybe emotions do cloud my judgment, but they also make me feel alive." M/N defied. "You, Lestat, have clearly forgotten what it means to feel." Turning to the door, M/N was set on spending the remaining night locked in his coffin when Lestat flashed in front of him. His gaze was piercing, maddening.

"You think I don't feel, M/N? You think I'm some heartless creature devoid of emotion?" He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "My emotions toward you are what drives me to be this monster. You, my little dove, are a treasure I cannot risk losing."

M/N's breath caught in his throat. He had never seen Lestat so raw, so exposed. The monster was indeed close to the surface, but so was the man who loved him with a ferocity that bordered on madness. M/N reflected on all of the vampire's actions through a different lens, coming to realize that Lestat indeed loved him—or at least what he perceived to be love. The shared coffins, the piano lessons, the talks under the firelight in the living room.

"I—I didn't know..." M/N stammered, his mind racing. What else could he say? He couldn't confess that he returned Lestat's feelings, fearing it would only intensify the vampire's overbearing nature. "But it doesn't change anything. Lestat, for the first time, I'm begging you to let me see the outside world. Even if you become my shadow, I long to see the town and its delicacies."

Lestat's eyes flickered with a mix of emotions, his resolve wavering. The weight of centuries of caution and control clashed with the raw, desperate plea before him. He took a deep breath, the tension in the room thickening.

"You truly want this?"

"Yes. I need this, Lestat. I need to experience life beyond these walls, to feel the world with my own senses." A long silence followed, each second stretching into eternity. Finally, Lestat nodded, a reluctant acceptance in his gaze.

"Very well." he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I will grant you this freedom, but I will be by your side. No objections."

Not being able to contain himself, M/N smiled before embracing his sire. Lestat stiffened at first, taken aback by the sudden gesture, but then he relaxed, wrapping his arms around the other male.

Lestat felt a torrent of emotions. The warmth of M/N's embrace, the genuine gratitude in his voice—it stirred something deep within him. If granting M/N freedom brought them closer, perhaps it was time to reevaluate his approach. Could he protect M/N while allowing him the autonomy he craved? The idea was both terrifying and exhilarating.

[novaursa]

Between Pride and Fire

- Summary: It was a challenge of the hunt that drew the lion to you, but it was your fire that made him yours.

- Paring: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Note: You guys can consider this to be a serious version of Flames in the West story. I'm not sure when this will fall into schedule, probably when one of my main stories is finished. It also depends how much you guys like this one.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: the fire

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

- A/N: Unplanned post, but since is a Lannister day on my blog: enjoy. 🙂

The Kingswood hums with the sounds of the royal hunt, a symphony of rustling leaves, hounds baying, and the occasional barked order from the hunters. The scent of pine and damp earth mingles with the sweet aroma of roasted meats from the sprawling encampment. It is a grand affair, organized to celebrate Prince Aegon's second nameday. Tents of crimson and black flutter in the breeze, and courtiers buzz with laughter and gossip like a swarm of bees.

You walk side by side with your elder sister, Rhaenyra. The sunlight filters through the canopy above, casting dappled patterns on her face as she strides gracefully, her expression a mixture of bemusement and mild irritation.

"Another one," she mutters under her breath, nodding discreetly toward a young lord across the way who is staring at her as though she hung the moon. "They follow me like vultures circling a carcass. It’s maddening."

You stifle a laugh, your hand brushing her arm as you offer a teasing smile. "Surely, sister, you cannot blame them. The Realm’s Delight is a prize worth vying for, is she not?"

She rolls her eyes but can’t hide the faint smirk tugging at her lips. "A prize I have no desire to grant. Honestly, Y/N, you’re fortunate. No one looks to you with such hunger in their eyes. The heir’s crown serves as both lure and snare."

You shrug nonchalantly. "Perhaps I simply lack your allure. Or perhaps they fear I’d set them ablaze before entertaining their overtures."

Rhaenyra chuckles, her earlier irritation melting away. "Yes, I can picture it. Lord Wylde reduced to ash before he could finish his ridiculous sonnet. What a sight that would be."

"Wylde's sonnet was tame compared to Lord Tyrell’s attempt at a serenade," you retort, voice dripping with mock horror. "That poor man cannot carry a tune to save his life."

The two of you dissolve into laughter, the kind shared only between sisters. It feels like old times, before the weight of titles and expectations pressed down upon your shoulders.

But then, from the corner of your eye, you catch sight of Jason Lannister. He strides through the camp, every bit the lion, dressed in rich red and gold with his golden hair gleaming in the sunlight. His piercing gaze sweeps the clearing until it lands squarely on Rhaenyra. A confident smile spreads across his face as he changes course, heading directly toward her.

Your heart skips—not from interest but from mischief. Leaning closer to Rhaenyra, you murmur, "I believe the proud lion is about to leap. Good luck, dear sister."

Rhaenyra glances toward Jason, her brows lifting in resigned amusement. "Y/N, don’t you dare leave me—"

But you’re already retreating, your grin widening as you wave her off. "You’re the Realm’s Delight, Rhaenyra. Surely, you can handle one arrogant lion."

Rhaenyra’s glare burns into your back as Jason approaches her, his stride full of confidence. You chuckle softly to yourself, quickening your steps toward where Ser Gwayne Hightower is practicing his archery. The rhythmic thud of arrows hitting the target fills the air as you approach.

Ser Gwayne lowers his bow when he sees you, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Come to show me up, have you?"

You pick up a bow from the nearby rack, testing its weight. "Perhaps. Someone needs to ensure you don’t grow too proud, Ser Gwayne."

He chuckles, stepping aside to give you space. "Very well, princess. Let’s see if your aim is as sharp as your wit."

Nocking an arrow, you draw the bowstring back, feeling the satisfying tension. You release, the arrow flying straight and true, embedding itself near the center of the target. Gwayne whistles appreciatively.

