#he's amused and i'm frightened | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shomatoriashi · 1 month ago

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11/29/24; 03:03pm

dragon!sylus x fem.reader

notes: for all the sylus girlies out there, this is going to be my thirstiest and most self-indulgent dragon!sylus fic (⺣◡⺣)♡ again, this is all just my interpretation and it may not even be close to canon!

warnings: monster f-cking oh my god i can't believe i'm going to do this since i've never written this type of spicy story before 😭😭😭😭😭 i'm sorry if this ends up sucking so bad !! i just want to type out my spicy thoughts hhhhhh

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

night had fallen across your small village, painting the once lively desert in somber hues of blue. with the moonlight as your guide, you drape your shawl even closer to your body to help with warding off the cold air.

as you made your way to the oasis, your mind was filled with anxious thoughts pertaining to your mother. she had once again fallen ill, her frail body being taken over by a fever as she struggled to even breathe while she lay motionless in bed. your heart was filled with love for your mother as you spent the night wiping the sweat from her brow with a damp cloth, not wishing to leave her side.

feeling your presence next to her, her eyes blearily meet with your gaze as a tiny smile paints her expression. "you should...rest..." even with her reassuring words, you refused to leave her side.

yet when your bucket of water runs dry, you knew you had to leave your mother to get more water. you needed to help her with breaking her fever, and in order to do that, you had to get more water from the oasis. leaving the damp cloth across her brow, you told her that you would return soon before setting off towards the crystalline pool of water. each step that you take brings an image of your sickly mother and the thought of how much weaker she had become-

with a click of your tongue, you banish such intrusive beliefs, refusing to even entertain the thought that you would ever lose her. fighting back against the cold, you push forward as you made your trek across the sands, noticing the palm trees and the sight of those ruby red flowers in the distance as they swayed in the wind. anticipation was felt coursing through your veins, your legs now breaking out into a run until you were just a mere few feet away from the crystalline waters of the pond-

but as fate would have it, you were not alone.

settled in the midst of the pond was what appeared to be a winged demon, his wings remaining spread as you felt pinpricks of fear clenching around your heart. your breathing was uneven and heavy as you slowly backed away from him, only to see the demon lift his head, his silvery hair seeming to glow beneath the moonlight.

"your heavy breathing is a dead giveaway." you gasp, feeling your heart jump within the confines of your throat the moment he suddenly appears before you. rufescent eyes gaze down at you in amusement as full lips remain tilted up in a smirk. your eyes trail toward his silver locks of hair and finally noticed the two horns settled atop his head (the image reminding you of a dark and regal crown). from his broad chest to the alluring crimson gemstone settled in the middle of his pale skin-

the demon was equal parts devastatingly beautiful and terrifying to you.

his wings end up engulfing you, trapping your body against his as he takes in a deep whiff of your hair before trailing the tip of his nose against your skin. as he takes in your scent, you were certain that he could hear the way your heart seemed to pound from out of your ribcage.

"yet perhaps what's more distracting than your breathing is the lingering scent of death you have..."

his words succeed in making your heart cease its beat, your fear now replaced with anxiety as you narrowed your gaze at him. "w-what do you mean?"

a look of intrigue was seen settled within his crimson gaze. "there's no need to be so frightened, treasure. you look to be as healthy as a mare... yet someone close to you-"

mother...!

you gripped at the demon's shoulder, allowing your nails to dig into them while your gaze became wild, "my mother... you're referring to my mother. please, can you save her?!"

he doesn't answer your panicked words, but at this point, you were willing to do anything to save the only family you had left-

even if it meant forging a deal with the devil.

"please, i'll do anything for her! if you have the means to save her-"

the demon lets out a deep chuckle, the sound being enough to send almost pleasant vibrations down your spine. using his free hand, he wraps it around your waist, bringing you closer to his naked chest while at nearly eye level with the ruby settled on it. "relax, treasure... if you're willing to do anything, then i suppose i can give you this."

as if it were made by magic itself, he gently pulls something out of your hair, extracting a vial that held a deep red liquid. "give this to your mother, and it shall heal any ailment that she has."

hope erupts within your chest, yet before you could utter another word, the devil whispers into your ear, "remember your promise to me, treasure."

and with those final words, he disappears away from you, leaving you alone with an empty bucket and a mysterious vial. not wishing to wait another second, you rush back to your mother, nearly pushing your body to its limits.

your lungs were burning now when you finally reached home, a quaint little hut settled near the edge of your village. you enter and immediately go to your mother, holding her frail frame closer to your chest as you uncapped the vial and open your mother's mouth, pouring the crimson liquid inside.

she coughs a bit, but manages to swallow the entire contents of the vial. once you were certain the vial was emptied, you toss it to the side, watching your mother with baited breath.

despite your anxiety, you felt your hope continue to grow when there were noticeable changes seen within your mother. the color slowly came back to her skin, her lips no longer appearing ashen and dry. along with those changes, you noticed how her hair slowly became glossier, and as she opened her eyes, it was clear that they were livelier than ever.

"mother...!" letting out chocked sobs, you cling to your mother, basking in her soft coos of your name as she places a gentle kiss against the top of your hair.

and as you sought the comfort of your mother's arms, you remained blissfully unaware of glowing ruby eyes watching your every move.

{ ... }

your life had gotten brighter with your mother by your side, healthy and glowing with vitality. now that you had her back, the memory of the devil and your promise to him became a distant memory-

however, it would quickly become apparent that not even demons would go back on their words.

one late evening, as you were in the midst of making supper with your mother, the sounds of a stampede approaching fills your heart with dread. the commotion doesn't go unnoticed by your mother as her eyebrows remain furrowed in response.

"what is going on?"

you put a finger over your lips, blowing out all of the lit candles as you listened intently to the conversation from outside of your home.

"our king has requested that we find her and bring her to him."

"but of course, as if i would be foolish enough to go against the drake borne from shadows."

upon hearing such a strange title, your mouth goes dry as your mind goes back to that fateful night-

the night the demon had helped with saving your mother from appearing at death's door-

he had remembered after all.

the sounds of footsteps grow louder and heavier, giving you little time to react when the flimsy door of your home was kicked down. dozens of men dressed in suits of armor began crowd around you, and your mother's panicked cries made your head spin.

"it's her, his bride...!"

"get your hands off of my daughter!" your mother's shrill cries echo within your ear as she tried to claw at the men who had captured you.

"get this wench away from us!" the broad man holds you close to his armored chest while tossing your mother a large pouch filled with gold. "take this as a gift from our king... consider it a dowry of sorts."

"you bastard, give my daughter back to me! SHE'S WORTH MORE THAN JUST A MERE FEW PIECES OF GOLD!" your mother cries out to them, about to reach out to you once more when you stopped her.

"no, it's okay... i'll be okay..." you swallow back your tears and meet her gaze, "i-i was the one who made a deal with the devil. h-he saved your life... and i promised to repay him."

a pained expression crosses your mother's features, "w-what do you mean...?"

the knights remain silent, yet still kept you in a tight grip to prevent you from running away, "that night when you suffered from a fever... you were close to dying... and he had sensed that. i didn't wish to lose you, so he gave me this vial filled with a deep crimson liquid-"

"you have been blessed by the shadow dragon's blood, do not let my king's sacrifice go to waste."

you felt your heart break the moment your mother's face crumpled a bit when she realizes the truth, with her hands immediately covering her lips as she watches you being taken away from her.

as they began to carry you out of your hut, you didn't wish to worry her as you cried out, "i'll be back soon... just please... do not worry about me! i'll come home soon..."

the last sight you had of your mother was of her falling to her knees with tears streaming down her face.

{ ... }

tarus city was what they called this place-

and you felt as though you were living in a dream, surrounded by glittering gemstones and polished gold. your eyes seemed to water with each new sight that came to you.

even with all of this beauty, you felt a little numb and homesick-

but a promise was a promise.

your devil held up his end of the deal by saving your mother-

and it was your turn to repay him.

you were broken out of your thoughts and given little time to take in the new sights as you were lead even deeper into the city. while the knights dropped you off in a golden palace, you were surrounded by women who helped with preparing you for their king. your body was stripped of your tattered clothing before being dunked into a luxurious tub filled with water warmed by what appeared to be heated stones. the sweet scent of rose petals fills your senses, putting you in a daze as the other maids worked on washing your hair.

once your body was cleaned, the women placed a thin sheen of rose oil against your skin, making sure that you were glistening before wrapping a sensual dress made entirely of silk around you. the finishing touches were added when they painted your lips in a light pink hue before taking you out of the palace.

and you were given little choice but to follow.

settled in a line, you follow the maidens as they walked across tarus city, keeping their heads down with every intention of bringing you to their king. your eyes take in the townspeople and felt a sense of discomfort fill you at how they were looking at you-

like you were someone that was meant to be worshipped.

your reveries were cut short when the women stopped walking, not daring to enter the gaping cave as they parted, settling your form dead in center as they made a path for you. with your heart racing with fear and anticipation, you step forward into the cave with your head held high.

the deeper you walked into the cave, the more you realized that the man wasn't a demon at all, but a dragon after all. when you were younger, your mother would read fairytales to you pertaining to dragons and how they liked to hoard and collect treasure.

and surrounding you was just that- an infinite amount of treasure.

you had never seen such riches before in your life. from rainbow gemstones and rare diamonds of every size to varying gold coins, it was no wonder that your mother had received such a high 'dowry.'

your eyes continue to scan all across the cave only to stop when you saw a familiar sight settled before you.

the devil's drake's back was facing you, and you watch as his serpent-like tail sways back and forth almost lazily. he lay on what appeared to be a smooth marble tablet, his wings nowhere in sight as he was dressed in his dark armor (was it even armor after all? or were they just a part of his body?)

"your footsteps are noisy, and you breathe heavily." the drake manages to reach out to your trembling form with his tail, wrapping the armored appendage around you as he brings your form down against the marble tablet. you land on your back with a gasp, heart beating wildly out of your chest when the devastating man smirks down at you. you were left gazing up at him through your lashes, watching as he closes his eyes before breathing in your scent, "ah, but it seems as though the lingering scent of death no longer haunts you."

he brings up a heavily armored and clawed hand up to your face, gently caressing at your skin with the back of it. even as your heart began to race within the confines of your chest-

you felt no fear-

only a sense of duty for fulfilling your promise to him all while ignoring the strange ache and tingling sensation felt between your legs.

"there's no need to be frightened, treasure." he leans closer to you, placing his lips against your temple. "sylus... you may call me sylus, for only you can call me by my name."

you shiver in response to his voice, feeling it reverberate throughout your body as sylus keeps his head hidden within the curve of your neck. "mmm, they did a good job, making you appear so utterly delectable for me..."

you gasp when you felt the tip of his tail travel between your legs, with sylus purposely sliding the underside of his scorpion-like tail against your slick folds. the odd sensation makes you writhe beneath him against the marble slab, your gasps echoing throughout the cave as you felt a strange pressure build up from within your abdomen.

"hah...ah... this feels... weird b-but so good." your mind was going drunk and hazy from the pleasure as you looked down to see his tail lazily going up and down your pussy lips, collecting your honeyed arousal. sylus lets out a soft groan before removing his tail.

"you smell so fucking sweet..." you tremble when sylus meets your gaze momentarily before descending upon your form. the tip of his horns gently gracing at the silk fabric of your dress, making paper thin tears in them as it slowly fell away from your form. with you remaining utterly bare for the powerful drake, you tremble as he lets out a guttural groan of your name, settling himself between your legs while breathing in your pure feminine scent.

with your slick entrance so close to his lips, sylus wastes no time diving into you, pressing his lips against your entrance as the sheer amount of pleasure he gifts you reaches almost dizzying heights. your hands grasp at his soft strands of hair, yet when he introduces a finger inside of your heat, you opted to cling to his horns for support.

sylus knew of how soft and pliant your body was compared to him, and he was able to maintain a certain amount of gentleness when he allows his hands to trace at your pussy lips. your sweet taste was all that filled him, and when he gently pinches at your hardened, bundle of nerves, he knew he was on the right track when it came to making you fall apart for him.

your back arches against the marble slab, hands gripping at his horns when you called out his name before allowing the tightness felt in your abdomen begin to snap. something warm and hot rushes out of you, earning yet another guttural sound from sylus as his tongue laps up everything you had to offer.

in the midst of your pleasured haze, you watch as sylus stands back to his full height, his hand gripping at the leather the covers his lower body before ripping them away from him. while watching him, you felt your eyes go wide upon seeing such a magnificently terrifying sight.

you had never once been subjected to witnessing a man's arousal before, watching as his cock goes hard while ready to be mated-

let alone two hard cocks that appeared pulsating with an angry shade of red. clear fluids were seen escaping from the tip, but perhaps what was more interesting were the ridges seen decorating the underside of his cock. sylus catches your wide (and admittedly, scared) eyes and smiles down at you. gently framing at your face with his free hand, he uses his other hand to help with further stroking his two cocks. "erase such expressions of fear treasure, for these exist for the sole purpose of pleasuring you."

sylus purposely leans over your, stroking his cocks against your slick folds. with a shaky sigh of his name, you wrap your arms around his broad back, feeling the strange ache become even more intense the moment sylus continued to rub himself against you. "my bride... my precious bride... i'm going to mark you as mine for all of eternity."

with those final words (sounding very much like an oath), sylus thrusts both of his cocks into your slick heat, making you cry out to him as your body struggled to take him all in. not wishing to overwhelm you with the flurry of new sensations, he keeps only half of his cocks within you, sliding them in a rhythmic, back and forth motion inside of you, making you feel not just every inch of him-

but each individual ridge as well.

the pain of having your purity taken was there, but more so than that was the intense pleasure you felt upon feeling his cock taking over the entirety of your slick walls. with his eyebrows furrowed in intense concentration, sylus works on pumping his cocks in and out of your aching cunt, basking in the squelching sounds that seemed to echo across the cave each time he rammed his hips back into yours.

"ngh, s-sylus!" being a now former virgin, you had never experienced such intense pleasure before, with your release rushing out of you in what seemed like an intense wave. the red hot sensation courses through your veins as you spilled your love juices down each of sylus's shafts, earning a broken groan from him.

"f-fuck, i can't last even a second inside of you!" stilling his hips, your moans quickly morphed into broken sobs when he pumps your womb full of his thick cum, with your aching entrance unable to hold it in as his seed spills out of your core in soft spurts.

sylus ends up landing on top of you, his chest pressed achingly close to your breasts as his cocks continued to pump you full of his seed. the intensity of his own release makes him let out a string of curses as he kept his hands in a fisted position next to your head.

when the twitching finally stopped, you were able to catch your breath, feeling the droplets of sweat running down your brow. it takes a couple of minutes for the post, lovemaking clarity to kick in, with sylus letting out a dreamy sigh of your name. he was ready to pull out of you, yet you had stopped him with your legs now wrapped tightly around his waist.

"wait, don't leave me..." you admit to him with heat felt against your cheeks. sylus meets your gaze while giving you a cocky expression, "oh? is my treasure getting greedy now?"

sylus lets out a rich chuckle before tossing both of your legs over his broad shoulder, making you moan when you felt both of his cocks harden while remaining buried deep inside of you. he begins yet another rapid pace while telling you, "hah, fuck, i wanted to go slow and be romantic with you... i had thoughts of spoiling you as my mate by promising to protect you and your mother... but that'll have to wait. right now... i wish to witness your further descent into impurity as i make you dumb and needy on my cocks..."

needless to say, your now husband and mate had successfully accomplished such hedonistic goals.

end notes: man sylus being canonically a dragon makes me so h-rny for him,,,, i need him so bad someone send h e l p. this is unedited, but my goal is to make all you sylus girles just as needy as i am with this post 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

#sylus smut #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x y/n #lads x reader #lads smut #lnds x reader #l&ds smut #lnds smut #l&ds x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #writings 📖

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jyoongim · 11 months ago

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Hear me out. I can't be the only one that wants to fuck Al's demon form. Like not just the black eyed tentacle gig, I'm talking full form like the size and all 😭 I can take it I swear, Al (narrator: she could not)

Title: A Reminder To All…

Themes: its giving monster fuc but like oof, demon!form Alastor, tentacles, established relationship, rough sex, growling, blood, possessive behavior, antlers, animalistic behaviors.

It was a rather quiet afternoon at the Hazbin Hotel.

You were up in the radio tower straightening a few things while Alastor was out doing gods know what

You decided that since you had cleaned up most of the place that you would take a stroll through town as some down time.

