#like legitimately... look at them eyes in the last two gifs

[peterparkersnose]

A Tale of Two Eyes

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

word count: 2.8k

warnings: trauma, mentions of suicide, mentions of Helaemond, toxic marriage, reader has established relationship with Aemond and they have children, reader is pregnant, marriage of convenience, political marriage, arguing, undertones of an abusive relationship, selfish Aemond, hate on the Blacks (love Rhaenyra tho, just for the story themes)

a/n woah I wrote?!?! Happy birthday Ewan ily mwah

summary Aemond's son and heir just met the same fate as he did all those years ago with Lucerys.

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read time: 10 mins 11 seconds

That afternoon was a blur. Everything for Y/N has moved so quickly, yet so slowly at the same time. She had asked Ser Criston to fetch her sons, ten-year-old Daeron and six-year-old Aerion, for dinner. They had been playing out in the courtyard for a few hours. She had her three-year-old daughter, Visenya, sat and prepared to feast for the evening meal. Visenya wiggled in her seat, anxious for her brothers to join her to feast. The morning was rough on Y/N, as she was currently seven months pregnant with her fourth child with Aemond. Visenya had been a terror as well, as she has now taken to escaping her caretakers and seeking out Y/N specifically. Y/N was speaking to Visenya, trying to distract her from her hungry stomach and practicing her vowels when her mother-in-law, Alicent, came rushing into the dining room. The Dowager Queen looked frantic as she quickly came to Y/N’s side. 

“It’s Daeron,” she spoke, out of breath. “Daeron?” Y/N asked. Alicent motioned for her to follow her, as she did not want to alarm Visenya. Y/N immediately left Visenya with their nanny and followed her mother-in-law quickly down the castle halls.

“What has happened?” Y/N asked, holding her stomach with one hand and walking as fast as she possibly could. “Aegon and Viserys…” Alicent paused. The names of Rhaenyra’s last two surviving sons. They have always quarreled with her and Aemond’s sons, and now she truly feared the worst. 

“They have taken Daeron’s eye just as Lucerys did to Aemond years ago.”

Y/N abruptly stopped in the hallway, grabbing the wall for guidance.

“Excuse me?” she blinked a few times, angered at her mother-in-law for just dropping this knowledge on her. For the sake of her unborn child, she tried not to let her emotions run rampant.

For her first child, her first son, heir to the Iron Throne, and the beginning of the new Targaryen age has just been permanently maimed or killed. 

Aemond never attended dinners anymore. The man Y/N knew when they were first betrothed was long gone after the results of the dance. Aemond could barely deal with the grief of his siblings, niece, and nephews. Y/N had always speculated a secret love affair with her husband and his now-deceased sister, Helaena, but she never approached the subject. He was never the same after Helaena’s suicide. Aemond had been a broken man since, even though he was living out his dreams. He was now the King. The Blacks were defeated, only leaving Rhaenyra’s two legitimate sons with Daemon, as they were too young to understand the effects of what they were born into. Alicent took them in against her better judgment. 

So now, he sat in his office alone like he did most nights. The candlelight was dim and his wine glass was almost emptied. He sat hunched over letters, writing them to various Lords around Westeros. Aemond often filled his time with work so he could escape the horrors of his true life. It was pitch black outside and pouring now, as it had been hours since dinner was supposed to have happened. He heard a knock on his office door.

“Enter.”

He didn’t expect his wife. He straightened his posture and took off his reading magnifier from the bridge of his nose. He took in her essence. She was beautiful, he had to admit. Their marriage wasn’t ideal, but she had been essential for the success of the Greens in the dance, as their marriage brought House Targaryen together with one of the most powerful houses in Westeros. Aemond took a deep breath.

“My lady wife–”

His words got caught in his throat when he saw the blood on her hands. “Is the child all right?” 

Y/N nodded eagerly to assure him that this wasn’t a complication in her pregnancy. “What has happened? Is someone hurt?” Aemond eagerly asked, standing up from his desk and striding over to her. “I-It’s Daeron…”

“Daeron?” Aemond replied, relief running over him that the issue wasn’t the child. Yet he worried for his heir. Y/N was shaking, Aemond grabbed her hands. “You mustn't freak.” she asked of Aemond. His brows furrowed. “Calm yourself, woman. Explain what happened.” 