"You’ve been practicing," he says, clearly impressed.

"Idle hands are the devil’s playthings," you reply lightly, nocking another arrow. "And I’ve no desire to become rusty."

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm, trading shots and quips. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as Jason Lannister speaks animatedly to Rhaenyra. His body language exudes confidence, but even from this distance, you can see the tight set of Rhaenyra’s jaw.

"Poor Lord Jason," Gwayne remarks, following your gaze. "He’s about to learn that the princess’s tongue is sharper than any blade."

You smirk, releasing another arrow. "If he were foolish enough to direct his attentions toward me, he’d leave with his pride in tatters."

Gwayne snickers. "And likely a new nickname for his troubles."

The two of you share a conspiratorial laugh, pausing to observe the exchange between Rhaenyra and Jason. It’s a masterclass in polite rejection. Rhaenyra’s words are measured, her tone as sweet as honey, but the subtle steel beneath them leaves no room for misinterpretation. Jason’s confident smile falters, replaced by a flicker of confusion and embarrassment.

"She has a gift," Gwayne says, shaking his head in admiration. "The lion won’t be roaring anytime soon."

You lower your bow, resting it against the ground as you watch Jason retreat with his tail between his legs. A wave of pride swells in your chest—not for his failure, but for Rhaenyra’s poise and strength. She glances in your direction, catching your eye, and you flash her a knowing grin.

Rhaenyra shakes her head, her lips twitching in reluctant amusement before she turns back toward the camp, leaving Jason to lick his wounds.

"Come," you say to Gwayne, shouldering your bow. "I believe we’ve lingered here long enough. There’s a feast to attend, and I wouldn’t miss the chance to see the lion humbled among the other lords."

Gwayne grins, falling into step beside you. "Lead the way, princess. Lead the way."

Jason Lannister stormed through the camp, his boots crunching against the dry pine needles scattered across the forest floor. His usual confident stride was replaced with something more forceful, his frustration evident in the tension of his shoulders. A passing servant barely avoided being bowled over as Jason muttered a curt apology, his mind too preoccupied to care.

When he finally reached the Lannister encampment, he spotted the familiar figure of his twin brother, Tyland, seated on a richly upholstered chair beneath their family’s crimson-and-gold banner. Tyland held a goblet in one hand, the other idly flipping through a letter sealed with the sigil of House Hightower. Unlike Jason’s hunt-worn attire, Tyland looked pristine, dressed in a doublet of fine wool with a thin gold chain marking his position on King Viserys’s small council.

Tyland glanced up as Jason approached, immediately noting the sour look on his brother’s face. His lips curled into an amused smirk. “Ah, there you are. Back so soon? I thought you’d be off charming the princess until sundown.”

Jason grunted, throwing himself into a nearby chair. He reached for the wine pitcher without waiting for an invitation, pouring himself a generous amount. “It didn’t go as planned.”

Tyland raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Didn’t go as planned?” he echoed. “Care to elaborate, or shall I guess?”

Jason took a long gulp of wine before setting the goblet down with more force than necessary. “She rejected me,” he said bluntly, though the admission clearly stung his pride. “Barely let me finish before she made it abundantly clear she had no interest in me, or Casterly Rock, or any of it.”

Tyland’s laughter was immediate and unrestrained. “Of course she did,” he said, shaking his head. “Did you honestly expect anything else? Rhaenyra Targaryen isn’t exactly known for her warmth toward unsolicited marriage proposals.”

Jason glared at him. “I thought she’d at least consider it. Casterly Rock is the wealthiest seat in the realm, and I’m—”

“—And you’re Jason Lannister,” Tyland interrupted, still grinning. “Yes, yes, I’ve heard it all before. But wealth and a golden mane only get you so far with a woman like Rhaenyra. You should be grateful you walked away with your pride still intact.”

Jason snorted. “Intact? Hardly. She dismissed me as if I were some… some common hedge knight. I’ve never been humiliated like that in my life.”

Tyland leaned back in his chair, his expression turning thoughtful. “Humiliated, perhaps. But consider yourself lucky her younger sister wasn’t there to witness it. She’d have had you on your knees, begging for mercy, and not in the way you’d prefer.”

Jason frowned, his frustration momentarily giving way to curiosity. “Her sister?” he repeated. “Y/N? What does she have to do with this?”

Tyland smirks, clearly enjoying this. "Yes, Y/N. Sweet as honey to those she likes but sharp as Valyrian steel to those she doesn’t. If you think Rhaenyra's rejection stung, imagine Y/N standing there, her silver tongue slicing you apart for all to see. That girl could cut you down with words alone and still make you thank her for the privilege."

Jason frowns, clearly intrigued despite himself. "I’ve heard of her, but she’s always so… quiet. Reserved. She doesn’t draw attention the way Rhaenyra does."

"That’s because she doesn’t need to," Tyland counters. "Y/N has an elegance about her that speaks for itself. And she’s clever—far too clever for the likes of you. If she had been there, she might have taken pity on you and spared you some embarrassment… or she might have joined her sister in putting you in your place."

Jason leans against the table, his expression thoughtful now. "You seem to know her well."

Tyland shrugs, a casual gesture that belies his keen interest. "I live in the capital, remember? I’ve had plenty of opportunities to observe the royal family. Y/N is a force to be reckoned with, even if she doesn’t flaunt it like her sister. Quiet strength can be far more dangerous than loud defiance."

Jason falls silent, his earlier frustration giving way to a strange sense of curiosity. He swirls the remaining wine in his goblet, his gaze distant. "She sounds… intriguing."

Tyland snorts, clapping a hand on his brother’s shoulder. "Don’t get any ideas, Jason. If you couldn’t handle Rhaenyra, you’d stand no chance with her sister. Y/N would chew you up and spit you out before you even knew what hit you."