You hummed a tune as you passed many sinners out and about. Your stroll led pass the digital shop. You slowed as you noticed a crowd gathered outside a Voxtech store.

There were multiple tvs playing things in the windows and what caught your attention was the deals they had going on.

You bit your lip. Oh it couldnt hurt to window shop right?

You entered and was immediately overwhelmed by all the fancy tech.

why did hell need modern tech you had no idea.

A shiny pink camera caught your attention.

And it was cheap.

You did need a new camera. It would help with advertisement and to show the progress of the hotel you thought as you happily paid for it and went about your way.

what you didn’t know was that Vox had been tracking you the moment you left the hotel.

that camera of yours was now his gateway into seeing what Alastor was up to.

Once back at the hotel you pulled out your shiny new purchase.

you turned it on and walked around filming a bit.

You checking the footage to check out the quality when you heard a record scratch

”what is that my dear?”

You jumped at the sound of Alastor’s voice and spun around holding the camera

His eyes narrowed on it and quirked his brow at you, airing for an explanation.

”Well Al I-I just thought that the hotel could use a camera to help with promoting. We can record our progress. Now you don’t have to do all the work.” You said with a nervous smile, hoping he wouldn’t toss it.

He walked closer to you, mainly keeping his eyes on the tech.

”and where did you get such a frivolous thing?”

you gulped “At the v-voxtech store”

His ever-present smile tightened before he shrugged “fine if you think it’ll help”

you breathed a sigh of relief and happily went about your way testing it out.

Unaware of the growing shadows emitting from him.

after spending a few hours getting the hang of your new device, you decided to call it a night and put your camera on your nightstand as you got ready for bed.

You shivered slightly under your cover, grumbling you furrowed further to seek some warmth.

why the hell was it so cold?

you shifted again in bed to feel a heavy weight on top of you.

your eyes flew open and you were met with a very frightening sight.

Alastor.

In his demon form.

Your breath got caught in your throat “A-Al?”

He tilted his head, smile wide and sharp “Sleeping well my dear?” His voice was staticky and distorted.

you were so confused.

you hardly EVER saw Alastor upset, especially to the point were he was in his demon form.

“Why is that in your room dear?” He hissed out, jutting his chin to your camera.

You tilted your head confused at his question.

he was angry about a damn camera?

A clawed hand was at your throat.

”I allow many things dear, but this unattractive piece of scrap in your room? That is where I draw the line”

You let out a squeak as your clothes suddenly disappeared and covers ripped away.

”A-Al?!”

Your hands were quickly restrained by his shadows and your legs were spreaded to welcome him closer.

when the hell did he undress?

You felt the faint ghost touch of a tentacle slide against your cunt, teasing your clit. You let out a soft moan.

”Already soaking dearest?” He hummed amused.

You felt the weight of his dick slap against your cunt.

your eyes widened he wasn’t going to…

”Alastor w-wait! I c-can’t!”

A long tongue sweated the side of your face

”But you will darling” and with that he slammed into you.

Your body seized at the sudden intrusion. You let out a cry that was silenced by a tentacle wrapping around your mouth.

Alastor rutted into you, growling and snarling.

Your eyes faintly drifted to the camera by your bed.

A blinking red dot turned on and off.

Alastor gave you a rather harsh thrust.

”eyes on me dear”

you whined loudly, trying to shift your body to accommodate to his harsh thrusting. Your eyes drifted to the top of his head.

Antlers.

you felt your fingers itch with the need to find purchase on them.

you gave a tug at the shadows and huffed, making little grabbing motions hoping he would get the hint.

he granted you grace and your hands immediately flew to his antlers.

He let outa low growl and sunk his teeth into your shoulder.

With his dick hitting that delious spot inside you, you could feel him bottoming out.

You were flipped onto your stomach, facing the camera.

the shadow around your mouth disappeared and a claw hand found your tongue.

”put on a show Mon cher” You felt him flush against you.

Moans and whines filled the room as he pounded your cunt.

A high pitch whine left your throat as you felt your cunt clench around him.

you were gonna cum soon.

”A-Al-la-stor Ah!” Your eyes crossed as your body tensed and twitched from your orgasm. He let out a deep growl and quickened his pace.

Did he get bigger?

you were suddenly face to face with him.

Your noses brushing against each other as he sought after his own release.

Your arms wrapped around his elongated neck and a hand found one of his ears.

you tugged.

Static ran through your body as he slapped his lips on yours and slammed his hips into you, purring as he filled you with his cum.

you whimpered as your legs were finally released and dropped.

Alastor was breathing heavy as he reached over to the camera

”hope you enjoyed the show old pal” he laughed before destroying the camera.

you were drifting to sleep as you watched him transform back to normal.

”sleep well my dear” was the last thing you heard as he tucked you into his side, humming a soft tune with a wide smile.

He gave a reminder.

Dont fuck with the Radio Demon.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor smut #jyoongim

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surftrips · 1 year ago

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ABOUT YOU | LUKE CASTELLAN

pairing: luke castellan x aphrodite!reader

request: luke x reader fluff w like an aphrodite!reader? reader is all sunshine and flowers and makes luke all soft/campers teasing luke abt the way reader changed him 🤭

word count: 1.6k

a/n: this is probably my favorite luke fic that i've written so far thank u so much anon for sending this request in! writing aphrodite!reader is so much fun, i'm such a sucker for the opposites trope. hope you all enjoy 🤍

You were the human embodiment of sunshine, a real life angel. Gentle, kind, and lovely— in other words, the complete and total opposite of Luke Castellan. He was dark and broody, strong and rough, and not totally unfriendly, but definitely intimidating.

But even if you weren’t the daughter of Aphrodite, Luke believed that you would still be just as beautiful. There was something in the way you carried yourself that had made his heart surrender the second he laid eyes on you. You became the one and only exception in his long list of grievances.

So it came as no surprise to anyone at camp when the two of you started dating, just to the dismay of many of your admirers and a few of Luke’s as well. If there was one thing you had in common, it was your beauty. With his puppy dog eyes and curly brown hair, Luke was a sight for sore eyes, almost as much as you were.

One day, you were walking hand in hand when one of the younger campers accidentally bumped into Luke. On any other occasion, Luke might have started an altercation, but today, he simply smiled and said, “Just be careful next time.” The camper stared at him, wide-eyed and shocked into place as you softly giggled.

“What?” he smiled, looking over at you as the kid took it as an opportunity to run away.

“Nothing,” you mused. “Just that I think you’re getting soft, Luke Castellan.” You poked a finger at his chest playfully.

“What?” he shook his head. “No, I’m not.”

Though he attempts to keep a serious face, you could see the amusement in his eyes. He often looked at you like this, ready to go along with anything you said— no matter how silly or whimsical your remarks.

“Okay, lover boy. Whatever you say,” you shrugged, offering him a kiss on his cheek that instantly causes color to rush into his face. Ignoring that he’s just proven your point, he attempts to hide his expression by seeking solace in the crook of your neck. He would never admit it to anyone, but he often thought his favorite place at camp was the spot in between your jaw and collarbone.

Even though most of the campers were still a little frightened by the idea of approaching Luke, his closest friends were not afraid to speak their minds.

“Dude, you’re like, totally whipped for her,” Percy remarked over lunch once.

“And you’re like, totally fourteen years old,” Luke said.

“I think the fourteen year old’s right,” Chris jumped in.

“Dude! I thought you were supposed to have my back,” Luke throws up his arms in mock aggravation.

The two boys snickered, causing Luke to speak up again. “I am not whipped for Y/N.”

“Oh, sure,” Chris began. “So the reason you’re practically skipping around camp and letting whatever team Aphrodite cabin is in win Capture the Flag is because…?”

“Oh, and don’t forget the constant checking his phone to see if she texted back and sharing his blanket with her at the campfire!” Percy pointed out. “Meanwhile, I’m over here freezing…”

“Maybe,” Luke scrambled to come up with an answer. “Maybe, I was just in a really good mood those days. It could have absolutely nothing to do with Y/N.”

He barely believed the words himself, and Chris and Percy were certainly not convinced. Luke wasn’t even sure why he felt the need to defend himself.

“Dude, it’s okay if you are, she’s literally your girlfriend,” Chris said.

“Hey! I have an idea, let’s ask Annabeth!” Percy declared.

“Annabeth? Why her?” Luke furrowed his brow.

“Because, she’s a girl. And she’s known you the longest, she can give us a real answer,” Percy said matter-of-factly.

Luke thought it over. The young boy was technically right, Annabeth was like a little sister to him. If anyone could tell if he had changed since dating you, it would be her. This came as both a good and bad realization to him, because what if he had changed? Gods, was it that obvious?

Before he could agree to asking Annabeth, the young girl was already at their table. Percy must have called her over while Luke was thinking.

“What’s up?” she asked, sitting down across from him with her plate of food.

“Oh, nothing, just talking about how soft Luke has gotten since he started dating Y/N,” Chris explained with a grin on his face.

“Oh?” Annabeth said, seemingly amused.

“Yeah, we actually wanted to get your opinion,” Percy continued. “Would you say you agree or disagree, that you know, Luke is nicer now that he’s with Y/N?”

Annabeth seemed to think it over for a second. “Gods, you guys are such children,” she scoffed.

“Thank you!” Luke cut in.

“I mean, all of you,” she looked at Luke pointedly. “Why do you care what a bunch of kids think about you anyway? And not that it matters, but you, Castellan, are most definitely whipped for Y/N.”

That shut Luke up immediately, and caused cheers to erupt from Chris and Percy, who were clapping each other on their backs as if they had just won Capture the Flag.

Annabeth smiled and shrugged her shoulders, as if to say “Sorry, Luke. It’s true.”

Later that night, Luke snuck over to the Aphrodite Cabin to find you. You were surprised when Luke woke you up, it had been a while since he came seeking your comfort in the middle of the night. He used to have bad nightmares, but you noticed he had gotten better since you started dating. You’d like to think it was because of you, but perhaps that would be thinking too highly of yourself.

In an effort to clear his mind, you suggested to go on a walk together. He agreed, and you climbed out of bed as quietly as you could.

You allowed him a few minutes of silence until his heavy breathing had slowed down and his grip on your hand had loosened.

“What’s on your mind, hon?” you asked softly.

Luke didn’t respond at first, distracting himself by tracing the lines on the palm of your hand. You were happy to give him as much time as he needed, placing your other hand on his back and gently drawing circles.

After a while, he did speak up. “Uhm, do you think that I’m, like, unapproachable?”

Your heart sank and you stopped in your tracks. “What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know, it’s just something that’s been on my mind recently.”

“Luke, is this about what I said to you the other day? Because I didn’t mean it like that—”

“No, baby,” he rushed. The last thing he wanted was for you to think you had done something wrong. He wasn’t sure that you could ever do wrong, not in his eyes. “I was just talking to Percy and Chris at lunch today and they were kind of teasing me.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at the thought of your boyfriend, Mr. Tough Guy, being teased by a few kids younger than him. “I’m sorry, babe. Continue,” you placed a supportive hand on his chest as you regained your composure.

“They said that I’ve changed since we started dating.”

Though you were an expert in human emotion, there were still times you couldn’t read the expression on Luke’s face. You couldn’t tell if he thought of this as a bad thing, or if he was just curious to see what you thought. You decided on the latter. “Changed how so?”

“They think I’m soft now because I’m always in a good mood and stuff…” he trailed off. Even now, in the dark of the night, you could tell he was blushing.

“Well,” you started, trying to find the right words. “You know, I was just teasing you the other day, babe. I think you’ve always been this way.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I think you’ve always been a giant teddy bear,” you grinned, unable to contain yourself. “Luke, you’re not as bad as everyone thinks you are.”

By now, both of you had stopped walking. Ever since Luke arrived at camp, he had been characterized as the tough, stony, and slightly antagonistic guy. All because of a scar he carried and the stories of what he had gone through with Annabeth and Thalia. Many people were still intimidated by him, despite his position as the counselor in Hermes and his job to welcome newcomers. It had been so long, he wasn’t sure if this was the way he was, or the way that he was made to be.

As if reading his thoughts, you said, “You don’t have to be what they tell you to be. Do you know the words I use to describe you when someone asks me about you?”

Unable to speak, Luke simply shook his head.

“Gentle, kind, and lovely.”

Luke wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but certainly nothing close to the words you had chosen. “You do not,” he objected.

“I'm serious, baby,” you placed your hands on his cheeks and pulled him in until your foreheads were touching. “I think you’re the most wonderful and caring guy I’ve ever met. I think you always have been, you just don’t always show it.”

He stared at you intently before pulling a loose strand of hair out of your face. You kissed the top of his head, “I must be one lucky girl.”

“Hey, if there’s one thing I’m sure about, it’s that I’m the lucky one,” he said, before pulling you in for a kiss.

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson series #percy jackson #pjo #charlie bushnell #charlie bushnell x reader #luke castellan imagine #percy jackson x reader #pjo x you #luke castellan x you

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ozzgin · 1 year ago

Note

I love your reader insert stuff!! The yandere yazuka series was vvvv entertaining, I wish I had a big scary gangster to scare away my stalker lol

If you are open to requests, how about Idol!Reader x Yandere!Bodyguard. I love the trope so much, and I'm interested and what you'd do with the idea. No worries if you're not interested tho!

Best wishes

-🌟

I just finished writing it and you've got me punching the air with your prompt. It wasn't really my thing but I'm now sold. Thank you for the trope idea. :’)

Yandere!Bodyguard x Idol!Reader (I)

Short scenario featuring your bodyguard that takes his duty a little too seriously. Not that you’d mind…

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

TW: violence

(Cover from the manga “A girl and her guard dog”)

"Fantastic show tonight!"

The older man guides you in and closes the door behind him. You smile warmly and seat yourself on the sofa. He quickly follows, although at a terribly uncomfortable proximity. His legs are pressed against yours and he extends an arm behind you, pretending to stretch. You shuffle awkwardly and lock your hands in your lap. You can already tell where this is going.

"With your talent, I'm confident we could triple the number of attendants. We just need a bigger venue." He nods at you and taps your thigh with his other free hand as encouragement. You notice the wedding band digging into his skin.

"Alas, let us not waste the evening with business talk. I'm sure a stunning lady like you has better things to do." He laughs at his own compliment and ponders for a minute. "In fact, why don't we have dinner together? I know a great restaurant in the area."

You open your mouth to speak, but are distracted by the sudden, mild pressure on your leg. Somehow, his greasy fingers have wandered further up in the time you listened to his shameless offer. You've been in this career for long enough to guess what such proposals entail. If you say no, best case scenario he presses further, calling you a stuck up bitch and reminding you who has the power in this partnership. Worst case scenario, he leaves the room and the calls and invitations to perform will gradually drop.

Yet your situation is special, benefitting from an additional possibility. A loophole, if you may.

Should you scream? Oh, he always gets so angry when you act scared. It's an immediate trigger. He really has a soft spot for your glistening, frightened eyes. You glance up one final time at the perverted smirk silently disregarding you. If you are to be honest with yourself, you'd very much enjoy seeing it wiped off forever. Why not? You're feeling particularly mean today.

So without hesitation, you release a high pitched yell of help. The door bursts open and the hinges creak. A tall, toned man walks in, and without a word he lunges at the manager, pulling him by the collar of his cheap dress jacket. You hold your cheeks dramatically, and bat your eyelashes at your bodyguard.

"H-he tried to molest me..." you mumble between sobs.

That's all he needs to proceed. Now the real fun begins. You can hear the muffled screams of protest. The bones crack and the flesh bends under his iron fists. Standing before your bodyguard, they all end up looking like ragdolls. Comically limp and weak, folding and breaking with no resistance. It amuses you greatly.

When did it all begin? You can't remember anymore. You were in your early years and this scary looking stranger entered your little backstage room. His explanation was brief and to the point: as your fame increases, so will the threats to your safety. He was appointed as your bodyguard. You couldn't care less, so you just shrugged.

You've always been on the playful side. Not necessarily rude, just some innocent tease and banter wherever it's well received. Seeing him so quiet and stoic, you couldn't help but try to push his buttons: changing in front of him and requiring his assistance, occasionally asking him to pick you up and carry you because you could no longer walk. Naturally you would've stopped at the first complaint, but that's the strange part: no reaction ever came. He went along with everything. You assumed it's part of the job. Celebrities aren't known for their good manners, so hiring someone that loses their temper easily would be a fast ticket to termination.