“Him and Aerion… got in a scuffle with Aegon and Viserys.”

Aemond’s grip tightened on Y/N’s hands. If it weren’t for the grace of her and Alicent, Aemond would have had those two children’s heads on spikes before they were old enough to realize their parents' crimes. “What prompted the fight?” he asked angrily. Y/N shrugged. “That–that is to be determined. I don’t want you to freak–”

“Do not tell me what to do. What is of Daeron?” he raised his voice to his wife. “He–”

Y/N took a deep breath and paused. She didn’t know how to approach this with her husband correctly and not trigger him from his past. Her hand moved to her husband's cheek, her fingers moving over the strap of his eyepatch slowly. “Do you remember?”

Aemond scoffed.

“Of course, I remember. You don’t need to remind me.” his lips pursed as he closed his remaining eye momentarily and sighed. “Why is this relevant?”

Y/N had no clue how to tell her husband this. She was expecting him to have the same reaction she and Queen Alicent were having. 

“Our son just met the same fate.”

Aemond pondered for a moment, then turned around and brushed Y/N’s hand off his cheek. He returned to his desk. He felt sick, he had to sit down. Aemond didn’t fully understand the situation yet but feared the worst. He was silent for a great moment, hearing a small sniffle coming from his wife brought him back to reality. “What happened to Daeron? Do you mean to tell me he’s lost his eye? Don’t tell me he’s dead…”

“He isn’t. But Viserys scraped it out like Lucerys did to yours.”

Aemond slammed his fist on the desk, making Y/N jump. Aemond seethed in anger, thoughts running rampant in his head. After a long pause, he spoke. “And did you tell my mother yet?”

“She is with him as we speak.” Y/N replied, anxiously waiting to see where her husband's emotions ran at that moment. “Where is Aerion? Is he harmed?” he asked of his spare, who could likely become his heir at any moment. “Aerion is fine just… traumatized. He tried to go after Viserys but Criston pulled him away when he got to the scene.”

Aemond seethed, then suddenly threw his wine goblet to the wall. It smashed and scared Y/N. “Aemond–”

“Send Daeron to my mother’s chambers. Tell her I’ll be along shortly, I have letters to write.”

He didn’t even look up at his wife as he put his spectacle back on. 

“What?” Y/N held her stomach with one hand, the other on her hip. She was confused. “You’re returning to your work?” She didn’t even get another word in before Aemond snapped. “Send Daeron to my mother's room at once!”

She was utterly shocked. How could he? Work? His son needed his father. The only person who could relate and help Daeron through this terrible time in his life… and Aemond chose to work? “Your son needs you!” 

Aemond growled. “I’ll tend to him later. He’s going to survive, and I have work to do.”

Y/N was flabbergasted. 

“You’re the only one who can help him understand. The boy is ten and just lost his eye! That is your son!”

Y/N knew she was fighting in a losing battle. But she had to plead for her son. He had been requesting his father for some time now. Aemond abruptly stood, walking to his door. He didn’t look at her once. “If you think talking to him will do him any good, I’ll do it. I’ll write my letters and come when I can,” he mumbled. When Y/N realized this was the best she was going to get, she decided to leave. As she was exiting the door, the child kicked in her womb roughly. She groaned and Aemond looked up to her, seeing her clutching her stomach. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Y/N said coldly. He watched her exit. She wasn’t expecting another word from him. 

She could hear him before she saw him. Y/N entered Alicent’s chamber to see her son sobbing, clinging to his grandmother. Alicent brushed his hair softly with her fingers, her stare distant. Y/N could tell that Alicent had seen this story before, and she didn’t like the ending. The look of vengeance plagued the middle-aged woman's face. As Daeron heard someone enter the room, he spoke.

“Father?” Y/N’s heart simply broke then. Daeron was truly in a state of shock, he barely paid attention to anything but the throbbing sensation of the worst pain he had ever felt in his life on his face. “No, sweet boy. Your father…” Y/N caught herself. She couldn’t tell her son that his father refused to see him. No. It would simply break his heart and his spirit more than they already were broken. “I could not find him. The guards will notify him shortly when they find him.” Y/N moved to the bed, and Alicent moved so Y/N could comfort her son Daeron. Alicent gave her an honest nod and stepped into the hallway. Y/N embraced her ten-year-old in her arms, and he rested his head on the fleshy part of her arm. He was still holding a rag over his wound, so Y/N took the rag from his hand and switched it with hers so the boy’s arm wouldn’t grow tired. 