Jason’s lips twitch into a faint smile, the first hint of humor he’s shown since his defeat. "Perhaps. But I’ve always enjoyed a challenge."

Tyland shakes his head, laughing softly. "Suit yourself. Just don’t come crying to me when you find yourself at the mercy of her sharp tongue. I won’t be offering any sympathy."

Jason raises his goblet in a mock toast, his confidence slowly returning. "We’ll see, Tyland. We’ll see."

And as the sun dips lower in the sky, Jason can’t help but wonder if his brother’s words hold some truth. Perhaps he had been barking up the wrong tree with Rhaenyra. Perhaps the younger sister, with her quiet strength and sharp wit, is a far more interesting quarry.

The next two days unfold in a haze of royal festivity and anticipation for the grand hunt. The sprawling camp is alive with the sounds of nobles exchanging pleasantries, servants bustling about their duties, and hounds barking eagerly as they prepare for the event. The chatter of excited courtiers fills the air as word spreads that the trackers have caught sight of a rare and noble beast—a white stag, a creature of myth and legend, said to be a symbol of divine favor.

Jason Lannister moves through the camp with his usual air of lion-like confidence, but behind the facade, his attention is sharply attuned to a singular presence. He is too shrewd to make his interest known, especially in a camp teeming with gossip-hungry lords and ladies. Instead, he watches her—you—from the corners of his eyes, his gaze lingering longer than it should but never openly.

The first time he notices you, you are seated near your sister, Rhaenyra, under the shade of a large oak tree. A circle of ladies surrounds the two of you, their laughter ringing out as they trade jests and gossip. You are quieter than the others, a soft smile playing on your lips as you listen. But when you speak, it is with precision, your words measured and thoughtful. Jason can’t hear what you’re saying from his position by the wine tent, but he sees the way Rhaenyra throws her head back with a laugh, the way the ladies lean in closer, eager to catch every word.

He notes the contrast between you and your elder sister. Where Rhaenyra’s beauty is fiery and commanding, yours is softer, like moonlight. You lack her overt confidence, but there is a quiet strength in the way you carry yourself, in the way your eyes—so strikingly silver in the sunlight—observe the world around you with keen intelligence.

"You're staring," Tyland's voice cuts into his thoughts, low and amused.

Jason doesn’t flinch, though the accusation is true. Instead, he takes a sip from his goblet and turns his gaze to the horizon, feigning disinterest. "Just observing the royal family. It’s an important skill for any lord."

Tyland snorts softly, not fooled in the least. "If you say so. But remember what I said: tread carefully. That one could cut you down with a glance if she wanted to."

Jason merely hums, his expression unreadable.

The second time he sees you, it is near the practice field. The younger knights and squires are sparring under the watchful eyes of Ser Harwin Strong and Ser Criston Cole. You are seated on the edge of the field, your skirts tucked neatly under you as you watch the bouts unfold. Gwayne Hightower stands beside you, his bow in hand, and the two of you appear to be engaged in an animated conversation.

Jason watches from a distance, leaning casually against a post, his arms crossed. He tells himself it is mere coincidence that he is here at all, that he simply enjoys watching the sparring matches. But his gaze keeps drifting toward you, drawn by the way your face lights up when you laugh at something Gwayne says or the way your head tilts thoughtfully when you respond.

"Your aim is improving," you remark, your voice carrying over the clatter of wooden swords.

Gwayne grins, clearly pleased. "I’ve had an excellent teacher."

You roll your eyes, though your smile softens the gesture. "Don’t let it go to your head, Ser Gwayne."

Jason smirks faintly at the exchange. Gwayne Hightower, ever the charmer. Still, Jason notes the ease with which you speak to the knight, the natural camaraderie that seems to flow between you. He finds himself wondering what it might be like to stand where Gwayne does, to earn your laughter and your trust.

On the third morning, as the trackers return with news of the white stag’s sighting, Jason spots you walking along the edge of the camp. You are alone for once, a rare sight, your hands clasped behind your back as you stroll through the dappled sunlight. You stop occasionally to inspect a wildflower or to watch the birds flitting through the trees, your expression serene.

Jason lingers near a group of lords discussing the hunt, his posture casual as he watches you from the corner of his eye. There is something almost ethereal about you in this moment, the way the sunlight catches in your silver hair and the way your gown sways gently with your steps. You seem utterly removed from the noise and chaos of the camp, lost in a world of your own.

"Lord Lannister," one of the lords says, drawing his attention back to the conversation. "What are your thoughts on the white stag? Do you think it will grant its favor to the king?"

Jason forces a polite smile, his mind still half-focused on you. "The stag is a rare and noble beast. If it truly is the king’s favor we seek, we’ll need more than luck to claim it."

The lords murmur their agreement, and the conversation moves on. But Jason’s thoughts linger on you, wondering what it is that draws him so strongly. You are no shy maiden, despite your quiet demeanor. There is a fire in you, a sharpness hidden beneath the surface, and Jason finds himself both intrigued and cautious.

As you disappear from view, Jason allows himself a small smile. He may not approach you yet, but the hunt is only beginning—and he is nothing if not a patient man.

The royal pavilion is a grand affair, its interior rich with opulence. Thick tapestries embroidered with the Targaryen sigil hang from gilded supports, while plush cushions and carved chairs surround a low table laden with wine and fruit. King Viserys lounges at the center of the gathering, his expression warm and genial as he speaks with his advisors. The air is filled with laughter and the low hum of conversation, a brief reprieve from the bustling chaos of the camp outside.

Jason Lannister steps inside with practiced ease, his crimson-and-gold attire catching the flicker of sunlight that filters through the pavilion’s open sides. He offers a polite bow to the king, who acknowledges him with a wave of his hand. Jason’s green eyes scan the room with purpose until they land on you.