Then you had your first encounter with one of the unpleasant fans you've been warned about. You could only stare in terror at your bodyguard's feral, unhinged reaction. The unfortunate fan's face was so disfigured, you wondered if anyone could ever manage to fix it back into shape. The bodyguard was panting and you could see the sweat coating his face and chest. You were rather confident there were many other ways to deal with it and this wasn't on the recommended list. Thus you felt compelled to ask the million dollar question:

"You act like a jealous spouse. Do you have a crush on me or something?"

You kind of regretted your audacity towards a man that had just nearly killed someone. But his features softened instantly and he turned to you, wiping his forehead and straightening his collar.

"I suppose so. Is that an issue?"

As you stared ahead, processing his unbothered act, you sensed your cheeks feverishly burning. Uh oh. You hadn't anticipated such a nonchalant confession. You thought back to all the times you stood before him, bare and flirty. Was he merely holding back his urges the entire time? Or was he finally paying you back for all the teasing? Then again, his face didn't betray any hint of humor.

"I've never heard you joke before", you decided to test the waters.

"I'm not. Why would I joke about something like this?" He gazed at you incredulously.

As somber and honest as ever. Well, that would indeed explain why he'd let you get away with the cheeky behavior. The more you considered it, the more entranced you became with the idea of indulging in such a relationship. As a famous idol, you couldn't be seen dating anyone. One rumor of you having a boyfriend and the agency would've had your ass suspended. But no one said anything about messing around with your bodyguard. He has to be with you all the time, so no one would suspect a thing. And you could definitely expand his list of responsibilities. You'd been terribly stressed lately, after all, and an outlet to release your frustrations would be most welcomed. Your bodyguard would never refuse pleasing his beloved.

You chuckled and pulled him towards your dressing room, giddy with excitement. Something about his imposing presence, like a wild animal that had just escaped from the leash, aroused you to no end. You've had your share of crazy fans, but this was the cherry on top.

"Should we leave?"

You're jolted out of your daydreams by his low, rough voice. Ah, you missed the grand finale. Too bad. The bodyguard approaches you, with the shirt wrinkled and the top buttons popped open under the shuffle of his vicious attack. You can feel the knot forming in your stomach.

"Not yet. You know how I get when you act like this..." You pout and look away. "You need to take care of me first."

He grins at your last statement.

"Of course. Is the sofa okay?"

You nod.

"Then let's get you undressed, miss."

Is this what they call a scary dog privilege?

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #female reader #yandere bodyguard #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #male yandere x reader #yandere original character

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awritesthings1 · 1 year ago

Text

Gone with the Leaves

Pairing: Tommy Shelby / Wife Reader

Summary: Despite your happy marriage to Tommy, you feel an undeniable jealousy towards Lizzie. Perhaps a day in the forest will do you some good.

ao3 link

A/N: I'm starting a tag list, comment if you want to be added :)

“You write like you’re running out of time,” mused Lizzie Stark, former prostitute, now Tommy’s secretary. “They have typewriters for those types of things, y’know?”

You saw the volley of cannonballs that launched and subsequently landed on Tommy’s desk as the words left her mouth. It wasn’t that you expected more of poor old plain Lizzie, but you thought that the time she had spent lying on her back staring past the shoulder of a customer at the ceiling would have taught her to read a room. Nevertheless, she stood there, quite amused with herself, smiling stupidly at your husband.

Tommy, who had been sitting at his desk all afternoon attending to letters, the ledger, and god knows what else, peered up from the paper. “What did you say?”

This time, it was your turn to be amused. He pointed accusingly at Lizzie, who by then had realised her impetuous mistake. Her wide eyes fluttered to you desperately, like a bee that had indulged itself in so much pollen that it became stuck in its own honey. No, that was putting it lightly. She looked to you like a frightened child who knew exactly what kind of trouble they were in.

You made sure you looked the other way.

“It was only a silly joke,” came her spluttering apology.

Tommy squinted, and his mouth curled into a frown. Smoke chased the deep exhale from the cigarette hanging between his lips. Your husband carried this terrifying look to him that many feared. Without the peaky cap to cover his striking blue eyes, you saw his glare cut away the cords in Lizzie’s throat with just one look. How could poor Lizzie defend herself from eyes that had witnessed nightmarish things?

“I’m not clear. Is it funny that I sign my letters by hand, or are you above using ink now that you have graduated from the bed to the desk?”

Lizzie’s mouth wormed into a thin line, yet she still looked to you for help. Of what help she thought you would possibly spare, you weren’t sure. For once, Lizzie used initiative and showed herself out.

Your heels clacked across the wooden threshold of your husband’s office. Now that no one was there to disturb you both, you sat down on Tommy’s lap. By then, he was leaning back on his chair, work abandoned for the time being until he could wash the sour sight of Lizzie Stark from his eyes.

“You know I don’t like her,” you said plainly.

There was no need for fake smiles or lies with Tommy. You knew him, and he knew you.

Tommy exhaled loudly, stubbing out the last of his cigarette on his ashtray and taking a swig of whiskey before his calloused hand found your waist.

He clears his throat. “It’s only business with her.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I like her any less.”

Tommy loved you, not Lizzie Stark, yet you couldn’t stomach the undeniable jealousy that arose with her presence. Perhaps it was a natural inclination women had toward their lovers. Lizzie had never done anything outwardly wrong to you. So, what was it then that turned your plain teeth into hissing fangs?

Everyone knew that Tommy was one of her paying customers before you met him, but so were all of Small Heath. You never felt insecure in your relationship with Tommy; there was no need to feel threatened by a prostitute. Yet that wouldn’t stop the catty feline that emerged from its slumber when Lizzie’s wandering eyes battered at your husband.

No. Lizzie Stark would never know what it felt like to be loved by a man like Tommy. What you held in your hands each night was a transcendental, unconditional type of love—one that surpassed the heart and soul, which drew two beings together in the most unconventional yet fitting way. The way that covers kept you warm at night, Tommy watched over your hearth and kept the fire burning, even if he were on the other side of the country.

You closed your eyes, leaning into the valley between Tommy’s neck and shoulder as you listened for the bah-dum-bah-dum of his heart. They sat together in silence, cherishing each other’s presence, while Tommy rested his cheek on your head. Outside, the world waited, barking at their front door and scratching at the delicately carved wood. Even the rain lashed at the windowpanes, playing together like one elemental orchestra.

The hand not resting on your waist rose to gently stroke up and down your arm. You shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold.

“I think you have some work to attend to in the bedroom,” you mumbled into his neck.

Your nose searched for the spot where he applied his aftershave.

“Eh?” Came his gruff response.

Your hand wandered down his suit in answer.

The sheets were bundled around Tommy’s naked waist when you sauntered back over to the bed with his case of cigarettes in hand. Gratefully, he took the case from your hand, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to pull you into the warmth of his chest. Then he began the usual routine. He fished out a cigarette to offer, but you shook your head no, so he slid it once, then twice, across his bottom lip. On the bedside table, he grabbed the half-empty matchbox to light the cigarette.

Tommy was the resident chain smoker in your house. With an appetite for tobacco and whiskey, you often wondered just how he sustained himself throughout the day. Of course, there were the home-cooked meals at Arrow House waiting for his return, although that didn’t stop you from worrying any less. It was pathetic, really, sitting all alone in his study, twiddling your fingers, and sitting beneath his portrait like you were praying to him. Tommy was no god, no matter how much he tried to convince everyone else. Yet whenever headlights passed the window and lit up the office momentarily, you would stand up and peer out, hoping to spot your husband exiting the car.

He cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to the present. You loved watching the way the cigarette shifted between his lips when he spoke, even more when his hooded eyes looked over at you. Tommy was a man of few words, simply because he didn’t need language to communicate. His body spoke for him in tongues for all his enemies to understand. And more importantly, in a way your body understood.

Your hand abandoned his tattoo to stroke a thumb across his full bottom lip. Lust swelled there, eager to chase the rest of the night away into a haze of pleasure until the sun rose. As tempting as it was, you sighed at the thought. You would rather spend this time taking in your husband, remembering the fine details across his face and body, from the scar in the hollow of his cheek to the rough texture beneath his shoulder blade where a bullet was once lodged. You wanted to trace the sockets of his eyes the way a blind person would, treasuring each valley, mountain, and cut of skin as if it were to disappear the second you stopped touching him.

“You’re beautiful,” you decided, bathed in candlelight, tangled up between the sheets and Tommy’s arms.

Tommy’s brows furrowed, and the cigarette hung dangerously loose from where his lips curled into a frown. He grunted, clearly dissatisfied with your words. Tommy wasn’t beautiful. He was hard, ambitious, and unmovable force.

Beautiful was a conventional word savored for the finest women. To you? It meant so much more. Crafted in a way that would cause people to stare, sure, but there was also a poetic sense to the word. The type of beauty you would use to describe a well-written novel or heart-wrenching poem. Thomas Shelby stood for something, and that was beautiful.

“Then what are you, eh?”

A lazy smile floated onto your face, so much so that you had to bite your lip to refrain from looking devastatingly pleased at his answer.

A woman, a dreamer, a friend, a reader, an achiever. “A wife.”

He huffed, raising his eyebrows playfully.

Why was it that most women felt like they could only fit the frame of one? With Tommy, you were never limited to the endless possibilities. You treasured being a wife the same way you treasured your other roles. Marriage wasn’t the end all be all. Perhaps that’s another lie men spun—that perfectly capable women stopped existing as soon as a diamond ring slid onto their finger. How sad, you thought, to waste away all that potential when men were still free to pursue stupid ideas like war and dog fights.

Tommy was unbothered by traditional ideas like that. Change powered his ambition; he had no time for parallel lines. You could be his wife, a writer, a singer, or a mother—whatever you wanted—and he wouldn’t think of you any less.

You hummed, chasing that cigarette from his lips and stubbing it out in the ash tray by his bedside table. Tommy didn’t seem too heartbroken about it. In fact, there was some mirth in his gaze. His hands traced up your naked spine, pulling your body further into his until you could smell the smoke in his breath.

“Yes,” he breathed in loudly through his nose, “my wife.”

The following day, you were invited to the Basnett's hunting party. You would’ve been more enthusiastic to write about your excitement to attend if the whole ordeal hadn’t been so troublesome. Because a few days prior, when you were visiting your husband’s office, you had caught sight of the letter on Lizzie’s desk, a letter that was supposed to reach you days earlier.

“What’s this?” You asked.

“Oh, nothing interesting,” Lizzie had said, too occupied with filing her nails while on the clock.

You kept your composure for the sake of keeping the peace. You didn’t wish to disturb Tommy if he were to walk by.

“This is a letter addressed to me,” you pressed.

“Oh.” She stopped for a moment, then leaned over to read the letter you had pulled from the messy pile. “No, it’s addressed to Tommy.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Shelby,” you hissed quietly, with emphasis on the missus.

“Hm, I didn’t notice.”

“You are paid to notice.” You fought the urge to comment that she was paid for other things not long ago. “How long has this been sitting here?”

Lizzie tapped her cigarette ash into the tray. “The post boy dropped that lot off yesterday.”

Even if it was only two days late to reach your hand, by society’s standards, that may have well been taken as you snubbing the invitation. Frustratingly, you had to cancel your plans that day and personally deliver your letter to the Basnett’s door, citing some excuse of it having been lost in the post.

“That woman is up to no good.” You said glumly that night into Tommy’s chest.

“I’ll speak to her,” he promised in that stoic tone of his.

Whether he had been true to his words, you weren’t sure because Lizzie made an effort to avoid you when possible.

“Oh! Mrs. Shelby! How wonderful for you to join us! Come in, come in. The men are readying their rifles for the hunt outside. How exciting!” Gushed Lady Basnett, shooing you into the atrium of her lavish mansion.

Your riding boots clacked across the floor before being muffled by an intricately woven rug. You stared up at the chandelier, childishly wondering if it would hit you if it were to fall at that moment.

“Right this way, Mrs. Shelby!” Lady Basnett ushered excitably.

You debated if all her energy was for show—to please her husband and be the good wife he expected of her. After she showed you through to the veranda and down to the circle of wives who had gathered under the trees while their husbands readied for the hunt, you decided that no, she must truly enjoy planning social occasions like this, as evidenced by the way she kissed Sarah’s cheek in greeting with a wide grin.

It pleased you to know that Lady Basnett found joy in something. Ever since her eldest died in the war, she has been known to be a bit of a recluse.

“Oh, what a beautiful ring! May we see it?” Doe-eyed Catherine asked.

She was one of the younger wives, like yourself. Catherine married an older man, twice her senior. Many of the wives here faulted her for it behind her back, but not you. You saw more of yourself in her than you did in any of the other women. Because, despite the age gap, the girl seemed to be utterly head-over-heels in love with a man society deemed old-fashioned for her. And how could you blame her when you swore an oath to a gangster of all people?

You obliged and let the wives twist and turn your hand to better inspect the diamonds on your ring finger.

“It’s perfect!”

“How many carats?”

“My Mary would be so jealous!”

After dutifully showing your wedding ring, you noticed the men beginning to mount their horses.

Catherine hooked her arm around yours. “Come on, we are going to be left behind!”

She jovially pulled you along the stone tiles at a speed that made you grateful for wearing riding boots. The backyard was grand in the sense that the acres they owned stretched vastly into the nearby forest. Although there were impressive features, like the hedge they had grown into a maze and the trees that were shaped into birds.

“Lady Basnett owned an aviary of budgies. Dear little things they were, she was devastated when they all escaped one night after the groundskeeper forgot to close the door,” Catherine commented, having noticed the way your head was turned.

You laughed, because you could precisely picture Lady Basnett as the type to fawn over little budgies.

Catherine led you to the horses, where some of the wives were already perched, waiting for the party to leave. None of them carried rifles, but rather wicker baskets strapped to the saddle for the picnic they planned to have at the top of the hill while they waited for their husbands to finish hunting.

Together, you set off, having mounted the back of Catherine’s mare. Deeper into the forest you went, the black mare trotting over loose dirt and rocks. Both of you remained at the end of the pack, preferring to keep to yourselves in light conversation.

Then it all happened so suddenly. One of the rifles went off up ahead, and a flock of birds rushed at you from the break in the foliage, startling your mare. You gasped in shock and reached for Catherine’s jacket to hold on, but only skimmed her. She went face first into the dirt while you were swept into the air like a leaf and fell with the grace of a rock. The ground thundered as the mare galloped into the distance.

“Fuck!” Catherine spat.

(On her fall she had taken a mouthful of soil and leaves.)

“They’ll come back,” you tried to reassure her.

Hours later, the two of you still had not been found.

“I was a prostitute before George found me, y’know.”

No, you didn’t know.

“That’s why I’m so young and he so old,” she smiled fondly, laughing as if it were the most normal thing.

You couldn’t find it in your heart to dislike her because of her circumstances. She was your friend, and a true one at that.

What was it that Tommy said? The past is the past.

The sun began to set when one of the men from the hunting party found you both huddled together under a tree. Kindly, he let the two of you ride the rest of the way back despite your hesitance to mount another horse.

When you returned to Lady Basnett’s, with Catherine in arm, the sun had been set for at least two hours. You hadn’t realized what trouble you had gotten yourself into until you noticed Tommy’s Bentley parked in the crowded driveway of the mansion. Men stood at the gate, armed and waiting. Catherine opened her mouth to remark how ridiculous it was, but you kept your lips sealed after recognizing the guards to be Peaky Blinders.

Tommy had to be beside himself.

A young boy who was playing between the cars popped his head out when the gates squealed open. His ears perked up, and he ran inside, clutching his peaky cap, to probably inform the adults inside of your arrival. People pooled out onto the front steps, the women covering their hearts and sighing with relief, and the men holding their hats to their chests. But when your husband, Tommy, came storming out, they parted like the red sea.

He stalked across the gravel like a predator, his eyes trained on you with an unblinking stare.

“Are you hurt?” He ignored Catherine, cupping your face and frantically looking between both your eyes as if you would disappear.

Upon further inspection, his eyes were bloodshot, and the white sleeves of his blouse were bundled into the golden garters. Your hands itched to muse his disheveled hair into place, but with all the curious onlookers, you thought better of it.

“No.”

George, Catherine’s husband, was quick to whisk her away inside. You heard Lady Basnett’s voice trailing after them: “Oh my, what a terrible thing. Come now, let me pour you some tea.”

Unfortunately, tea wouldn’t make up for any lost ground with Tommy.

“We’re going.”

You knew better to open your mouth to disagree. This was Tommy being afraid and carrying on. He retreated into himself. It didn’t look pretty or like he cared, but he cared; you knew he cared. It was only that no one else was allowed to know that the great Thomas Shelby felt any emotion.