“What happened to me, mother?” Daeron spoke softly. He tried to look up at her but failed to do so. Y/N held back tears. “It wasn’t fair, my love. Viserys will pay. I will make sure of it.”

Daeron shook in her arms. “I-I’m scared.” he admitted to her. A sob finally came from the boy again, and he stopped crying when she entered the room. He was trying to stay strong for his mother. He was already showing such promising signs of a good King, even at such a young age.  “What will I do without my eye, mother? Do I still have a future, will the girls still like me? They’ll think I’m gross for sure, I just know of it–”

“My son.” Y/N cut off his rambles. “Of course not. We shall not worry about this now. You are a handsome boy, and already a great warrior.”

“But–” Daeron began again. Y/N shushed him. “No. Shh. You must remember your father has the same wound as you. And is he a great warrior?” 

Daeron nodded. “And is he married?”

Daeron nodded again. “My sweet son, my heir. Do not worry. You will be the greatest Targaryen that ever lived.” Y/N spoke. She moved closer to her son. “Don’t tell your father or siblings I said that,” Y/N whispered, managing a small smile trying to bring some humor to the boy. He desperately needed it. But it quickly faded, as the child inside of her kicked again. 

“Mother?” Daeron asked. Even in his pained state, he cared for his mother. What a good boy she had raised. “Do not worry. The babe is just wild during this time of night.” 

Y/N ran a hand over her son's bloodied hair which had now dried. She held him close until he fell asleep. Aemond never came. 

During the very early hours of that morning, Y/N had failed to find sleep. She paced her shared chambers with Aemond. He had yet to return. She grew angrier and more frustrated by the minute. And finally, as she was re-lighting the candles that should have been blown out hours ago, she heard the door of her chambers click open and then shut. She turned to her husband, who looked cowardly now, with an angered glare. “Where have you been?”

Aemond shrugged. Y/N scoffed. “Do not play this game with me right now.” Y/N approached him, he smelt of dragon sweat and the salty sea. “Did you just take Vhagar for a ride?” 

Aemond sighed. “Yes.”

Y/N couldn’t hold back the angered laugh. “You’re kidding me right now.” Aemond threw his boots from his feet against the wall. “I have my own ways of managing my–”

“Your son has lost an eye. Have you no heart?!” Y/N interrupted him. Aemond seethed silently, pausing. He then threw his jacket on the back of the couch. “I will see him in the morning.” Aemond answered tiredly. Y/N stared at him in shock. “I have no words for you.” 

Aemond ignored his wife, moving to the closet. He changed into his nightly gown and his robe. He tried to get into bed, but Y/N was already sitting on the bed when he returned. “No. Not tonight.” she said sternly. Aemond scowled. “And why not?” Aemond asked with a sharp tongue. He was almost at his breaking point with her. Couldn’t she not understand his duties? His trauma from his past? How selfish of her… 

“Why not?!” Y/N yelled “Your son has just been maimed for life and you refuse to see him! What kind of father are you?” This statement set Aemond off. All the anger, hurt, and hatred boiled over within him. He tried to keep it in for the sake that he did truly love his wife, but she failed to understand him over the years like this. Aemond took a deep breath. “Don’t you get it? I have been struggling for fucking years! Do you think I want to see my son, bloodied and broken as I once was at his age? No, you daft woman! I wish to be alone. You are incessantly bothering me and I am sick and tired of it!” he lashed out at his wife. Y/N sat in bed, tensed at his words. She didn’t know how to reply. The realization that the reason Aemond didn’t visit their son sank in; he simply did not know how to. “I cannot look at the mirror of my old self in him! For Gods sakes, he already is a copy of me! Now with this…” 

Y/N took in his words. She saw him tearing up. “Aemond–” she attempted to speak. He cut her off. “I will have that child sent to the wall along with his blasted brother,” he spoke angrily. “Do not try to talk me out of it either. I am King and I have made my final choice. I have spared their lives when they should join their bastard brother Lucerys in Vhagar’s belly.” 