You are seated beside your father, a picture of poise and grace, your gown the color of soft lavender, the fabric shimmering faintly in the light. Your hair is elegantly arranged, and though you sit quietly, your violet eyes miss nothing as they flick between the speakers in the circle. Jason’s lips curl into a faint smile.

He approaches, weaving his way through the gathered nobles. Otto Hightower and Lyonel Strong are deep in discussion, their tones measured and serious. Jason, however, has only one target in mind.

"Lord Jason Lannister," King Viserys greets him with a wide smile, gesturing for him to join the circle. "What brings you here? Surely you’re not seeking Rhaenyra. She’s off riding, I believe."

Jason chuckles, offering a respectful bow before taking a seat across from you. "Your Grace, while the princess is, of course, a delight, it is not her company I seek at this moment." His eyes flick briefly to you before he adds smoothly, "I was hoping to enjoy the company of this esteemed circle—and perhaps learn more of the Targaryen way of thinking."

Viserys laughs, clearly pleased by the flattery. "You’ve chosen a good time, then. There’s plenty of wisdom to be found here."

You raise an eyebrow, meeting Jason’s gaze for the first time. There’s a flicker of amusement in your expression, though your tone is polite when you speak. "And what wisdom do you seek, my lord? Surely the Lord of Casterly Rock does not lack for advisers."

Jason leans back slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "True, but wisdom comes in many forms. And who better to learn from than those who carry the blood of dragons?"

The remark is calculated—just enough praise to intrigue without seeming obsequious. But you aren’t so easily swayed.

"Flattery is a poor substitute for genuine insight," you reply smoothly. "Do you have a specific question, or is this merely an exercise in rhetoric?"

A low chuckle ripples through the circle at your retort, and Jason’s smile deepens. "Sharp as Valyrian steel," he remarks, his tone light but edged with challenge. "I see the rumors of your wit are not exaggerated."

"I didn’t realize I was the subject of rumors," you say, tilting your head slightly. "Should I be flattered or concerned, Lord Lannister?"

"Flattered, I’d hope," Jason replies, his tone almost playful now. "Though I’ll admit, the reality far surpasses the tales."

You smirk faintly, leaning forward just enough to meet his gaze directly. "Careful, my lord. If your tongue grows any sweeter, you might choke on it."

The circle erupts in laughter, including King Viserys, who shakes his head with a chuckle. Jason takes the barb in stride, his own amusement evident. "A fair warning, my lady," he concedes. "But I find sharp tongues far more interesting than dull ones."

The verbal sparring continues, your exchanges quick and clever, each testing the other’s wit. Though your words are pointed, Jason finds himself enjoying the clash, his earlier frustrations with Rhaenyra fading into irrelevance. You are different—more elusive, more challenging. And though you clearly find him exasperating, he can’t help but admire the fire in your words.

Finally, you grow bored of the game. Rising gracefully, you offer a small curtsy to the king and the circle. "If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ve had enough of this wisdom for now."

Before you leave, you glance back at Jason, a glint of mischief in your eyes. "Do try not to choke further on your words, my lord. It would be such a waste."

Jason can’t help but grin as you sweep out of the pavilion, leaving a ripple of confusion in your wake. He hesitates only a moment before rising to follow, offering a quick bow to the king.

As the flap of the pavilion closes behind him, King Viserys furrows his brow, glancing at Otto and Lyonel. "What just happened?"

Otto shakes his head, clearly at a loss. Lyonel, however, chuckles softly, a knowing gleam in his eye. "I believe, Your Grace, we’ve just witnessed the beginnings of a most interesting… acquaintance."

The camp buzzes with activity as the hunting parties prepare to set out for the day. Lords don their finest riding cloaks and sharpen their weapons, eager for a chance to prove themselves in the shadow of royalty. Amidst the controlled chaos, Jason Lannister moves with unusual purpose. His hunting gear is immaculate—gold-trimmed leathers and a crimson cloak embroidered with the proud lion of his house. His bow and quiver are slung over his back, and his boots crunch over the pine needles with confidence as he strides to join the assembled lords.

There is a fire in his step, a sharpness to his movements that hasn’t gone unnoticed. A small group of nobles, already gathered near the edge of the camp, exchange curious glances as Jason approaches. Lord Tarly, a broad-shouldered man with a thick beard and a no-nonsense demeanor, leans slightly toward Lord Redwyne, his voice low but audible enough to carry.

"Well, that’s unexpected," Tarly mutters. "I thought we’d see a lion licking his wounds today."

Jason catches the remark as he joins the group, his golden eyes sharp and bright with amusement. He adjusts the strap of his quiver and offers a half-smile. "And why would that be, Lord Tarly? Do you doubt the resilience of Casterly Rock’s finest?"

Tarly shrugs, his expression as blunt as his tone. "Not doubt, my lord, just surprised. Word travels fast in a camp like this. I’d have thought Princess Rhaenyra’s rejection would’ve… dampened your spirits."

A ripple of polite but tense silence follows. Redwyne shifts uncomfortably, as though expecting an outburst. But Jason surprises them all with a hearty laugh, rich and unapologetic.

"My spirits?" Jason says, his voice light but carrying an edge of steel. "Forgive me, my lords, but I hardly find myself distraught over it. Rhaenyra Targaryen is a remarkable woman, no doubt, but Casterly Rock has seen enough proud lions to survive without her grace blessing its halls."

The honesty of his words catches the group off guard. Redwyne arches a brow, while Tarly folds his arms across his chest, his curiosity piqued.

"So, you’re saying you don’t care?" Tarly presses, his tone skeptical. "You made your offer, and she turned it down. Just like that?"

Jason’s smile doesn’t falter. Instead, he steps closer to his horse, running a gloved hand over its sleek mane as he speaks. "Let me be clear, Lord Tarly. I offered Rhaenyra the chance to stand beside me at Casterly Rock because it seemed… appropriate. A lion and a dragon—what better match? But I won’t beg for anyone’s hand, no matter how highborn. If she doesn’t want it, that’s her choice."