At Arrow House, he swallowed two glasses of whiskey before saying a word. You were pulling at the hem of the overcoat that Tommy had shook off his shoulders to give you for the ride home. Your fingers just couldn’t stand the anxious silence that rang throughout the room.

“What the fuck happened?”

He stood in front of you, stoic as a soldier but cracking around the exterior thanks to his hand, which itched for the cigarette case inside his pocket. (A nervous tick of his.) You grab his hand between your own before he can fish out the case.

“The horse got spooked. It bucked Catherine and me off, but we’re fine.”

His thumb rubs across your knuckles as he looks past your shoulder out the window.

“Do you know where I was when I got the call? Eh? I was handling some business when Lizzie came in and told me some posh old woman was on the line, saying you were missing.”

He exhaled sharply, dropping his gaze to you, where you noticed his eyes soften.

“I thought…” He broke off.

His chin dropped, and he went to itch his nose with his other hand.

“What did you think happened? Is there something I should know about?” Concern leaked into your voice.

“No,” he huffed, clearing his throat. “It doesn’t matter. You’re home, and you’re safe.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from saying anything that might push him over the edge. He was fragile in a state like this in the sense that he pushed the stronger, more vivid feelings to the side because you were his wife, not a Peaky Blinder. No, you would never be, even though you married one.

Often, you would wish you could turn into the leaves that swept off the pavement and into the air. Imagine then how much easier life would be for you both—to forget the animosity of life and rise above it all, breathe in that crystal air, and then finally exclaim the truth because up there no one could hear them or cared enough to try anyway.

Cautiously, you let go of his hand and traced your fingertips up to knead away the tension in his jaw.

“Thomas… Do you remember what you asked of me? To help you with the whole fucking thing—”

“From now on—”

“Thomas—”

“From now on, let me know where you are going. I will organize a guard to watch over you.”

‘You write like you’re running out of time,’ Lizzie’s poorly placed joke from the start of the week reverberated in your skull.

Was he?

“I need you,” he breathed, the smell of whiskey fanning over your senses.

You nodded, pressing up on your toes to kiss him. A soft breath escaped him when you pulled away.

“You have me.”

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entitled-fangirl · 2 days ago

Text

Apologies.

Jason Todd x deaf!reader

Summary: Dick says something too far to the reader, prompting Jason to kick his ass.

A/n: cursing, blood, teasing about being deaf

Masterlist

...............................................

"I'm not kidding, baby. Move."

Y/n stood between Jason and Dick, her hands out in a pleading motion against Jason's chest.

It started out innocent. Dick and Y/n had always gotten along. The two truly clicked like siblings. But like everything else, the teasing became too much.

He kept his eyes on the tear stains on her red cheeks- his motivation to beat Dick's ass.

She was always so lighthearted about the ordeal: having hearing aids. They were obvious on her head but after a while, they blended in. And Jason still had moments when he forgot they were needed. Mostly when waking in the morning next to her, accidentally frightening her when his arm snaked around her half asleep body.

But this was the line.

Dick had said a joke that was just a step too far. Jason watched something snap inside her, a wall finally caving in. Her eyes dulled and she excused herself.

That was twenty minutes ago. And now…

"I swear, I didn't mean anything by it," Dick pleaded from the other side of her.

Jason's jaw set harshly. "That's not a good enough reason for me, Dickybird." He stepped a bit further against Y/n to menacingly glare at Dick.

"Hey, hey," he pleaded.

"No. No." Jason knew she had left her hearing aids in the bathroom down the hall, so he held a large hand over her eyes to keep her from reading his lips. In a different scenario, that would be more amusing than it was now. "I'll fucking gut you."

"Tim, please tell him," Dick begged. "Help me out here."

Tim leaned over the side of the couch and craned his neck to see them. He watched for a moment, taking in each person. "Nah."

Y/n's hands patted Jason's chest to bring his attention back to her. Her voice came out in a slow, breathy whisper. "S-Stop."

The brick wall that was Jason Todd paused. His hand rested on her cheek. His thumb brushed away the watery pathways the tears had left behind. He wanted to beat the shit out of Dick. He really did. But he'd do anything to cease the hurt look in her eyes. He reluctantly nodded.

Her eyes filled with relief. She leaned against his chest completely.

He sighed and grabbed her hand that rested on his chest. He brought it up to his lips, kissing the palm softly.

…

A few hours later, Dick stood in front of Y/n, who was just trying to watch TV in the living room. Her body instinctively leaned over to try to see more of the TV but she soon realized he meant to talk to her. She opened her phone and disconnected her hearing aids from the TV to give Dick her full attention.

Dick stood with a defeat in his shoulders, a guilty look in his eyes, and a small ring of red around the inside of his left nostril. And now that she was really looking at it, there was a pink path soaked into his skin under that nostril as well. Like a past nosebleed.

"I know an apology does nothing but I can still try." He awkwardly rubbed his bicep. "I took my words too far. You're different from teasing Jason or Tim or Steph or…" his voice trailed off. "I just mean that I overstepped. You're like a sister to me but I still need to respect the fact that you're not. What I said was hurtful. Please forgive me."

He sounded so sincere. Like a hurt puppy. It would be hard to not forgive him when he's like this.

"Course, Dick. I know you meant it as a joke. You'd never mean to hurt m-"

"-oh thank god," he collapses in front of her in pure relief. "Okay, I gotta thank you. I really do. I think he would've really killed me otherwise."

Brothers were so strange. "He wouldn't go that far."

"He'd go pretty far, Y/n. You make him nice."

She smiled. "No, I don't. He's just nice when he wants to be."

Dick's eyes almost fell out of his head his eyes became so wide. "Jason was NEVER nice. Not even before. You make him gentle."

…

"There you are," Jason mused as he entered his bedroom in the manor.

She was lying on his old bed, a book in her hands. She was entirely engrossed in it. Only then did Jason realize her hearing aids were off.

"Baby?" He cautiously stepped to her and pressed a hand on her shin.

She jumped, almost throwing the book. Upon seeing him, she relaxed with a mockingly annoyed expression.

Jason smiled and mouthed 'sorry' before grabbing her hearing aids off the nightstand. He tilted her head to the side. His fingers gently placed one on her before leaning in and kissing her cheek. "Dinner's in ten," he spoke softly against her skin.

She smiled and gave him a small peck to his lips.

He was so glad her mood had shifted. As his hand placed the other on her, he asked. "How long have you been in here?"

She hummed. "Hour or so."

"Thought you wanted to watch TV," he pointed out. "You were on the couch when I left ya and now here you are." He was fishing for something.

She sat up a little more. "I had an odd conversation with Dick."

His brows shot up amusingly high. "Oh?" He asked. "And what did he say that was so odd?"

"He apologized."

"Hm. Good for him. Glad he came to his senses."

Leaning into him, she continued to feed him everything he wanted to hear. "It was rather sweet."

He nuzzled his nose into her hair, muffling his voice. "Just glad you feel better about it."

She let out a breathy chuckle, grabbing his hand and running her fingers over his knuckles. "Does it hurt?"

His shoulders tensed slightly. "'S what hurt, baby?"

"Your raw knuckles. From punching Dick in the nose."

He smiled widely at getting caught. It was all amusing to him now that things had passed. "Don't know what you're talking about."

"Right," she huffed.

"Dinner's soon. C'mon," he tutted, pulling her up from the bed.

…

At dinner, things continued as if nothing had happened. The tension was gone from everywhere but Jason's shoulders.

Y/n had remarked something quick-witted against Dick, prompting him to huff out, "C'mon! Listen to yourself!"

The entire table went from all laughs to dead silent, watching as if their favorite soap opera had just come on.

Jason's gaze hardened, his head tilting.

"Woah," Dick realized. "That wasn't even- That was just something I always say! Jason? No, Jason!"

Jason reached around Y/n's head, pulling her hearing aids off and keeping them safely in his hand. He stood over the table and pointed a finger at Dick, yelling god-knows-what at him.

Y/n looked to Cass for an interpretation, but even she shook her head with wide eyes.

She'd be expecting another apology from Dick later.

.............................................

#jason todd fanfiction #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd fic #jason todd #red hood x you #red hood x reader #red hood #jason todd x deaf!reader #Red hood imagine #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #batfam shenanigans #batfam #batman fanfiction

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blueberrypancakesworld · 2 months ago

Text

I am yours and never ours

Caracalla x wife!reader

warning : Spoilers for Gladiator ii, hurt/comfort, kissing, implied mother issues, mention of violence, cuddling, no use of y/n

Summary : It was a mistake to kill the hero, to not give him the mercy he should have received. The riots a sign of overthrow and fall and entrenched in the palace the two brothers and Caracalla's wife, nerves are thin and after a forgetting of temper it seems only love can calm a frightened Caracalla to bring order to the situation.

info : omg the scene was so sad and tense, the bond between the two, i'm fully in my gladiator era. Have fun reading :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had only taken a fraction of a moment, the sun had been right over the Colosseum, giving everyone a chance to get their bearings. Shouts of cheers, boos and cries mingled with the loud voice of Rome.

The emperors sitting impatiently on their chairs, the younger one screaming for death at last, the older one seeming to grow more agitated with every breath, and in the centre the weeping princess as the arrows pierced her beloved.

Justus Acacius was dead, unjustly killed despite the surrender of both fighters, a death that had the emperors rejoicing, but a death that only a few hours later at nightfall had the people roaring.

What at first was still disbelief and shock had become a popular uprising, at the latest with the tumult, the flames raging in the streets and the numerous courageous citizens.

The two brothers also became aware of the uprising and the royal family withdrew in disbelief and indignation to avoid being drawn into it.

Even the Sun of Rome, Caracalla's wife, could not reassure the people who loved her; they seemed to hate her as much as her husband and brother-in-law.

Looking out from behind the solid walls of the palace, she saw the metre-high flames, saw the angry crowd and the few troops of the emperors who could hardly do anything.

Gods have mercy on us she thought and took another sip from her glass as she heard more screams of death and moved away from the window, going back to her family but seeing only the same tension in Geta.

Rarely had she seen him like this if he didn't burst under the pressure at any moment so she was sure he would storm out himself, ,,There may be many but they don't have the weapons and courage of our troops" she said calmly and tried to pour Geta another glass but he turned away.

His gaze had barely noticed her so absorbed he seemed to be thinking about how he could save them all, ,,Ungrateful" he hissed as he looked out and saw nothing but treachery.

The silence in the palace was interrupted only by the footsteps of Macrinus, who withdrew in her presence, she did not trust him and he did not trust her, but her concern lay more with her beloved Caracalla.

She glanced at her husband, who was sitting on a lectus and feeding Dundus his little monkey to calm himself down somehow. However, he looked just as miserable as his brother, they both looked tired, exhausted and completely overwhelmed by everything.

She gave him a smile, trying to keep him amused, ,,You'll all see blood," Caracalla said, returning the smile - it was to be expected that he wanted a whole bloodlust. A betrayal hurts deeply.

Even if it hurt inside her, helplessness and fear had a grip on her too…only Dundus the monkey seemed happy as he let out another little screech when he got a grape.

A mistake.

All of a sudden all she could see was Geta hurrying around, ,,Get that annoying monkey out of here!" shouting at his brother and slapping the wine in his brother's face.

Startled, she gasped, calling out Geta's name in warning, his eyes filled with anger and remorse, she knew it was the situation, knew the tension but nothing would help.

As she hurried over to Caracalla and gently placed her hand on his shoulder, he looked more like a weeping dog than an emperor, ,,Come my king, we should feed Dundus somewhere else" she said, helping him up slightly and telling him to go ahead into the throne room.

She walked past Geta who just looked down shaking his head and cursing himself, he had taken it too far. ,,I'll be right back why don't you get us some wine Macrinus" she said and didn't bother because his fake smile told her all she needed to know as he disappeared and she sighed and hurried on her way.

Her footsteps echoed in the empty corridors and the throne room, Dundus shrieked and she heard the sniffle, ,,Love? My King Caracalla, where are you?" she asked quietly, swallowing down the lump rising in her throat as she thought back to the episodes he had already had.

She and Geta loved him but this madness would be the downfall of them all. She continued to walk around the room, first looking behind the throne where he sometimes hid, but he wasn't sitting there.

,,Caracalla? It's your sun, do you understand?" she asked and finally saw the blond head of hair peeking out from behind one of the curtains behind which he had curled up.

She heard his crying, the sniffling as he peeked out from behind it and she got down on her knees, ,,It's-It's all right, come here to me, you know who I am, don't you?" she continued to ask calmly, hiding the slight trembling in her hands under the fabric of her clothes as she saw the man she loved so fragile.

Slowly he emerged from his ‘hiding place’ and nodded cautiously as he crawled towards her, ,,You…you're my wife," he sniffled his words barely intelligible as Dundus continued to tote on his shoulders and the chain rattled.

Nodding hastily, she smiled slightly relieved that he at least recognised her, sitting in front of her probably not quite knowing what he wanted or needed, ,,You are mine" he seemed to understand instead as he placed his hand on hers and she didn't pull it away.

Yours, mine, ours words she had heard so often, she was his wife but our joy.

It's like a coin with two sides only one can come up and the other stays in the shadow, only the balance on the edge can go but with enormous precision or trust and love…something that was all the more difficult at such a time between the two brothers.

She nodded again and pulled him close, lying in her lap like a boy with his mother, his, ,,I'm yours," she assured him, carefully using the sleeve of her dress to wipe his face.

Mostly delusional, she quickly realised that he was like a small child who simply needed her mother, a woman who had died at an early age and she filled that role.

An initial squirming soon turned into an amused laugh as she wiped the wine from his face and at least he wasn't crying, ,,Tickled" he muttered and she couldn't help but smile bitterly, the delusion was a horror and a blessing in one.

Another coin.

Dundus played with the blond curls as Caracalla's fingers, which had been playing with each other before, slid to hers, ,,He's been hurting me since we were sin the womb, you're not his or ours…you're mine…like Rome should be mine," he suddenly said, gripping her tighter.

Blue eyes showed the fire of madness and she stroked his cheek, she knew the story of the womb, but she knew just as well that madness could be transmitted by whores, was it a lie or the truth?

Trying to stifle a shaky breath, she placed a kiss on his lips, tasting the wine, tasting sage and tasting blood, ,,You two are like the creators of Rome, two sides my love. But think what Geta has done for you, for me, for all of Rome…you are the king, Geta is the god and I am the sun," she reminded him of the story she had made up during one of his episodes.

Caracalla a king of honour who could have all the blood in the world, his brother the political god and she the sun who held them all together.

A story that made him pause, his memories shrouded in mist, he needed time while she continued to hold him gently and stroke his cheek, his grip on her hand tightening and softening, ,,Yes? Yes, I think so…I think so...despite the pain, I-I still have you" he slowly realised and sanity returned to his being.

As he cuddled up to her and laid his head in the crook of her neck and held her like that for a moment, tears in her eyes as she blinked them away and thanked the gods again that nothing bad had happened.

Caracalla's hand was also on her cheek and she saw the gold tooth as she smiled, ,,Thank you my sun" she heard him say before he pulled her into a kiss, finally back to her senses as he slowly pulled away from her and helped her stand up.

Despite the riots, despite Geta and despite the madness, the Emperor was still here, gently grasping her hand and once more locking her in a kiss, even if Rome fell they would not give up trying to help him out of this doom.

From the moment she had taken him as her husband, she knew that she would always be there for him and that Caracalla would never stop loving her. Because even in madness there was nothing stronger than love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@potatoesenpaii , @rainbowbox , @thankyouperconte , @myromanempire81 , @k-yurieee

#gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #emperor caracalla #emperor caracalla x reader #fred hechinger #male x female #spoilers for gladiator ii #emperor geta #reader is female

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oldsoul007 · 2 months ago

Text

hope you like scary movies, cus you’re in one

a/n: I may or may not saw an edit…

ghostface!nicholas x reader

It was a quiet night in woodsboro , like it always is. I was a nanny for a little boy so I could get through college. My phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, and I glanced at the screen. Unknown Caller. I pressed declined but it repeatedly kept calling. Then the landline they had started ringing. I hesitated for a moment before answering.

"Hello?" I said, my voice cautious.

"Hello, y/n," a distorted voice replied. It sent a chill down my spine. "Do you like scary movies?"

I recognized the voice immediately. It was Ghostface, the infamous killer that terrorize my dad in 1996. But something felt off. There was a familiarity in the tone, beneath the distortion.