“But your son–” “He will live. You cannot coddle the boy. He must grow strong.”

“How could you say that?” Y/N answered. Aemond shrugged. “My father did the same, and I will follow.”

Y/N couldn’t believe her ears. Viserys was a terrible father to Aemond and his siblings, favoring Rhaenyra. “You know damn well that if Viserys still lived, he would pardon Rhaenyra’s son and blame Daeron somehow–”

“THAT ISN’T THE POINT!” Aemond snapped at her. He knew how terrible Viserys was. He knew how damaged his father had made him. But he was the man he was now because of Viserys, and he would never be the same happy little boy he was before the loss of his eye. And now that the same had just happened to his son, his heir, he couldn’t deal. Y/N watched him in horror as he turned to violence, smashing one of the vases in the room. She held her stomach, fearing her husband in his rage. After Aemond realized what he had done and how he had scared his wife, he stopped. Aemond’s yelling turned into sobs. He collapsed on his bed. Y/N warmly opened her arms to embrace him, despite being terrified of him seconds ago. Aemond clung to her and her baby bump for dear life. 

“I’m sorry, I-I’m sorry…” he whimpered, burying his face in the crook of her stomach under her breast. He was shaking. Y/N was too stunned to speak, but she spoke softly. “I know.”

She was furious at her husband. But the effects of the dance had ruined him. This wouldn’t have happened twelve years ago when they wed. They both had to re-learn each other–him with his trauma, her with her dedication to being a mother and a Queen. They struggled too often. But at solemn moments like this, when Aemond calmed down, they just held each other. The truth was, they were just two scared kids in this world. Thrown into the grasp of something neither of them wanted or intended. And that is how they stayed the rest of the night–trembling in each other’s arms, afraid of what the future held for them. 

[ooffmlsorry]

One Piece Men Dealing with a Dangerously Reckless S/O

context: by dangerously reckless I mean someone who never has a second thought about throwing themselves in harms way and doesn't care what it does to them

t/w: passive suicidality, self harm? (better safe than sorry) angst. Mentions of blood, injury, and death

LAW

It'd probably lead to a big argument where he threatens to kick you off his crew because losing you would legitimately be the death of him. He can't lose anymore people he loves to violence. When Bepo tells Law you didn't even hesitate to plunge into a thicket of razor wire to help your crew mates escape, it doesn't read as admirable to him. It reminds him too much of himself on Spider Miles. After he gets your side of the story, which pretty much confirms it, he doesn't talk to you at all while he cleans the mud and blood from your skin and stitches the slashes that cover you from head to toe. Normally, even if you've fallen asleep, he talks you through your treatment, but not after your stunts. He's that...scared? Angry? Distraught might be the right word. Every time you do something like this, he's speechless because his thoughts are racing with the reality of losing you. He feels sick to his stomach. On nights like these, he doesn't know whether to sleep far away from you or hold you so close to him you can't breathe.

LUFFY

At first, Luffy doesn't care. He has the utmost faith in his crew, and they put themselves in harms way all the time! Getting injured is just being a pirate sometimes! That's pre-timeskip. Post-timeskip Luffy still has a lot of faith in his crew and a lot of faith in his ability to protect his crew, but he's...different. He believes things are always going to work out no matter what and if they don't he'll make them, but sometimes he wakes up in the middle of night and stares at you, tracing all the scars you've gotten from one fight or another. And then the what-ifs begin to creep in and the nightmares start. After literally diving into a sea king to retrieve Nami's log pose and Chopper has patched you up yet again, you wake up to Luffy calling out for you in his sleep, sweat dampening his hair and his face twisted in fear. You soothe and shush him until his breathing evens out, but he holds you tighter still. It's not in his nature to "bench you" or doubt your strength just because he's in love with you. That would be controlling and doubting you, and he would never do that. But that doesn't mean Zoro and Sanji don't take notice, even if Luffy won't say anything they make it extremely hard for you to pull off any careless "heroics."