He swings himself into the saddle with effortless grace, his posture regal as he looks down at the gathered lords. "There’s no dishonor in a woman knowing her own mind. I respect her decision, even if it wasn’t the answer I expected. And if I’m being honest…"

Jason pauses, his gaze briefly distant, as though considering his next words carefully. Then his smile returns, sharper this time, and unmistakably genuine.

"…I’ve come to realize that perhaps my attention was misplaced from the start."

The lords exchange puzzled looks, the weight of Jason’s words hanging in the air like an unsolved riddle. Redwyne, ever the diplomat, clears his throat and offers a conciliatory nod.

"Well said, Lord Jason. And what of today’s hunt? Do you aim to claim the white stag yourself?"

Jason chuckles, taking up the reins of his horse. "Perhaps, though I care little for the stag’s favor. Today, my aim is to prove that a lion’s pride lies in its strength, not in the approval of others."

With that, he spurs his horse forward, leading the group toward the hunting grounds. The lords follow, their expressions ranging from confusion to admiration. Jason rides ahead, his thoughts not on Rhaenyra or even the stag but on you—your sharp wit, your violet eyes, and the challenge you present.

He doesn’t understand why he feels this pull toward you, but the hunt, it seems, is far from over.

The forest was filled with the crisp sounds of rustling leaves and the occasional call of a distant stag. Your hunting party moved in a tight formation through the Kingswood, banners bearing the Targaryen dragon trailing behind. Mounted on a sleek mare, you led the group with quiet authority, your sharp eyes scanning the trees for signs of prey. The air was thick with anxiety, the hounds sniffing eagerly at the ground as your trackers scouted ahead.

A crackle of underbrush to your left drew your attention, and moments later, a second hunting party emerged from the thicket. At their head was none other than Jason Lannister, sitting astride a magnificent golden courser. His crimson-and-gold cloak billowed slightly in the breeze, and his confident smirk was firmly in place as his eyes locked on you.

"Well, well," Jason called, reining in his horse as his party slowed to a halt. "If it isn’t the princess herself, gracing the forest with her presence. Tell me, Your Highness, have you come to steal my kill? Or are you here merely to admire my skill?"

Your lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile forming as you met his gaze. "Lord Lannister, your delusions of grandeur are almost as persistent as an outbreak of greyscale. Difficult to rid oneself of and twice as irritating."

A few chuckles rippled through your party, and Jason’s grin only widened. "Greyscale, is it? And here I thought I was merely an affliction of the heart, not the skin."

"You flatter yourself," you replied, arching a brow. "No doubt you’ve convinced some poor fool of that before, but you’ll find me immune to such charms."

The lords and knights from both parties shifted uncomfortably, sensing the tension beneath the playful banter. Lord Tarly, who had accompanied Jason, cleared his throat. "Shall we proceed, my lord? The trackers reported the stag heading east."

"And risk missing this delightful conversation?" Jason said, still smiling as he leaned forward slightly in his saddle. "I think not. Besides, it seems we’re headed in the same direction. I would hate for us to cross paths again in less… harmonious circumstances."

Your eyes narrowed slightly, catching the subtle challenge in his tone. "Are you suggesting we combine forces, Lord Lannister? Or are you simply trying to ensure you’re not humiliated when my party claims the stag first?"

Jason’s courser shifted beneath him, and he steadied it with practiced ease. "Humiliated? Hardly. But I’m not so proud as to ignore the merits of cooperation. Why not join our parties? We’ll share the hunt—and the glory."

Your party exchanged surprised glances, the tension easing slightly as they waited for your response. You studied Jason carefully, noting the faint twinkle of amusement in his eyes. He was testing you, as always, but there was an unexpected sincerity beneath his words.

"Very well," you said at last, your tone measured. "But if the stag escapes because of your cooperation, Lord Lannister, you’ll find yourself regretting it."

Jason laughed, a rich, unrestrained sound that echoed through the forest. "A bold claim, Princess. But I welcome the challenge."

With that, the two parties merged, the lords and knights falling into formation as the hunt resumed. The trackers moved ahead, their voices low as they followed the stag’s trail. Jason rode beside you, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp, ever watchful.

"You’re surprisingly agreeable today," you remarked after a moment, glancing at him. "Should I be suspicious?"

Jason smirked, inclining his head slightly. "Perhaps I’m simply enjoying your company, Your Highness. Though I’ll admit, it’s not often I encounter someone who can match me word for word."

"Match you?" you repeated, your tone light but cutting. "I’d say I surpass you, my lord. But I suppose it’s commendable that you’re willing to admit defeat so graciously."

Jason chuckled, shaking his head. "I’m beginning to see why the dragon’s fire burns so brightly. It’s not the beast itself but the mind behind it."

You didn’t respond, though your lips curved into a faint smile as you urged your mare forward, leaving Jason trailing just behind. The lords and knights exchanged bemused looks, still trying to decipher the nature of the exchange between the two of you.

As the merged party moved deeper into the woods, the anticipation of the hunt took hold once more. But for Jason, the thrill wasn’t just in the chase—it was in the game you and he played with every word, every glance. And as the sun filtered through the trees, painting the forest floor in golden light, he found himself hoping the hunt would last just a little longer.

The forest had grown still as the merged hunting party pressed deeper into the Kingswood. The faint scent of earth and moss mingled with the crisp tang of the morning air, and every sound—each snap of a branch, each rustle of leaves—seemed amplified in the quiet. The hounds moved low to the ground, their ears pricked and noses working furiously as the trackers led the party toward the prize. Excitement rippled through the group; they were close.