"Who is this? You’re not funny” Y/n asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Guess," the voice taunted. "Or maybe I'll just have to come find you."

My heart raced, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I knew this person. She thought about Nicholas and how he always played pranks on her. Could it be him?

"Alright, Nicholas," I said, calling his bluff. "Cut it out. I know it's you."

There was a brief silence on the other end before the voice changed, becoming softer and unmistakably Nicholas.

"You got me," he admitted, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I couldn't resist. I've been watching too many horror movies lately."

I let out a relieved laugh. "You really had me going there for a second. But seriously, you need to stop watching those movies."

Nicholas chuckled. "I know, I know. But hey, it got you to pick up the phone, didn't it?"

I shook my head, smiling. "Yeah, it did. But next time, maybe just send a text?"

"Deal," Nicholas agreed, his tone warm. As I hung up, I couldn't help but feel a mix of exasperation and affection for Nicholas. Even when he was being mischievous, he had a way of making me smile.

I had been feeling uneasy for days. I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching me. It started with strange noises outside my window at night and escalated to finding eerie notes left in places only I would notice. The notes were signed by "Ghostface," and they sent chills down my spine.

One evening, as I was walking home from work, I heard footsteps behind me. I quickened my pace, but the footsteps matched mine, growing closer with each step. I turned a corner and ducked into an alley, hoping to lose my pursuer. But as I looked back, I saw the unmistakable mask of Ghostface looming in the shadows.

My heart raced as I tried to find a way out. Suddenly, Ghostface lunged at me, pinning her against the wall. "Why are you doing this?" I cried, her voice trembling with fear.

The masked figure was silent for a moment before reaching up to remove the mask. To my shock, it was Nicholas, my boyfriend, standing there with a sheepish grin on his face.

"Nicholas? What the hell?" My fear quickly turned to anger. "You scared me half to death!"

Nicholas looked genuinely apologetic. "I didn't mean to frighten you that much. I thought it would be a fun Halloween prank. I guess I went too far."

My anger softened slightly as I saw the remorse in his eyes. "You think?" I said, still shaken. "You could have just told me you wanted to scare me a little, not make me think I was being stalked by a killer."

Nicholas sighed. "I'm really sorry, y/n. I just wanted to do something different, but I realize now it was a terrible idea. Can you forgive me?"

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. "Just promise me you'll never do something like this again."

"I promise," Nicholas said, pulling me into a hug. "I'll make it up to you, I swear."

As we walked home together, I couldn't help but feel relieved that the nightmare was over. But I also realized that Nicholas had a lot to learn about what constituted a "fun" prank.

“I don’t understand why you’re so obsessed with ghostface” “babe it’s Halloween losen up!” He said as we walked hand in hand.

I had always felt a chill in the air around Halloween, but this year, it was different. I had my boyfriend, nicholas. He was charming, funny, and had a smile that could light up the darkest night. Everyone loved him. But there was something about him that I couldn't quite put my finger on.

One evening, me and nick decided to attend the town's annual Halloween party. The old mansion where the party was held was decked out in spooky decorations, with cobwebs, eerie lighting, and ghostly figures lurking in the corners. Everyone was in costume, and I had chosen to go as a ____.

As I mingled with friends, I couldn't help but notice that Nicholas was nowhere to be seen. I asked around, but no one seemed to know where he was. Just as I was about to give up, I was walking by the stairs when I heard someone yelling.

I try not to be nosey but go up the stairs anyone. Maybe nick was up here anyway. I walked through the house looking in the rooms finding nothing. When I open the door i see some kid in a ghost face costume hop out the window. “What the fuck” I say under my breath. I pull out my phone to text him. No service?

I heard commotion downstairs so I ran down to see what’s happening. Everyone was gone from the house. I heard a floorboard squeak behind me.

It was Ghostface, and my heart raced. The figure moved silently through the room, its eyes fixed on me. I felt a shiver run down my spine as Ghostface approached, stopping just inches away from me.

"Y/n," a familiar voice whispered from behind the mask. My eyes widened in shock as Ghostface removed the mask to reveal Nicholas's face. He smiled, but it wasn't the warm, friendly smile I was used to. It was cold and sinister.

"I've been watching you," Nicholas said, his voice low and menacing. "You have no idea who I really am."

I took a step back, my mind racing. The pieces started to fall into place—the strange disappearances, the eerie feeling I got around him, the way he always seemed to know too much. I realized with a sinking feeling that my new boyfriend was none other than the real Ghostface.

Before I could react, Nicholas lunged at me, but I was quick. I grabbed a nearby candlestick and swung it at him, knocking him off balance. I ran through the mansion, my heart pounding in my chest, desperately searching for a way out.

As I reached the front door, I could hear Nicholas's footsteps behind me. I flung the door open and ran into the night, vowing never to trust anyone so easily again. But before I could even get out of the door he grabbed my arm pulling me back in. I try fighting him off but he grabs both of my wrist. “I’m not gonna hurt you y/n!” “Why, why did you do this?!” I yell looking him in the eyes. “What even is a motive?”

#nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas chavez #nicholas chavez imagine #nicholas chavez x reader #nicholaschavezimagines #nicholas chavez x y/n #halloween #ghostface #scream

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harunayuuka2060 · 3 months ago

Text

WHB Series #1 (Cont.)

MC: ...

Asmodeus: What's wrong, descendant of Solomon? Don't you like the food?

MC: ...

MC: Don't you have a plate?

Asmodeus: *smiles* Oh, but we usually eat on the bodies of our devils.

MC: ...

MC: *puts down the spoon or fork*

MC: I'll just starve.

Asmodeus: *chuckles* Suit yourself.

*The devil who served as their plate groaned in disappointment.*

MC: By the way, I’d be excited to meet some of the powerful devils of Abaddon.

Asmodeus: Are you sure? They can be very dangerous. *smirks*

Asmodeus: I don't want the descendant of Solomon to be frightened.

MC: Huh. Okay. Then I want to meet Dantalian first.

Asmodeus: Dantalian? Not a bad choice, but what are you planning to do with him?

MC: I need someone to use as a target. It's been a while since I used any weapons.

Asmodeus: That's not nice. You will hurt a devil? *smiles*

MC: *is aware of Dantalian's philia* Yes.

Dantalian: *who's honestly not amused after he heard that MC is not sexually interested in anything or anyone*

Dantalian: Is there anything I can help you with-

MC: *shoots his leg*

Dantalian: ...

Dantalian: Huh?

MC: ...

MC: *raised an eyebrow*

Asmodeus: What do you think?

MC: I'm impressed.

Dantalian: Descendant of Solomon... Why did you shoot me? *blushes*

MC: Just testing your philia.

Dantalian: ...

Dantalian: I'm at your service!

Satan: WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN ABADDON?!

MC: I got bored and have gone here for a vacation- I WAS KIDNAPPED! ISN'T THAT FUCKING OBVIOUS?!

MC: *used Dantalian's phone to video call him*

Satan: ...

Satan: Are you okay?

MC: Well, yeah. Kinda. I haven't eaten anything yet since coming here.

Satan: Why?

MC: *frowns*

MC: There're demons fucking in the kitchen, fucking in the walls, FUCKING ON THE DAMN CEILING-

Satan: Okay, okay. I get it.

Satan: I'll come and get you.

MC: You better. *hangs up*

Dantalian: MC?

MC: Oh. Here's your phone, Dantalian-

Dantalian: *has brought them some normal-looking fruits*

MC: ...

MC: Are those for me?

Dantalian: Yes. I heard from His Majesty Asmodeus that you haven't eaten anything yet.

MC: ...

MC: Are those clean?

Dantalian: *pouts* I picked them myself.

MC: Ew. Wash them first.

Dantalian: ...

Asmodeus: What did you feed them, Dantalian?

Dantalian: I gave them these fruits.

Phenix: Oh my, these fruits contain the strongest aphrodisiac~.

Asmodeus: *chuckles* Are you sure it wasn't a sedative?

Phenix: I can't be wrong, Your Majesty~.

MC: *frowning in their sleep*

Asmodeus: *carries them up*

Asmodeus: *gently nibbles their ear*

MC: *grabs his hair tightly*

Asmodeus: *chuckles* Calm down. I was just teasing you.

Phenix and Dantalian: ...

#what in hell is bad #whb mc #whb asmodeus #whb dantalian #whb satan #whb phenix #whb series 1

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ichorai · 5 months ago

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i'm not made by design ; part two ; jaime lannister.

part one.

pairing ; jaime lannister x stark!reader (she/her pronouns)

synopsis ; wolves and lions tend not to be friends, much less lovers.

words ; 9.0k

themes ; heavy angst, action, fluff, (actual) enemies to lovers, slowburn

warnings / includes ; war/murder/injury, this part covers a few events from a feast for crows, politicking, mentions of incest/rape, foul language, animal cruelty, a lot of generally terrible things going on but what else can you expect from asoiaf, lots of dreams, jaime is a morally grey delight in this part yes, they are being HAUNTED by each other!

a/n ; wow, it's been a long time coming! ok i know this part is quite short and doesn't yet get to where you guys probably want to be, but tumblr has a max limit of 1k text blocks per post now (boo everyone throw tomatoes) so i'll be posting the rest of the story in smaller chunks! expect the third part to be coming soon, and i promise part three will start off exactly where you guys want it to be :) also if any of you can spot any sort of parallels in this part i will kiss you on the Mouth .

main masterlist. read on ao3!

The wintry breeze tousled the two young Stark girls’ hair, whispering frost into their ears. The horse the two were riding whickered as it galloped through the snow. Lyanna was exclaiming something, something lost to the wind, and you only held all the tighter to her from behind.

“Lyanna, I want to get off!” you yelled, tugging at the furs draped over her. “Lyanna, let me off!”

Your older sister laughed some more. Not wickedly, but more out of fond amusement. She slowed the horse down to a languid canter, then to a trot, and led the stallion towards the shade of a tree. There was snow blanketing the branches and the grass which crunched beneath her weight as she swung down. She looked up at you with her large grey eyes, crinkled at the corners as she grinned boyishly. “Were you frightened?”

You held your arms out for your sister to help you down. Only at eight years of age, you were still of short stature, and Lyanna had picked a rather tall horse. She had always been a voracious rider, even more so than all your brothers.

“I wasn’t frightened,” you indignantly replied as she wrapped her arms about your waist and pulled you down onto the ground.

“Right.” She began to stroke the stallion’s mane, his hooves pawing at the snow. “Do you not trust me, then? Did you think I would ride us right off the edge of a cliff?”

“No,” you replied, scuffing your boots against the snow. “I don’t like riding from behind. I can’t see anything from back there.”

There was a moment of silence before Lyanna reached over to ruffle your hair—an action that both she and Benjen often did. Eddard and Brandon often spared you from such irritations, but being the youngest of the family, you were always doted on and hovered over and babied.

“I don’t trust you riding a horse as big as this, so I suppose we can walk back. It’s not too far.”

“Why can’t I just sit in front of you?”

Your sister stuck her tongue out at you. “We’ve got something in common, you know. What makes you think I like sitting behind?” When you glowered at her, she went on, “Let’s get a move on. Ned will complain that I’m stealing you away—especially since he’s just returned. He misses you. Your letters grow briefer and briefer, he tells me.”

You were none too happy about trudging through the snow, but you voiced no complaint and walked alongside your sister, who tugged at the horse’s reins to follow along.

“He’s always going back and forth,” you said, a small frown marring your features. “I wish he would just stay home. The Eyrie couldn’t possibly compare to Winterfell.”

“You know him.” Lyanna’s dark hair was speckled with snowflakes as she turned to you. “Studious and dutiful as ever.” Her voice went an octave deeper and she pulled a mockingly somber expression in a startling resemblance to Ned. You let out a small laugh at that.

“Last time he visited, you were betrothed,” you said, your voice shrinking to a whisper.

The amusement died away from her eyes, turning stony. “Yes. Though I doubt it will be a fruitful union.”

There were a few more seconds of silence as you considered her words, not entirely sure why she would think so. Robert was loud and robust the few times you’ve met him, but you knew little else of Ned’s friend.

“Do you think he’ll bring a wedding proposal for me this time?”

Lyanna’s features contorted with surprise. “Why? Do you want to be married?”

Your cheeks flushed with heat, despite the frost settling over your skin. “Well—if Father says I have to, then I will.”

“I didn’t ask about Father,” replied Lyanna. It was hard for her to believe that you were only eight sometimes. You always tried to act older than you actually were. “I asked about you.”

Winterfell grew larger and larger as the two of you drew nearer to the castle gates. Home.

“I don’t think I’d mind getting married,” you told your sister, eyes downcast and brows pulled together in thought. “As long as I get to stay in Winterfell. I never want to leave.”

Lyanna smiled, all teeth and cheek. “Wouldn’t that be a dream?” she sighed.

The rest of the short journey was made in relative silence, and you left your sister and the tall stallion by the stables (not without her ruffling your hair one last time), and you dashed up to the castle chambers where you knew Ned would be.

He carried no proposals, only a few books he thought you would enjoy and a warm hug.

You awoke with a startled gasp, kicking at the thin blanket that laid over your form. It took you several moments to realize where you were. A boat. Rocking steadily, back and forth and back and forth. You rubbed at your sleepy eyes whilst drawing your knees up to your chest, still blinking away remnants of your dream.

Lyanna. Ned. Still young, still practically children.

One of the tongueless little birds stood in the doorway. It was an ominous sight. Her eyes were large and unblinking, glinting like glass balls within her small head. In her hands was a wooden bowl, full of what looked to be a poultice of sorts. She drew nearer, and the heavy scent of honey and flowers reached your nose.

“What is it?” you asked the child, a coil of pity winding in the pit of your stomach. You knew they couldn’t respond—Varys had stolen not only their youth, but their voices, too. “Is this food?”

A foreign delicacy of sorts, maybe? An Essosi dessert you weren’t familiar with, perhaps. It looked quite unappetizing, though you knew you had no room to complain.

The girl shook her head, then pointed to your hair, which was pulled back into a braid. You understood from just that, and nodded your thanks while accepting the bowl from her. This was hair dye, made from a blend of flowers and other substances you couldn’t name. You supposed it was a necessary precaution—you had an unmistakable Northern look to you, and would surely stick out like a sore thumb here down South. Dyeing your hair and cutting it short would help to somewhat conceal your identity. Short enough, and perhaps you could even be mistaken for a man, at least at a first quick glance.

The little girl left a dagger and a small, rusty, hand-held mirror by your legs and disappeared from your cabin in complete silence, as if she was never there in the first place. They were like ghosts, this crew of children. Everything was so quiet all the time, with only your thoughts and the ocean waves to accompany you.

You unbraided your hair and shook it loose. Hair carried memories. Memories of Catelyn showing you how hair was done in the Riverlands, memories of Benjen tugging at your hair to tease you, memories of Jaime commenting on how your hair was a lovely shade of animal waste. That had been grumpily remarked earlier on, when you and Brienne were escorting him to King’s Landing. Before Locke and Roose Bolton and… Robb.

You propped up the rust-spotted mirror against the wall and scooped up the dagger. The reflection that met you was only barely recognizable. You looked so tired. With a resigned sigh, you began to slice off your hair with the sharp blade. Handfuls fell to the ground. You sliced and sliced until your head felt light and your neck was bare. It’s never been this short before. If Benjen were here, you knew he would surely laugh at you. Brandon would comment that he never knew he had another brother.

Yes, you thought. I can surely pass as a man if I wanted to. Though you certainly shared many features with your sister, you hadn’t the wild beauty Lyanna had. No, you were far plainer than her, colder and sharper than she was. Nothing worthy to note—though your father, quiet as a man he was, once told you that you looked the most like your mother out of all your siblings. That had made you feel more beautiful than anything.

Plain was good, though. Plain meant no eyes would be drawn to you.

You weren’t too sure what color your hair would turn with this dye. You lathered the thick paste over your newly-cut strands, massaging it into your scalp. Your nose twitched from the strong odor—not entirely unpleasant, but also wasn’t a delight breathing in.

As you rinsed your hands of the dye, your skin was left with a slight copperish stain. You stared at the color with sad eyes—would your hair turn out red like Cat’s? Like all your nephews and Sansa?

And, like a fool, you wondered if Jaime would like short, red hair. He wouldn’t care much, you found yourself thinking, perhaps wishfully so. Did you want him to care?