Jason rode beside you, his golden courser nearly brushing against your mare. He leaned slightly toward you, his expression one of practiced confidence, a gleam of mischief in his eyes.

"When we catch up to the stag," he began, his voice low enough not to carry to the rest of the group, "you should let me take the killing blow."

You turned your head slowly, raising an unimpressed brow. "And why, pray tell, should I?"

"Because," Jason said, with the tone of someone explaining something simple to a child, "I am far more experienced in matters of the hunt than a young princess. You may have grace and charm, Your Highness, but it takes a steady hand and a practiced eye to fell a beast as noble as this."

You scoffed, sitting straighter in the saddle as you regarded him with an icy glare. "Far more experienced, are you? I accompanied my father on hunts as soon as I could ride. By the time I was ten, I could track a stag through mud and fire an arrow true from a moving horse. I’d wager I have more kills than you’ll ever claim in your entire life, Lord Lannister."

The surrounding lords, who had been listening with barely concealed interest, exchanged uneasy glances. One of them, a nervous young man whose name you hadn’t bothered to learn, cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Perhaps… we should keep our voices down," he said hesitantly. "The noise may scare the game away."

Jason turned his attention to the young lord, fixing him with a piercing gaze that was both amused and condescending. "Scaring the game away? My lord, you misunderstand. This is not an argument." He gestured between himself and you. "This is… a spirited exchange of ideas."

The young lord swallowed, clearly regretting his decision to speak. You rolled your eyes, gripping your reins tighter as you nudged your mare forward.

"Spirited exchange, indeed," you muttered under your breath.

The party rounded a small bend, and there it was—a magnificent stag, its coat chestnut as autumn leaves, standing regal and still in the clearing ahead. Its antlers, broad and intricate, caught the dappled sunlight streaming through the trees, making it appear almost otherworldly.

The group froze, each hunter carefully adjusting their position for the best shot. Jason’s hand moved to his bow, his movements deliberate as he spoke softly, still confident. "Stay back, Princess. I’ll handle this—"

But before he could even nock an arrow, you had already drawn yours. With a practiced ease that belied the tension in the air, you raised your bow, sighted your target, and released. The arrow flew true, slicing through the air with deadly precision and striking the stag directly in the eye.

The great beast staggered for a moment, its majestic frame wavering before collapsing silently to the ground. The forest seemed to hold its breath, the silence deafening as every pair of eyes turned to you.

Jason’s jaw tightened, though his expression was more astonished than angry. The lords, previously poised for action, stared in stunned silence, their weapons still at the ready but now unnecessary. Even the hounds, sensing the change in the air, hesitated, their excitement momentarily dulled.

Finally, you lowered your bow, exhaling slowly as you turned to face the group. "What was that you were saying about experience, Lord Lannister?" you asked, your voice calm but laced with triumph.

Jason blinked, his eyes narrowing slightly as he searched for a retort. But for once, the ever-confident lion seemed at a loss for words.

"Well," one of the older lords finally said, breaking the silence with an awkward cough. "That was… most impressive, Your Highness."

"Indeed," Jason said at last, his voice steady but edged with something you couldn’t quite place. "Impressive. Though I’m certain you’ll forgive me if I say I’m not entirely surprised. The dragon’s flame burns bright, after all."

You inclined your head slightly, acknowledging the compliment, though the faint smirk tugging at your lips showed you knew exactly how much it pained him to say it.

Without another word, you dismounted and approached the stag, the hounds now circling eagerly as the trackers moved in to inspect the kill. The lords followed suit, their admiration evident as they murmured amongst themselves.

Jason remained where he was for a moment longer, watching you with an expression that was equal parts frustration and intrigue. As much as your success rankled him, he couldn’t help but admire the precision, the confidence, the fire that had made it possible.

And as the party began preparing to move the stag back to camp, he realized something else—this was a hunt he’d never forget, not because of the kill, but because of you.

[mysadcorner]

I LOVE THE WALKING DEAD☝️😈!! how about some classic dating headcanons with Daryl🙏!! (maybe x asexual reader/or just SFW, only if you’re okay with that tho:))!! <3

Daryl Dixon Dating Headcanons

-Credit to the gifs owner - Please be specific about the characters wanted in headcanons and read request rules -

Masterlist Navigation

• Daryl would have been incredibly hostile to you if you met him in his younger years and hadn’t shared a background similar to his. He wasn’t really accustomed to letting people in or showing any kind of affection, so even if you met him when he was a bit older this would still be a thing that was hard for him. And his inability to open up straight away is something pretty much everyone can notice.

• Without directly telling you his feelings he would most likely just start to hover around you more often, trying to keep his feelings hidden while giving himself an excuse to spend more time with you and also be a bit protective while doing so. He’s also show off a bit by showing you his skills or teaching you something that would help you survive in the long run.

• He would be pretty worried about you on the inside no matter where you go, the dangers of zombies being a constant in his mind if you’re not directly next to him. He may come across as a bit grumpy and snappy if he isn’t able to express himself to you comfortably yet because of this. Misunderstanding the reasons for his behaviour could wait cause some disagreements between the two of you.

• He will always have a secret soft side for you, even if he’ll never admit it. But you can tell by the way he starts to relax around you and how he acts a bit gentle when he’s interacting with you compared to other people. He may not say much, but he expresses his soft side through the things he does mostly.

• Acts of service is a big way for Daryl to put across what he’s trying to express, even if it’s through the tiniest of things. Whether that be hunting for you or just leaving small items for you that he thinks you might like, maybe even doing some work that you were supposed to so you can spend more time relaxing, he always has you in his mind and wants to show you how he feels through this way no matter how long you’ve known him.

• Daryl would never be a fan of PDA, but he would like to be more affectionate or physically close to you in private. Although, an incredibly tense and dangerous situation may grant you a hug from him from the relief that comes with you being okay.

• Daryl wouldn’t be the type of person to just play with your feelings, or try and use you as a way to keep him entertained; if he likes you, then he’s going to be serious about it. Almost straight away he wants to settle down with you, but he’s more than willing to wait as long as he knows that you feel the same way about that kind of thing.

[masked-men-fantasy]

Favorite Kink (Rainbow Six Siege)

You and them are getting along for awhile. It's time to learn more about their truest, deepest desire.

NSFW Content. MDNI.

Tachanka

Breeding Kink: Tachanka will whisper how well you take him, how his virile seed performs inside your fertile body, how your belly will grow, what the baby with you and him will look like, and how well he will take care of you once the baby is born. Fear not; if you are not ready for a baby yet, he will not do it without any protection. He will wait until you accept to be fully bred by him.

Bondage kink: Alexsandr was always drawn to the idea of tying you up with rope. Be the one in charge in the room with you losing all control completely. And my, oh my, Alexsandr is sure one hell of a dirty talker. He has a dictionary of dirty words inside his head, both in English and Russian. He knows how to use his voice and his Russian to his advantage, to turn you on, and to make sure you beg for more on his bed. 

Body worship kink: It is not easy to maintain the physique. Although it is part of his work, it is still challenging. Hence, Tachanka is very proud of his muscles and, overall, of his body. Guide your hand over his body. Give him plenty of massages and kisses. Perhaps compliment him on how handsome he is when he has those unique tattoos on his body. If you did this right, you can expect a hell of a ride tonight.

Kapkan

Hunter and prey kink: Maxim is a hunter by nature. He was raised to be a hunter, live like a hunter, and therefore enjoy sexual life like a hunter. If you both had a long holiday, he would bring you to the silent woods. Not well-known, no people, perfect for hunting you. Kapkan will let you run away from his hut for an hour before he starts hunting you down.  You might step into his non-lethal trap, or perhaps you might cause the sound by accident and give away your location. And in the end, with his skill, he will, of course, catch you within less than two hours.  Be prepared for rough, animalistic sex in the middle of the forest and on the way back to his hut. You won't get any breaks from him. Well, you cannot blame him for such behavior. The adrenaline kicked in after the thrill of the hunt, and you are too gorgeous. Plus, he deserves his reward for finally catching you with his hand.

Marking kink: Oh, and what comes along with hunter and prey kink is also his habit of marking. Kapkan hunted you down to own you. Therefore, he has to prove that you are his property. Be prepared for plenty of bite marks, hickeys, or some nail scratches. Fear not; you can do the same to him, and he is not afraid to show those marks to the rest of the Spetsnaz Unit. He takes your mark on his body as a trophy of pride.

Deimos

Sex toy kink: Deimos is a man of gadgets. His ability to engineer also grants him creativity for sex toys as well. He has many modified versions of sex toys. Extremely high-strength vibrator and e-stim, custom-made dildo that is exactly the same shape as his cock, or the best one yet, a drone that will monitor you while you masturbate while he is on a long mission. He has even more in store, and he cannot wait to use them with you.

Chastity kink: To be Deimos' lover, discipline and submission are must-haves. He wants to make sure that you are his and completely belong to him. A chastity device is one way to prove that. He will take the key that locked your chastity cage as a necklace on his dog tag.  Also, while he is away on another mission, he will constantly remind you by making you squirm with his deep, husky, dominant voice. He will order you to touch yourself through the cage and deny your orgasm just at the right time. And all of this will pay off well once Deimos is back home; the sex after that will be one of the best experiences you ever had.

[minispidey]

03: Barbie and the Giftshopist.

Steven Grant x f!bimbo!reader. previous part. series masterlist. next part.

03. Everyday she wears pink.

(A/n: your feedback on the last chapter about me writing the moon knight system is so amazing tysm! i referenced mpgis here and more legally blonde. i wanna note that reader has been a lawyer for a couple years now and amazing at it 🤸‍♀️ btw update tags are open!)

warnings: mention of cock, swearing and cursing, mention of blood.

the cock line is from my bubs @ominoose ily

"This isn't just a date. This is a date!" You told yourself as you threw random articles of clothing behind you as you hunted for a specific dress.

You thought maybe you shouldn't wear pink. Maybe you have a pretty dress he hasn't seen you in.

You barely slept due to excitement.

The way he talked and looked at you made you swoon over him. Just thinking about makes you-

You squealed as your leg involuntarily kicked up. You blinked twice in confusion "That is so weird..."

Maybe you were horny.

"Oh gosh, not again. Bad leg!" you scolded your beautiful leg as it kicks up again "Down girl, down! No nasty thoughts about... about... about the hot neighbor across us- no!"

You almost moaned at the though of his lips against yours... You shuddered as you kept remembering the way he looked at you. You laid down in the pool of clothing as you imagined how your little lunch date will go.

As usual, you two walked out of your flat at the same time, discussing where the two of you were going for lunch.

"Wetherspoons..." you parked your pink corvette outside, looking at the flowers decorating the place. Your high heels clicked on the pavement as you walked inside, still in your pink work suit despite planning on changing.

It was a busier day than you thought, but of course lunch time is important.

Your eyes lit up as you spotted Steven, sitting up rather stiff "Stevie!" you smiled as you walked over to his table "Hi, so sorry I'm a bit late. Traffic and all."

But Steven looked back at you with such a loving look in his eyes "It's alright, love. I haven't been waiting long."

The truth is, he thought you weren't gonna show up.

"Have you ordered yet? Gosh, you must be starved." you opened the menu and browsed.

"I haven't." he shook his head, opening his menu as well.

"Cross examination was a success." you smiled "Next week's the next trial with the witness."

Steven didn't know what you were talking about, it was out of context "That's great!" he responded.

"So then he was like no and I was like, you are. Then he was like no but then I was like you are! And he was like, I kinda am. So long story short he's like, totally gay." you said as you looked at your compact mirror.