Two children brought you food—rations of dried meat and crusty bread. You wolfed half of it down and handed them the other half. Though they couldn’t speak, the children made for pleasant company. Or perhaps you were just lonely. It was hard to tell.

After eating, you rinsed out the hair dye and wrung the water out with a cloth over the edge of the ship. The cloth came away stained bright red. You retreated back into the cabin to look at the mirror.

It was a shock to see your hair resemble Catelyn’s. It was darker than hers had been, but the auburn, orange-red sheen to your head was unmistakable. You looked like a Tully! You nearly laughed with amazement, but any sort of joy was short-lived, and you lapsed into more silence.

You laid on the rickety bed, thinking of Winterfell and your now-scattered family. Robb and Ned and Cat and the younglings Bran and Rickon might have been taken from you, but… you still had family left. Sansa and Arya could very well be scattered somewhere in the Seven Kingdoms, alive and breathing. Jon, at the Wall, as well. At least, you hoped. It’d been so long since your time sending letters to the young boy. Was he hurt that you stopped sending them so suddenly?

Tears pricked the corner of your eyes, and you drew your knees to your chest, willing yourself into a restless slumber.

Days came and went. The little children were growing more agitated, fluttering about the boat with wide eyes and quick feet. They tossed nets overboard into the water—masquerading the boat as a fishing vessel, you assumed. There were many ships out and about Blackwater Bay. Some carried banners of houses loyal to the crown, and others were bannerless. Pirates or fishermen, you couldn’t tell.

So far, all other ships have passed by quietly. But the risk grew with each day. You knew Tywin and Cersei would likely order more fleets to be sent after you, Sansa, and Tyrion. The chances of you being found on water would grow each day—and you couldn’t risk becoming a prisoner again. Jaime wouldn’t be able to help you escape a second time, not with Cersei around.

At least on foot… you had somewhere to run. Being on sea left you nothing but water for miles on end.

And so you told the silent children to let you off at the nearest fishing port. Some part of you wondered if they would object, but they stared at you with round, moon eyes and nodded. You didn’t know whether to thank or damn Varys.

The ship docked in the dead of night, half a mile from Duskendale. One of the little children handed you a map and tapped at where they’d leave you. A pouch full of food rations, more dye, and other necessities was left on your cot. You thanked the child endlessly, who seemed not to hear your gratitude and scuttled away. You grabbed the pouch, the dagger, the bow and quiver full of arrows Varys had presumably left you, and slipped into a large cloak.

Land felt like it was lurching beneath your feet once you stepped onto the pier. Your body was used to the swaying motions of the waters, and would take some time to adjust. You gingerly shook one of your booted feet. The children watched you disembark on wobbly legs, but you dared not wave back at them.

Despite it being nighttime, the docks were busier than ever. Fishermen and merchants littered all over the shore, some selling products and entertainment and others working hard to gather more to sell before day broke. You steeled yourself with a deep breath, and made your way through the busy crowd.

You began trekking your way North towards the Eyrie, the hood of your cloak pulled over your short, red hair.

It took nearly three weeks for you to reach the Crossroads. Nightfall was nearing when you strode in front of the inn, the sky a mirage of bleeding reds from the setting sun and moody greys from the rainclouds. The air smelled of mud and rusted metal. It was certainly no grand castle, but a modest bed was better than sleeping on the cold dirt you’ve been curled up on the past several days. There was a young girl and a dark-haired boy by the front that looked somewhat like your memory of Robert Baratheon twenty-some years ago. At first, the boy denied your request for shelter, but reluctantly clammed up once you offered him some gold, worth more than it ever could in times of war. The two let you pass with not a word more.

Greeting you inside was a ruckus of loud children. Parentless, you realized, as there were none to be seen within the inn’s walls. An inn full of orphans, you thought with a touch of sadness. In that regard you supposed you shared a similarity with all of them.

Just as you slipped onto one of the creaking wooden stools to momentarily rest your weary feet, you overheard a voice. A familiar voice. Low and raspy and unmistakably—

Brienne, you thought, wide-eyed. But she wasn’t alone. A young boy was by her side, yes, that was Podrick, and an older man—a knight, by the looks of his armor, and an even older septon with grey hair and a hunched back. What a queer party Brienne was leading. She was supping on porridge and salted cod.

The impulsive part of you wanted to call out for her and rush to her side, ask if she had found any sign of Sansa, or if she had made any progress on her quest. Instead, you drew in a deep breath, and stood from your stool to take a seat across from Podrick whilst Brienne was busy speaking to the knight. The young squire made a half-gasping, half-choking noise once his eyes raised from the cup he was draining to your cold eyes, recognizing you immediately. You discreetly lifted a finger to your lips to silence him. His eyes went moon-round and he nodded once.

Brienne ignored the knight’s constant jabbering about lips and marriage and castles full of children, and turned to look at her squire in mild concern of him choking on a fish bone. But her eyes landed on you, and her mouth dropped open.

She was very near to bowing her head and saying, “My lady.” But she didn’t, knowing it would draw far too much attention, and stared at you with utter confusion plain over her features.

“Hello,” you said to her. “It has been a while, Brienne.”

“Do you know each other?” the knight bumped in. He spooned some porridge into his mouth.

“Brienne and I were childhood friends on Tarth,” you lied. “I was the son of a cook. A nobody in truth, but Brienne was kind enough to befriend me.”

Brienne was no good at lying, you knew this, but she nodded along to your story.

The knight looked you over. “A little runt boy and a grand beast of a girl. The two of you must have been a sight.”

You could only offer him half a shrug at that.

“What brings you here?” Brienne carefully asked you.

“Someone helped me leave,” you responded with equal caution. Avoiding the knight’s curious eyes, you leaned closer to Brienne. “Is there a place for us to speak with fewer naked children milling about?”

Being around Varys’ little birds for long enough taught you that children were oft smarter than they looked. Somewhere to your right, you saw one of the little orphan boys stick a nut inside his nostril.

Brienne nodded and led you just outside, away from prying ears and eyes. There, you told her everything. From Tyrion’s trial, to Oberyn’s death, to Cersei demanding you to be locked up or killed (whichever suited her taste that day), to Jaime helping you escape, to the birds on the boat, to your journey here. In turn, Brienne told you of her lengthy journey and what she had found on the way. Mostly nothing, lots of war and skirmishes. Sandor Clegane was dead, but Arya had been with him soon before that… not Sansa. The thought of Arya somewhere out there alive, sparked dangerous hope within your chest.

“Varys says Sansa is in the Eyrie, masquerading as Baelish’s bastard daughter.” The thought revolted you. “But I do wonder if the Eyrie is a trap of sorts. I cannot trust Varys. He certainly is no friend of the Lannisters, but neither is he their enemy. For all I know, he may be conspiring with dragons and grumpkins.”

“Sansa would be safe with her Aunt Lysa there, right?” Brienne asked, though even she sounded doubtful of her own question.

“I can’t quite say,” you said, brows furrowed. “Lysa is an unpredictable woman. Frightened and secluded is never a good combination of characteristics. Even so, I doubt Sansa would make her way home up North without being intercepted. It wouldn’t hurt to check the Vale first.”

Brienne nodded solemnly. “We can make our way first thing in the morning. For now, you must rest, my lady. You must be exhausted.”

The sudden reminder of the limitations of your body made your knees wobble. The past few days had you running on little else than adrenaline, fear, and meager portions of salted foods.

“I missed you, Brienne,” you whispered, looking up at her. “I fear trusted friends are few and far in between in these times.” Not that you ever had many friends to begin with. Everyone had always been so afraid of you—something Brienne could relate to.

The term friend dusted pink over Brienne’s large, crooked nose and broad, freckled cheekbones. She was certainly not pretty, not by a long shot, but that was of no matter to you. She was the most beautiful blessing you could have possibly encountered—your chances of survival and finding Sansa were far better with Brienne by your side.

“I missed you, as well,” Brienne managed to choke out after many moments of stunned silence. She had never been good with niceties. “Podrick has been company enough, but the boy is young and easily frightened.”

“I’m frightened, too,” you admitted. “One would be a fool not to be, with enemies at every turn. Young, however, is a trait I have long outgrown.”

Brienne looked up at the night sky. “Youth was a curse on me. I always looked older than I was.”

“Me, as well,” you mused with a thoughtful hum. Memories of the lords and ladies living at Winterfell’s court whispering behind your back… sending you strange looks of distant pity… veering far out of your way in fear of you… it weighed heavy on you, especially in your younger years. “My anger has aged me a decade, I think.”

Before Brienne could respond, there came a commotion of noise. Men on horses, their hooves schlocking through mud and puddles. Instinctively, you drew the cowl of your hood up over your head. They are armed, these men, you thought with grim unease. And there were many of them, just above half a dozen. Far too many for you and Brienne to take alone.

Brienne drew in a sharp breath at the sight of them and unsheathed Oathkeeper. She stepped in front of you before you could even begin to react. The biggest man of the party was so hefty that his beaten horse buckled and shook beneath the sheer force of his weight. His pale face was torn and wept with pus and blood. But Brienne’s eyes were drawn to his snarling helm—with its dull metal nose and sharp teeth of steel. It was the Hound’s property but the man wearing it was certainly no Hound.

The sky grew darker and the storm clouds thundered up above. The young girl that had greeted you into the inn had slammed the door open, now holding a crossbow. Whatever she was screaming was lost to the rain and thunder.

“Loose a quarrel at me and I’ll shove that crossbow up your cunt and fuck you with it. Then I’ll pop your fucking eyes out and make you eat them,” raged the man, his voice nearly as loud as the booming in the sky. Your chest rose and fell in silence as you slowly reached behind you to unsling your bow.

“Leave her be,” called out Brienne, drawing their attention. “If you want to rape someone, try me.”

The outlaws laughed and chortled at that. One japed about fucking horses before fucking her. The rest of their words were unintelligible to you as you focused on drawing an arrow without pulling too much attention to yourself. It proved to be a difficult task when there were seven pairs of eyes trained on Brienne, and, consequently, you, as well.

Brienne said something you couldn’t catch, leaving the man with the helm fuming. He charged forward through the mud. Brienne shuffled away from you—she needed the man to come to her, but not to get too close to you. You were her priority now.

A song of steel screeched through the rain-torn wind as their swords clashed. Brienne managed to cut through the rags of his tunic and slash a gaping hole in his cheap chainmail just before she just barely evaded his swinging axe. The man was screaming expletives at her—whore, bitch, freak.

You nocked the arrow with not a second thought.

Then the drawstring was split in two and you were left with a useless bow. One of the outlaws had made his way to you whilst you were concentrating on the man with the helm—and broke your favored weapon.

“Shhh,” he crooned as he laid the cold, wet blade of the knife he used to cut your bow against your throat. “Enjoy and watch the show, boy.” He must have thought you were one of the orphans that lived here—and not much of a threat, considering he pulled the knife away from you and made a show of pointing it towards Brienne and her attacker. “It’s not every day you see a woman like her battle a man like him.”

You nodded, playing along. You still had the dagger you used to cut your hair tucked against your hip. It was a touch too dull for your liking, but it would have to do for now. You had no other choice. With the man’s eyes drawn back to their messy duel, you drew its blade and drove it forth, straight into throat. His arms flailed for a second before clawing at your face and chest. Pain bloomed over your skin. If you were bleeding, you couldn’t feel it—not with all the rain pouring over you. You savagely tore the dagger out from his throat and drove it through his chest again and again and again. From your peripheral vision, you could see Brienne parry over and over, stab this way and that—and finally skewer her longsword straight through him until its pointy end protruded out his back.

You continued stabbing the man until he fell to the ground in a limp, bloodied heap. Even then you didn’t stop—straddling his waist and bringing the dagger down in furious strokes. It occurred to you that the other men would be upon Brienne a second too late—when you swung around, she was swarmed by the rest of them.

“Eddard!” she called, immediately halting you in your assault on the long-dead outlaw. It took you a moment to realize that she was addressing you, not wanting to call out your actual name. “Run! Run, now!”

Two of the outlaws were coming towards you.

“Brienne!” you yelled just as one of them sliced a cut through her shoulder she couldn’t properly roll away from. The rest of your protests caught in your throat when you watched one of them—one with wild eyes that had irises too small and teeth filed sharp—dive forward onto Brienne, sending her crashing to the ground. He bit a chunk of her face right off.

More men surrounded her. Punching, kicking, and slicing at your friend. No, you couldn’t see her anymore, where is she? Get up, Brienne, get up…

“GO!” you could hear her muffled voice scream. “NED, GO!”

No, no, no…

But if you stayed, you would be dead, as well. One of the outlaws made a grab for you, but you danced back. If not for the two slipping on the watery mud the very next second, you would have been dead.

With your heart beating in your throat, you turned on your heel and fled.

What was a kingsguard without his king? Jaime hadn’t been happy to be sent off to the Riverlands again—his place was beside Tommen. The boy-king with a golden crown sitting atop his golden curls. Cersei had insisted on him leaving, however. She’d grown more restless, more paranoid, more snappy since their father’s death. Lancel, his fool of a cousin, was now a religious fanatic who seemed to be intent on fasting until he passed from starvation, and had confessed his sins of lying with Cersei. Apparently he was not the only one. The Kettleblack brothers, the court fools, and hells, even serving girls, if word of mouth was to be trusted.

He felt a fool for ever loving her. And now she had kicked him out of the castle and away from his duty like one would a dirty mongrel.

Let her run the kingdom to ruin. See if I care.

Jaime wearily pulled at his face. That was the problem—he did care, and he knew he did. Cersei on the throne would mean little good for anybody. Not for his little brother, not for Brienne, not for you. He hoped you were safe, wherever you were.

The knight with one hand had had a long day, even though it was not yet nightfall. He had spoken to the Blackfish, Brynden Tully, in hopes of making some sort of negotiation. Perhaps goad him into a duel of single-combat and spare everyone of the grueling boredom that came with a slow siege. Expectedly, the wind-beaten lord took none of the bait and retreated back into his castle. Then, he had a short, but explosive council meeting with a few of the riverlords. They squabbled over each other like mindless birds over a piece of half-baked bread. Jaime couldn’t help but wonder what his father would do in his shoes, but was quick to relinquish such a thought. Tywin Lannister would never be in this position in the first place. And he was dead, which was perhaps the more important bit. After the council, he paid a visit to Ryman Frey, who was preoccupied fucking some whore who called herself a Queen. He had the big oaf dismissed for wasting so much time and resources, then named his son, Edwyn, command of the siege. He ordered young Edwyn to tell his great-grandsire, Walder Frey, to release all the prisoners for the crown. There was no undoing the Red Wedding, but he could, at the very least, attempt to rectify the troubles it left in its wake.

And now—now Jaime had one more person to visit.

It was his aunt, Genna Lannister, who had urged Jaime to do something about the sullen man with the noose loosely wrapped around his throat. In his state, he posed no danger physically. As a symbol, however, Edmure Tully, was a great danger to the cause. His cause? Jaime wasn’t entirely sure what he was fighting for anymore. It certainly didn’t feel like he was protecting Tommen from all these leagues away from him. His golden hand felt so very heavy strapped onto his stump—why did he still bother carrying it around?

Ilyn Payne made quick work of cutting Edmure Tully down from the wooden gallows he was perched upon. His hair, scraggly and red, hung in limp clumps over his dirtied, bloody face. Eyes deep blue, heavy with exhaustion. Jaime couldn’t help but think of Robb Stark at the sight of him. Gods, they looked alike.

Jaime had Edmure pulled through the tents and mass of Freys and other rivermen alike. One japed about a fish on a leash. A young man holding an instrument was amongst the throng of stares, and he ordered the singer to follow, and the lad obediently did. Onto a ferry they went, where the vessel would carry them to Tumblestone.

“Why?” Edmure has croaked, gripping weakly onto Jaime’s arm.

“Consider it a wedding gift,” Jaime replied.

The Tully eyed him warily. “A wedding gift?”

“I’ve heard your wife is pretty. She’d have to be, for the two of you to be abed whilst your sister and king were being murdered.” Jaime gave him a wry look.

“I never knew. There were musicians outside the bedchamber, I couldn’t…”

“I’m sure Lady Roslin made for a grand distraction, as well.”

At the crass insinuation, however truthful, Edmure frowned and pulled away from the knight. “They made her do it. She had little say in the matter. Roslin never wanted any of it to happen. She wept the entire night, but I thought…”

“You thought it was your rampant manhood that swayed her to tears? It’s a sight any woman would weep to, I’m sure.”

Edmure hung his head. “She is carrying my child.”

Your child or your death? Jaime thought, but tastefully decided not to say it out loud. Not yet. Instead, he asked, “Your king-nephew, Robb. Did he ever speak of his aunt before his end?”

Edmure lifted his gaze to the kingslayer at that. “The Bitter Wolf?” He thought for a moment, eyes distant. “No. She was hardly ever brought up. Robb didn’t like to speak of her. Not after her betrayal with your freedom. If he did speak of her, it would’ve been with Catelyn.”

“Who is now dead,” Jaime dryly said.

“Yes,” Edmured replied, letting his gaze drift down to the waters.

“Much help you are.”

“Where is she now? The Bitter Wolf.”

Jaime saw no point in lying to him. “I don’t know.”

The rest of the ferry trip was spent in silence.

Once at his pavilion, Jaime dismissed Ilyn, but kept the singer around. He ordered the servants there to boil bathwater for the honored guest, and had clean garments brought to him, along with warm food and sweet wine. Edmure still couldn’t quite comprehend why exactly Jaime Lannister was being so courteous, but couldn’t deny himself the pleasure of cleanliness. He clambered into the tub and started scrubbing the grime off his skin.

Jaime pulled up a chair to sit beside him. “After you’re clean and your belly is full, you will be escorted to Riverrun. What happens after that is up to you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t,” said Jaime. “Your uncle is old. Valiant, admittedly, but his best years are behind him. He has no wife to grieve for him, nor children to succeed him. A good death is the most the Blackfish can wish for. You, however, have many years remaining to you. You are the rightful heir to House Tully, not him. Your uncle serves you, by law. Riverrun’s fate is in your hands.”

Edmure blinked at him. “I don’t…”

“Understand, I presume? All that time with a rope around your neck must have strangled you of all your wits.” Jaime was growing impatient. “You must yield the castle. Yield, and nobody dies. The smallfolk will be allowed to leave in peace, or they may serve Lord Emmon and his lady-wife, my aunt. Ser Brynden will be allowed to take the black and join the Night’s Watch, with as many of the garrison that choose to join. You, as well. The Wall is in dire need of more hands, I’ve heard. If that is not to your tastes, you may go to Casterly Rock as my captive and enjoy all the comforts and courtesy that befits a hostage of your rank. Your wife may join you. If your sire is a boy, he will serve House Lannister as a squire. Once he comes of age, he is welcome to earn his knighthood, along with some lands I will bestow upon him. If Roslin bears you a daughter, she will be well dowered until she is old enough to wed a fitting lord. You may be granted parole, even, once the war is done. All this only if you yield the castle.”

The water steamed and sloshed in the tub as Edmure gingerly shifted about. “And if I will not yield?”

The servants and squires were all listening. The singer watched the two speak with wide eyes. No matter. Let them all hear it.

“You’ve seen our numbers, Edmure. The ladders, the towers, the trebuchets, the rams. If I speak the command, my cousin will bridge your moat and break your gate. Blood will spill. Hundreds will die, most being your own people. Your former bannermen will be the first wave of attackers, so you will start your day by killing fathers, brothers, and sons of men who died for you at the Twins. The second wave will be Freys, and there are plenty of them to spare. My westermen will be the third once your archers are exhausted of arrows and your knights so weary their blades will no longer lift from the ground. The castle will fall, and all inside will be put to the sword. Your livestock will be butchered. Your river will rot with corpses. Your godswood will fall. Your keeps and inventories will burn.” Jaime swallowed as he said the next words. It was true that he did not actually mean to do it, but a threat was a threat, and words are wind. “Your wife may have the child before any of this. You’ll want the babe, I presume. I can send him to you once he’s born. With a trebuchet.”

There came a lengthy silence. Edmure was still in the bath. All the servants and squires stared in horror.

Genna had told him earlier that he was not his father’s son. Tyrion was more Tywin’s than he could ever dream to be. Would her mind change if she had heard his speech? Was this what Tywin would have done?

“I could climb out of this tub and kill you right as you are, Kingslayer,” said Edmure, once he finally regained his wits about him.

“You could try,” Jaime calmly replied. The man made no move, so Jaime pushed himself back to his feet. “Enjoy your food. Singer, play for our guest while he eats. You know the song, I trust.”

“The one about rain? Yes, my lord, I know it.”

Edmure’s head swiveled between the singer and Jaime. “No. I don’t want him. Get him away from me.” The tub water sloshed some more.

“Why, it’s just a song, Lord Tully,” said Jaime, feigning innocence. “His voice couldn’t be that bad.”

The knight left his pavilion with the beginnings of Rains of Castamere playing faintly behind him.

The inns you came across the road were growing sparse. Many had been torched, ransacked, abandoned, or torn down. War left much of the Riverlands in ruins. Though you were none too happy about the state of the lands, pillaged, empty villages meant there would be fewer people loitering about, which was all the better for you.

You had managed to outrun the outlaws through the cover of the storm and ruins. It was only when the rain cleared away did you let yourself sit down and silently cry for Brienne. None deserved a fate like that. She was so undeniably good, more honorable than any other man you’ve ever met—and yet her face was torn apart and now she was dead.

Eventually, you made it out of the Riverlands and began to travel along the high road up to the Eyrie. It was the safest option to get there—the mountains were hardly on the table to walk through on your own, considering it was likely running amok with clansmen and thieves of all sorts. Even on the high road, the terrain was far more mountainous than the relatively-level grounds of the riverlands, and the incline noticeably steeper. You were traveling at a much slower pace than before, growing ragged and tired with shorter distances.

On the third day on the narrow pathway towards the Bloody Gate, you came across two men on a cart. Merchants, perhaps. You spied the stacked wine casks in the back of the cart, wondering if they were empty. Surely they must be, you thought. The Vale is not likely to make any wine of their own, not with mountains as sheer as theirs.

As their cart slowly rolled by, being pulled by braying donkeys, you overheard one of the men say, “A singer, it’s said!”

“A singer?” the other merchant echoed.

“Yes, a singer! They say he shoved Lady Arryn right off a mountain.”

Lady Arryn? Your ears perked up at that. Did they mean Lysa?

He glanced at his companion dubiously. “I heard she threw herself out the door once she confessed her love to him.”

“That’s nonsense, have you seen the way she grips that sickly whelp of hers? She would never throw herself to her death whilst little Robin lives.”

That confirmed it. Lysa is dead?

“If I had a son like that, I’d do the very same,” he grumbled.

“Wait! Good sers!” you exclaimed, turning back to hurry after the cart. The donkeys whined protest as they were pulled to a slow stop. They both glanced back at you with wide, curious eyes.

“Sers?” The one with mousy brown hair piped up with a laugh lodged in his throat. “We are no knights.”

“Apologies, it’s a habit now, I fear. I simply wanted to know—” You stopped in your tracks. “What were you saying about Lady Arryn?”

“She’s dead, she is,” the older of the two merchants told you. His nose was crooked in three different places. “Out the Moon Door—or off the mountain—she flew.”

You stared at them for a moment, trying to gauge whether they were being serious or not. Tall tales such as this were not uncommon amongst the lowborn. “And who now rules in her stead?”

“Little Lord Robin is young still—”

“And far too sickly!”

“—Until he comes of age, Lord Petyr Baelish is Lord of the Vale.”

Littlefinger. The realization dawned on you with great unease as you recalled his infatuation with your good-sister and his alliances with the crown. Lannister crowns. This was no good… no good at all…

“Thank you,” you told the merchants. “That’s good to know.”

“Where are you off to?” said the younger one.

“Runestone,” you lied. “I have family there.”

That seemed to appease them well enough. The one with brown hair waved farewell as he set the donkeys back into motion. You silently thanked the Gods for coming across decent men. You watched the cart of wine caskets descend down the path.

Now what? You could hardly stroll straight into the Vale now—not with the threat of Littlefinger handing you right back into Cersei’s mad hands. Should you even trust these rumors, though? Perhaps the septon at the Bloody Gate could clarify the situation for you. Surely he would tell you the truth. But getting there would take weeks, and you certainly didn’t have that sort of time. If word of Littlefinger’s rule in the Eyrie was true, you would be wasting even more time doubling back to escape. And if he heard of your presence in the Vale there was no telling what he would do… have you locked up and sent to Cersei in a cage?

But what about Sansa? Your heart shattered at the thought of leaving her alone at the Eyrie with Baelish. You had to be smart about this. Even if Sansa was in the Vale, and if you managed to get to her, and if you could whisk her out of the castle undetected, there was nowhere for the two of you to go that would be safe. Sansa wouldn’t last a fortnight out in the wilderness. Gods forbid, but perhaps it was best for her to stay in the Eyrie until you managed to find a stronghold that would keep her safe and protected.

Then again, she could just as likely be elsewhere in Westeros. Arya, too. Gods, you wished Brienne was with you. You could still see the blood spurting from her face, her screams cracking through the thunderous air.

Damn you, Jaime. You should have come with me, you said to yourself, knowing it was a foolish chain of thought. He wouldn’t be much help, anyway. All he did when we traveled together was complain and find new ways to irritate me.

You lingered on the path for a few more moments. Then, you frustratedly gestured to nobody, made a noise of displeasure, and turned to follow after the wine merchants.

Back to the Riverlands you went.

Riverrun was now taken, but at a great cost. Brynden the Blackfish had escaped. All thanks to Jaime’s carelessness and Edmure’s wit. This would never have happened if Tywin was around, Jaime couldn’t help but lament. It was no wonder his aunt Genna told him he was nothing like his father.

He was a fool, and his father knew it.

After a series of threats to both Edmure and his wife, the Tully lord managed to sullenly tell him what he knew of the Blackfish’s whereabouts. Which, to Jaime’s dismay, was very little.

“He swam away,” Edmure had told him. He had the very same blue eyes as Catelyn did, as well as Robb. The very same look of loathing in them, as well. There was a time when you looked at him like that. “The Water Gate’s portcullis was raised. Not enough to be noticed, only three feet or so. My uncle is a strong swimmer. He pulled himself beneath the spikes and I can only assume the current helped him from there.”

Damn it all.

Jaime had hounds and hunters on the prowl for the Blackfish, but he had little hope of catching him. And Edmure was to be heading west the following morning. Jaime was glad to be rid of him, though he worried that the man would slip through the guards he would be traveling with. The knight wasn’t too keen on hunting for the Tully a third time.

News of Ryman Frey’s death was brought to him by young Edwyn, the former’s son. Hanged, apparently, by a band of outlaws nearby Fairmarket, which was boldly close by. Thoros, or Dondarrion, or this mysterious Stoneheart woman. There was little to do about the matter now—Jaime ordered more guards posted and that was that.

That night, he practiced his shoddy, left-handed swordsmanship with the silent Ilyn Payne. He managed to last a grand total of three hours before giving into his cramping muscles’ begs for a rest. Afterwards, he poured the both of them cups full of Hoster Tully’s wine, and told Payne of how he used to kiss his sister when they were children. It was innocent at first, until it wasn’t. It felt nice being able to freely tell someone of everything knowing he couldn’t possibly relay such information to anybody else—Payne’s lack of a tongue ironically made Jaime chattier than ever.

“Tyrion once told me that whores oft avoid kissing their patrons. They’ll fuck you until your legs fall off, he said, but they keep their lips far from yours. It’s what separates work from real romance. I wonder if my sister ever kissed Kettleblack.” Jaime thought for a long moment. “I kissed the Bitter Wolf.”

Payne spared him no reaction.

“She was crying.” Jaime took a sip of wine, leaving out the fact that he had shed a tear or two. “Not because of the kiss, though. I hope not, at least. I’m not that bad of a kisser. Cersei never cried when we kissed.” Though, after he said that, he realized basing his assumptions around Cersei wasn’t a particularly smart thing to do. You and Cersei were many leagues apart from one another.

Payne drained his cup and gestured for Jaime to refill it.

As he did, Jaime went on. “If not for Tyrion’s reckless call for a trial by combat, I would have married her. The Bitter Wolf. We would be at Casterly Rock, and Tyrion would be at the Wall, and my father would still be alive, and my son would sit the Iron Throne, and all would be well. Or not. Cersei would make matters difficult. I doubt Y/N would be pleased about her predicament, either, come to think of it.”

He decided to change the subject back to Kettleblack when Payne’s silence stretched for a little while longer.

“It would be ill-fitting to slay mine own Sworn Brother. I should geld him and send him to the Wall—make up for Tyrion’s loss in some way. He’s been to the Wall, perhaps he had no taste for returning. It’s bloody cold there, I’ve heard. Of course, if I were to lay a hand on Osmund, there would be his brothers to consider, as well. Brothers can be dangerous. Aegon the Unworthy had Ser Terrence Toyne dismembered into pieces after finding him abed with his mistress, and forced her to watch. Toyne’s brothers tried to kill the King for it, though their plans were ultimately foiled by the Dragonknight. It’s written in the White Book. All of it, including every knightly deed and chivalrous act. It doesn’t tell me what to do with Cersei, though.”

Ilyn dragged a finger across his scarred throat.

“No,” Jaime said. “Tommen has already lost a brother, and the man he thinks is his father. If his mother were to die by my hand, he would hate me for it. I’m sure his sweet little wife would use that hatred to her benefit, as well.”

An ugly smile stretched at Ilyn’s thin lips. Jaime misliked the crude gleam in his eye.

“You talk too much,” Jaime told the mute.

The next night, Jaime found himself in Hoster Tully’s solar, looking over a map, wondering where the Blackfish could have gone. Many of his hunters had returned that morning, torn and bleeding. Direwolves, they had told him. A monstrous pack with a large she-wolf leading them. He wondered if that could have been the wolf that had mauled Joffrey what had felt like a lifetime ago.

In consequence, Jaime couldn’t help but wonder about you. Did the direwolves like you at all? He strained his mind to remember, but couldn’t seem to recall. It confused him when his chest constricted at the thought of forgetting you.

The war was practically won. Dragonstone was taken, and Storm’s End would be very soon. Stannis was welcome to the cold fruits of the Wall—if Roose Bolton hadn’t already destroyed him. And the Riverlands were successfully taken without Jaime ever having to raise a sword against neither Stark nor Tully. All in all, he was to be content.

But where did that place you? Once everything calmed down, what would happen to you? To Sansa, who surely deserved no harm that would come to her? She was just a young girl and you… you were far from the paragon of innocence, to be certain, but surely he could have Tommen pardon you for any of your crimes. Your crimes being allegiance to your own nephew, which Jaime could hardly fault you for.

Then again, Cersei was the problem. There was no chance she would sit idly by and let you live. Once he returned to King’s Landing, he had to find a way to whisk Tommen from her crutches before he would turn as corrupt as Joffrey. A new council full of abled men would be in order, as well.

More and more days passed. Jaime had the entire Tully garrison safely released from their keep, which displeased his Aunt Genna greatly, but Jaime was intent on letting them go. There was little harm they could do when they were scattered, weaponless, and hungry.

He dreamed of Cersei most nights. Of her golden hair, which then molded into golden hands. In his dreams, he always had two hands. Sometimes touching her, stroking her, holding her—dreamy memories of old. Sometimes he was strangling her, which he certainly had never done before.

Other nights he dreamed of Brienne. Her big, brutish face red with rage and exhaustion. She would swing Oathkeeper at his neck and he awoke just before his head rolled off his shoulders.

Some of the nights, however scarce they were, were far more precious. He dreamt of you, your hair freckled with snow, your eyes alight as you watched children play beneath you. He was in Winterfell, he realized, and with a shocked start looked back down at the children. His? No. They were your nieces and nephews, of course. Their faces were a blur, but their red hair was unmistakable. Save for the littlest girl and the bastard boy. Snow, Jaime remembered.

“We should have one,” your dream-self said to him, so serious that Jaime wondered if it was actually you standing there in front of him. “A little wolf-lion.”

Did Jaime want that? Would they have golden hair like his? Like Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen? But how could he have another child when he was never a father to the ones he already had? It felt wrong to even consider it. Dishonorable. Any romantic notion of a normal life with you was quickly dashed.

“I know we can’t,” you continued on before he could respond. “They’re all dead.” You gestured down to the Starklings. “And I’ll be joining them soon. But it’s a nice thought, isn’t it?”

“No—” he said, reaching out to you, but you had already faded into a blur.

Not all of his dreams with you were as bleak. Once he was abed with you, and another time he was bound by rope as you pointed an arrow at his forehead while he cackled maniacally.