"Thank gosh I figured it out, because no way can he say my Chanel is so last season when his shirt is so last year. My client was totally bugging, but we figured it out and I, like, totally won that. How about you, Stevie? How's your day?"

Steven smiled back at you "T'was alright, love. Just the usual." he says sarcastically "Donna's been a real-"

"Excuse my language— Bitch? Cunt? Pain in the ass?"

He chuckles "Yes. A pain in the arse, love."

"She always sounds like she's giving you a hard time. You sure you don't want me to talk to her?"

"I don't think it's lawyer-worthy. It's really alright, love." Steven shakes his head "Just another typical day."

"Yeah, which can be classified as workplace abuse."

"Really. I'm fine."

You press your glossy lips into a thin line before sighing "Alright. But if you need someone to represent you in court, I'm your girl." you playfully winked at him.

Steven blushed before nodding "I'll keep you in mind then." a waiter comes up to the two of you and he began to order "-and a cocktail. Uh, how about you?"

"Um, I'll have the Soup of the Day with half a baguette, and Pasta Pomodoro with salmon. And— wait did you say a cocktail?" you blinked twice at Steven "I'll have a cocktail too, thank you."

You smiled at the waiter as he repeated the order to you two before walking away.

"Jeez, Stevie. It's only lunchtime." you giggled at him.

"I-I just wanted something strong."

"Work's really stressful, huh?"

"It really is." he sighed "Working late again tonight. But this uh lunch date is really cheering me up."

Your cheeks felt hot, making you smile "That's so sweet... tell you what, I'll pick you up from work tonight again. I'm working late too anyways."

It was Steven's turn to blush. His hand shakes with his head "You're way too nice. I don't wanna bother you. It's quite overwhelming too." even his ears turned red.

"Steven, you shouldn't turn away blessings." you winked as you giggled. Your cocktails were served just a few minutes later.

"I haven't had a cock in a while."

Steven felt his drink rush to his nose and he quickly grabbed a napkin. He coughs a few times before looking up at you.

"Oopsies, I meant a cocktail." you covered your mouth, smiling "Well, I mean... I haven't had that in a while either."

You took a sip of the drink and Steven stared at the lipstick mark left on the edge of the glass. You always wore a certain shade of lipstick, and it always drove him crazy.

There were times he'd imagine smudging your lipstick... in more ways than one.

After lunch, the two of you laughed as you drove to the museum. Steven just kept falling more and more into your wonderland of pink and diamonds. He stared at you with half-lidded eyes, listening to every word you said.

The thing about Steven is that he loves to ramble and talk a lot, and so do you. He knew you were perfect.

"-and I was like, thank gosh I talked her out of buying an orange chiffon scarf. It doesn't suit her spring tones at all! There's a fine line between terracotta and brown."

That evening, your pink corvette was parked outside of the museum, waiting patiently for Steven after a long day of reading case papers. You puckered out your lips to reapply some lipstick before popping and smiling at your reflection.

Your freshly manicured nails tapped on the steering wheel while humming a small tune.

Then suddenly someone knocks on your window.

"Steven?"

He looked like he was roughed up, red staining his clothes, but it's not his blood. It didn't even look like the same clothes he was wearing during your lunch date.

"Oh my gosh, Steven-"

...but that's actually not your main concern.

"-I told you, blue and black as a combo is a total crime against fashion. If it were me, I'd make it law." you groaned, opening the locks of your car "Get in."

His eyes widened but he doesn't respond, only taking the passenger's seat like you commanded.

"Oh, you have a little stain there." you pat the patch of blood using a pink handkerchief with lace trim and your name embroidered on the corner.

He continued to stare at you as you took his hand and placing your handkerchief on his palm "Here. You can give it back to me some other time because I seriously I need to take you shopping this weekend."

You thought maybe he's always tired after work, that's why he's so quiet, like yesterday.

"Maybe I can figure out your color palette so I know what looks best on you. Your shirts are cute, I'd have to admit, but some of them are... meh. No offense but some prints are worse than the last. OH! I know, we'll do a whole shopping day on the weekend. An hour or so won't cut it. I know it's your weekend off, but trust me when I say when your pretty neighbor's a fashionista, your life is gonna change."

Steven looks at you from the mirror's reflection before shifting his eyes towards the body— Jake. Unlike Marc's creepy silent behavior from the night before, Jake actually looks at you as you went on and on.

He even responds with small nods.

"Can we not make this a habit? First it's Marc pretending to be me in front of her, now it's you. I don't need your help with her. Can I please go in my own pace?" Steven tells Jake, but Jake shook his head in a not now kind of motion.

As Jake entered the apartment after waving goodnight to you, he's met with a poor attempt of a glare from Steven "Don't look at me like that, you wanted the girl so I gave it a push."

"I want to do this on my own. Marc doesn't want me to, I don't know about you, but I don't need help. Can I please do it my way? It's all I ask."

"Can you ask her out?"

Steven pressed his lips into a line before letting out a sigh "Give me the body. I'll... try."

"Alright, alright. You go on ahead."

Steven, now in control of the body, swung open the door and he sees you struggling to find your keys. You blinked twice before smiling at him "Hi again, Stevie. My keys are just- ugh, a lot." your keychains jingle as you tried to find the right key.

"Can we go on a date after shopping this weekend?" he blurts out quickly. Steven was red as a tomato "D-Dinner date."

Your eyes lit up and you felt the butterflies in your stomach again "I'd love that! I'll just- oh! I found my key!"

And you also found the key to your locked-up heart.

UP NEXT: the best weekend ever! a date with steven and a little breaking and entering 💅

tags: @red-hydra @monsterroonio @pastelpinkpilatesprincess @letmehavemyfictionalmen @uncle-eggy @superduckmilkshake @3zae-zae3