A week after releasing the last of the garrison, Jaime woke up with a start after dreaming about a cloaked figure that looked eerily similar to Cersei, though he knew it wasn’t her. His mother spoke soft riddles, where Cersei would bark harsh insults. He couldn’t quite tell which he favored. He threw the covers off him with his stump.

The room was frigid. The hearth’s warmth had waned away and the windows had been left pushed open when he fell asleep. In the darkness, Jaime made his way to close the shutters, but his foot touched against a wetness on the ground. Blood had been his first thought, but blood would not be so cold. Rain, perhaps, but he would have heard the sound of pattering coming from outside.

Jaime drew the damp curtains apart, letting the moonlight stream through. Moonlight and snow. Down below, the yard was spotting with white, growing thicker and thicker in the minutes he watched. After a moment, he even began to see his breath misting in front of him.

Winter is here, he thought. Marching south, and our granaries are half empty.

He watched the snow fall, and stood there thinking of you. It irked him that you haunted his every thought. Nonetheless, he hoped you were warm, wherever you were. If he was as fanatically religious as his dear coz Lancel, he would have even prayed for your safety.

When morning dawned, Riverrun’s maester came to pay him a visit. He was pallid-faced and shaking.

“I know,” Jaime said, glancing at the bound letter in the old man’s quivering hands. “The Citadel has sent a white raven. Winter has come.”

“No, my lord,” said Maester Vyman. “The bird came from King’s Landing. Forgive me, I took the liberty to open it, I did not know it was meant for your eyes…”

Jaime took the letter and sat by the window to read. It was Qyburn’s hurried hand, but he knew it to be Cersei’s fevered words.

Come at once. Help me. Save me. I need you now as I have never needed you before. I love you. I love you. I love you. Come at once.

“Does my lord wish to answer?” asked Vyman, hovering by the door.

A snowflake landed on the letter. He was reminded of the snowflakes in your hair, in his dream. It was quick to melt, blurring the inked words and streaking down the paper.

Jaime rolled the paper back as tight as he could with his one hand, and handed it back to the maester. “No,” he said. “Put this in the fire.”

#jaime lannister x reader #jaime lannister fanfiction #jaime lannister fluff #jaime lannister angst #jaime lannister fic #jaime lannister x you #jaime lannister x stark!reader #asoiaf fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #got fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #jaime lannister

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tired-teacher-blog · 10 months ago

Text

Let's talk about attention seeker Bakugou for a moment.

You were lying on the couch one evening, eyes focused on the TV ahead when Bakugou suddenly appeared, shuffling your way before collapsing on top of you.

He did it so casually— like he does all the time, and you actually missed his intention at first. It's always the same with this man, since he hates you getting engrossed in something other than him, he's like a grumpy little cat who's constantly craving your attention, and sometimes you wonder if he's actually unaware of his massive stature when he carelessly traps you underneath himself.

He said nothing as an exasperated puff of air left his lungs, but instead settled for staring at you with a grumpy expression plastered across his face.

You still failed to acknowledge him though, as your favorite show was rapidly nearing its climax, which obviously displeased him greatly.

He started sighing and whining softly against your chest, nuzzling you there and squeezing you between his arms a little too tight for your comfort, until you finally let out a little "uh-huh" while moving one of your hands to absentmindedly play with his unruly hair, but that was still not enough.

_ "Hey, look at me will ya!"

He was pouting as he rasped the words, pouting and glaring at you with an accusing scowl, one that would easily frighten anyone unlucky enough to be on the receiving end of it, but not you.

In fact, this desperate state of his is always amusing to witness, even more so, because you're the only one allowed to see it.

_ "I got it, I'm so sorry sweetie, I'm all yours now." you cooed with a warm smile before switching off the TV to give him your undivided attention, you will have to watch the rerun of your show some other time but it's alright, because this is more important, he is more important.

You were fighting the urge to burst out laughing at his pathetic attitude, but you feared upsetting him further, so you didn't.

_ "What is it then?" you ran your fingers along his cheeks before pinching him playfully.

_ "Nothing, just keep your eyes on me." he demanded with a menacing groan, but his eyes were actually pleading for your attention.

Cute..

_ "Of course my hero, you're my number one after all." you reassured him with a smile, coaxing a smug one to appear on his gorgeous face.

_ "Well I better be." he murmured back, shifting slightly until reaching your lips to peck them once and then another, before deepening the kiss and stealing your breath away.

Divider by : @/saradika

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strangerstilinski · 4 months ago

Note

can you pretty please do [intimidation] with eddie

🥺👉👈

[INTIMIDATION] sender, in an effort to frighten the receiver by invading their personal space, sits in their lap to try and inspire discomfort or fear in them.

cw: alcohol consumption, fem!reader, sort of enemies -> lovers (but actually idiots -> lovers), 2.4k

dividers by @strangergraphics

You're blocking the doorway into the Harrington kitchen, shoulder leaned against the wood panelling where you have a good view into the living room. Your unimpressed glare is drawn from the figure currently hogging the sofa when someone bumps into you just as you're bringing the plastic cup in your hand to your lips.

"Jesus, fucking watch it-" The outrage in your tone fades quick when you see who's run into you.

"Sorry." Jonathan grimaces as he watches you wipe a bit of juice and vodka from your chin.

"No, it's fine," You sigh and turn on your heel, following Jonathan into the kitchen as he begins to grab things to make himself a drink, though it appears to be far more lemon-lime soda and grenadine than anything else. "Sorry, I just.. I dunno, sorry." You shrug before gulping down another mouthful of your own admittedly strong drink. You're kind of hoping that once your buzz kicks in you'll feel just a little less like there's a storm cloud floating right above your head.

"What is with you, tonight?" Jonathan asks with an overly cautious smile, "I haven't seen Munson bug you even once, so it's gotta be somethin' else-"

"Nothing," You huff, a little defensive at just the mention of the other boy, "I'm fine."

"Oh yeah, totally," Jonathan chuckles and raises his newly acquired drink in a salute, "You're like a ray of sunshine tonight."

It's annoying as hell, but he's right. You're fuming and Eddie has yet to even speak to you. He's been avoiding you like the plague from the moment you walked through the door, as if Eddie could somehow sense that you were already in a mood, and he didn't feel like getting told off for being the reason that you finally snapped.

Because normally, Eddie would've found at least seven ways he could irritate you by now. He'd have finished the last of the juice he saw you eyeing for your next mixed drink and laughed maniacally when you pouted about it. He'd have pestered you about whether you might want to join in on another campaign, all while making a handful of little comments about just how easy it'll be for him to decimate your character when you do. He'd have watched you shiver while you passed a joint back and forth by the pool, and then draped his stupid jacket around your shoulders just so he could roll his eyes and give you shit about not dressing warmly enough.

Eddie was infuriating — And the worst part was that he knew it. The asshole thrived on pushing buttons and testing people's limits, but tonight evidently he'd been able to tell that you were already toeing dangerously close to yours and had steered clear altogether.

You peer back out into the living room now, narrowed eyes zeroing back in on the figure sprawled across the entire length of the loveseat, socked feet kicked up on the opposite cushion where someone else could be sitting if he weren't such a selfish prick.

"God, what an asshole." You grumble, downing the last of your drink and grabbing the nearest bottle to begin mixing another. "I mean, look at him, seriously. Does he have to take up the whole couch?"

Jonathan's gaze follows the path your own had taken moments before, and he snorts in amusement, "Eddie."

It's not a question, but you answer him as if it had been.

"Yes, Eddie." Another quick glance up into the living room has your eyes locking with the man in question just as his name falls from your lips.

Eddie's eyes go wide, his cheeks dimpling with his sudden grin. He jabs his index finger into his chest, lips moving silently around the words, "Who? Me?"

"Uh-huh.. Why don't you go do something about it?" Jonathan teases.

Eddie's attention is pulled away when Gareth says something from his spot in an armchair. Whatever he says it gets Eddie riled up and he's immediately talking animatedly, hands gesturing wildly as he speaks.

"Maybe I will." You're already moving with purpose, halfway out of the kitchen when you hear your friend shout after you.

"I was joking!"

"Well I'm not!" You call back over your shoulder.

It's darker as you step into the living room, overhead lights off in favor of utilizing the warmer glow from the the lamp tucked away in the corner. You have to step over Eddie's discarded shoes at the foot of the sofa, and the boy very nearly knocks your drink out of your hand when you step in front of him, too distracted by his own tirade to have seen your approach.

But his head snaps up toward you as your thigh brushes his arm. Whatever he's been saying, the words cut off abruptly at the realization of who it is standing beside him.

"Well hey there, princess." He shoots you a toothy grin — You assume it's meant to be charming, but it only irritates you further. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"

You ignore Eddie in favor of casting a small smile of apology toward Gareth, "Sorry to interrupt."

"Nah, no worrie-"

"No, no! You didn't interrupt. We were done." Eddie cuts his friend off, "Gareth was just telling me he was gonna go take a piss, actually."

Gareth splutters for a moment, but when his eyes shift from you to Eddie he's suddenly rising from his chair. You watch Gareth shake his head as he steps around you before he stalks off without a word.

"What was that about?" You can't help but ask in curiosity.

"Beats me. Really had to piss, I guess." Eddie says quickly, sitting up a little straighter against the arm of the couch. He throws an arm out to gesture to Gareth's recently vacated chair, "Did you wanna-"

Rather than taking advantage of the empty seat, you plop yourself across Eddie's thighs unceremoniously, feeling oddly satisfied by the huff of surprise that escapes him when your weight is suddenly in his lap.

The way the warmth of his body seeps into your own is near immediate, even through two layers of denim. Your arm presses into his chest as you lean back into the cushion of the sofa, trying and failing to remain unaffected by his proximity. He smells infuriatingly good this close, clean and masculine with just a lingering hint of the weed he'd smoked earlier in the night. It makes your stomach flutter wildly, makes your head swim for half a second before you're lifting your cup to your mouth in an effort to compose yourself.

Eddie huffs softly and his breath fans out over your exposed shoulder, warm and smelling faintly of cheap beer and menthols. Goosebumps prickle along the length of your arm, hairs standing on end suddenly. You wish you could convince yourself that your body's reaction were one of repulsion, but deep down you know that its something far, far worse than that.

"You.. You're just gonna.. sit.. here?" Eddie asks, voice a little wobbly, unsure.

His knuckles brush your thigh, likely an accident, but one sidelong glare has his hand retreating to the relative safety of the couch cushion in a flash.

"Yep."

You can see outside to the patio from your position, and you focus your attention to the group sitting with their feet in the pool. The sheer amount of effort it takes to keep your eyes trained there, rather than allowing them to drift to where Eddie's hand twitches near your knee-

"Do- Did you want me to move my legs? Do you want-" He shifts underneath you like he's ready to pull his feet from the cushion at the other end, but you remain resolutely in place.

"Nope, I'm good."

You have absolutely no plans of moving any time soon. You'd remain seated right here in Eddie's lap until his bladder was ready to burst, until your weight made his legs fall asleep and tingle from lack of blood flow, until he was ready to grab you by your hips and force you into another seat.

He'd learn his lesson. The inconsiderate couch-hogging asshole.

"O..kay." Eddie says slowly, wiping his palm on the side of his own denim-clad hip, as if his hands might've gotten a little sweaty.

Were you making him warm? Good.

"So.." Eddie pauses. You catch a glimpse of his face scrunching in thought at the corners of your vision before he continues, "Any big plans for the weekend?"

With how close you're sat, Eddie is speaking almost directly into your ear. There's no need for him to raise his voice to be heard, and you find that the low rumble of it is nice, soothing almost. It curls around your ears and sends something warm shooting down your spine.

"Killing boys." You return dryly, eyes straining now in an effort to remain focussed on what's going on in the backyard.

Eddie snorts, body jolting underneath you with his amusement — And his almost-laughter absolutely does not make your chest flush with pride. You couldn't care less whether or not Eddie Munson finds you funny. As if.

"Oh, so nothing out of the ordinary for you then."

Eddie chuckles and the tip of his thumb finds its way to the place where your thigh presses into his. You can't tell if it's accidental or on purpose, but the gentle press of his finger maybe kind of makes your stomach flip pleasantly, so you allow it. Whatever.

You hum in agreement, "Yeah, well. There's almost always some boy who deserves it."

"I don't doubt it," Eddie murmurs with a wide grin, his head tipped sideways over the back of the couch, cheek nearly brushing your shoulder now, "Anyone I know currently at the top of your list, madame assassin?"

"There is this one asshole." You pause to take a sip of your drink, fighting off a grimace at the awful liquor to juice ratio. "He's loud. And irritating. Just loves getting on my last nerve-"

"Long hair?"

The interruption has your eyes rolling, "Yep. Walks around looking like some Van Halen wannabe."

"Oh, he sounds cool."

You can practically hear the smirk in his voice now.

"Well he's not." You return blankly. "He's always trying to get a rise outta me, acting like a total prick-"

"Hold on, hold on-" Eddie cuts you off again, "Now I'm not so sure we're on the same page. Thought I knew who you were talkin' about, but-"

"Oh, you know him." You grumble, sinking farther into the plush cushion on the back of the couch with your drink clutched to your chest. "You know him well, trust me."

Eddie shifts beneath you, angling both himself and you until he's taking up more of your line of sight than the patio doors. His big brown eyes bore into you until you crack and flick your gaze toward him.

"Here's the thing.." Eddie starts, the pad of his thumb stroking the seam on the outside of your knee. "Maybe this guy's just pushing your buttons because he likes when all of your attention is on him-"

The arm he has thrown over the back of the couch by your shoulder moves then, brushing your hair back from your temple only to backtrack and trail the pads of his fingers featherlight over the space between your brows.

"-Maybe.. Shit, I dunno, maybe he likes the way your eyebrows come together when you're angry-"

Your heart is beating so loud you can hear the blood pumping in your ears. The urge to fidget under his attention is strong, but you sit at still as possible in fear of breaking the spell. You have to strain to hear Eddie's next words over the dull whoosh of your heartbeat echoing in your skull.

"Maybe he thinks you look kinda devastatingly beautiful-"

"You-" And, fuck. Did your voice just crack? "You're trying to tell me you think this guy is, what? Being a dick because he likes me? Pulling my pigtails on the playground and shit?"

Eddie's grin is less cocky than you've ever seen it. His lips twitch at one side of his mouth. He almost looks nervous.

You take a deep breath as his fingers skim over your jaw on their way back toward your hair, where he pinches a small lock between two fingers and tugs twice, oh-so gentle.

"What if he was?" Eddie asks softly, "Being a dick because he likes you, I mean."

"I'd tell you he's an idiot." You manage, plastic cup crinkling under the increased pressure of your hand.

Eddie winces, but nods and averts his gaze. His arm falls to the back to the sofa again, close enough for you to feel the warmth of it beside your shoulder.

"But.." You have to swallow down a smile when Eddie's wide eyes snap right back to yours. "Maybe this idiot's attraction isn't totally one-sided. So, maybe he should stop being an asshole and try making a move."

Eddie blinks. Once, then twice. He squares his shoulders and leans in like he might kiss you, but then he backs off again and searches your eyes as if he's terrified he might be reading the entire situation wrong.

"Eddie." You whisper sharply, "The idiot is you, asshole."

"Oh, Jesus Christ, thank god."

And then his fingers are curled gently around the back of your neck. His hand is fully grasping your opposite thigh as he tries to drag you impossibly closer. His plush lips are pressing softly into your own, the taste of beer mixing with vodka and citrus.

It's a quick kiss, chaste. Your mouths only remain glued together for all of three seconds before he's leaning back just enough to watch you blink at him from beneath heavy lashes. You can't imagine how stupidly docile you look; brows pushed up your forehead, chest nearly heaving beneath your shirt, jaw slack, lips parted and waiting for more. It's pathetic how he's managed to turn you into this with just one G-Rated kiss.

The hand on the back of your neck moves to your face, fingertips tracing the smooth line of your brow before trailing back down to cup your cheek.

"Yeah.. Yeah, this is nice too." Eddie murmurs, "You're awful pretty when you're mad, but this.. This right here is somethin' else."

"You're so annoying." It comes out airy, absolutely no bite to your words.

"Oh, that's not changing, sweetheart. Matter of fact, I think it's a part of our spark. Gotta keep the fire burning, right? I'll keep annoying you, you'll keep getting angry-"

"Would you just shut up and kiss me again?"

Eddie grins, already leaning in, "Sure thing."

#ah yes a little lap sitting is VERY itimidating 🙂↕️ uhuh yeah totally #this one was very fun to write and i absolutely got carried away but here we are #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson enemies to lovers #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson idiots to lovers #*

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