ZORO

Much like Luffy, Zoro doesn't think much of it for a while for the same reason. This is the guy that was completely ready to cut his own legs off, after all. But that doesn't mean it doesn't concern him, especially because you don't seem to have a rhyme or reason for all the shit you pull. And he would say something to you about it. Maybe not directly after you jumped straight into Marine gunfire to cover a little girl, he just wants you to be alive at that point. But after days of taking care of you as your wounds slowly heal, after he's certain you're not going anywhere this time, he'd make sure the two of you are somewhere alone and quiet to talk. As far as Zoro's concerned not going down without a fight is completely fine, dying for your dream isn't considered giving it up, but acting like it isn't a possibility is stupid. And he'd tell you as much. For most of this he wouldn't be able to look at you, just because if he does fear is going to take hold of him, but for that last bit he would. Zoro would search your eyes hoping you understand what he's saying. He'll tie you to the ship if he has to, he'd do anything if it saves you from being so stupid as to forfeit your dreams.

SABO

Dying for the cause is par for the course. It's a grim reality that Sabo begrudgingly accepts, although he does have a bit of youthful naivety that it won't ever happen to anyone. He won't ever believe the revolution isn't worth it, but you do make him question it for the first time. He loves you so much he has to compare you to the whole world for a moment, and that's one of the worst thoughts he's ever had. Because the whole world still wins. The guilt would eat him alive until he blows up (somewhat literally) at you for drinking the last of a rare poison to keep it out of the enemy's hands. Angry tears roll down Sabo's cheeks. When he yells at you, he's shaking with anger and fear. It's not up to him, but he doesn't object when you're completely benched while you recover and for a little longer after that. It takes a while for him to no longer angry and scared out of his mind, but once he is he's back to himself. If can visit you every day he will. He has hope for the world's future, and hope for yours too. He's not leaving either behind.

[bad-and-drawn-that-way]

ooh! what about vox hypnotising the reader to sign a soul contract with him? 👀

love your work :D

This is gonna be angsty, but not in the way you'd normally expect >:3

More Than Anything [Vox x Reader]

"Ẇ̸̛̞̑h̸͈̰͕͊͝y̴̪͍̠̽ won't you let me do this for you?!"

Vox glitched out as you turned away from him. The two of you had been arguing for at least an hour and his nerves had frayed thin a good while ago.

The two of you had only been dating for a couple of months when some sneaky jackass paparazzi demon snagged a picture of you two h*lding hands while on a date. The image had spread like wildfire and everyone was curious to dig up as much information on you as possible. Rumors about the legitimacy of the photo, Valentino and Vox's neverending situationship, arguments about your character, you name it. It was all anyone could talk about.

At first, you both legitimately believed things would smooth over and the public would move on to the next celebrity scandal within a short amount of time. Reality only partially heeded your predictions.

The occasional talk show would hang on to the topic and some people had ship wars about it on sinblr, but for the most part, hell had moved on. Vox's enemies, however, had not.

It was a day just like any other when it happened. You had been on your way back to your apartment after visiting Vox at his office. He'd been having a rough day and you brought him food for an impromptu lunch date to lift his spirits. You had just turned the corner to the street you lived on, the looming tower of the Vee's still watching over you from afar. Hands grabbed you from an alleyway and you didn't even have a chance to gasp, let alone scream as you struggled against the sickly-sweet-smelling cloth pressed against your face.

You kicked and screamed, but felt your body growing heavy fast. You knew how to protect yourself to an extent, but you weren't a powerful sinner, nor trained for something like this. Your vision blurred and the last thing you saw were bright cyan flashes and blood splattered across the brick walls as you slipped into darkness.

When you woke up wearing your favorite oversized hoodie in the large bed of your boyfriend. You were confused as fuck until the memory slammed back into you. You call out for Vox and hear something crash nearby and the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps before he yanks open the doors to his room with a frazzled look.

At first, he'd been all over you. He'd been the one to clean the blood off of your unconscious body after he slaughtered the group of thugs in a white-hot rage. You hadn't known it, but Vox had been secretly watching you on his monitors to make sure you got home safely. He'd started doing it long before the two of you had started dating and the potential of what could have happened if he hadn't been stalking you out of the goodness of his heart chilled him to his core.

"I could've lost you," he grits out as his shaking claws dig into the sheets beneath him. You cupped his face and tried to reassure him, but he only dug his claws in deeper, shredding the fabric with fear and stress. He lets out a shaky sigh before his hand lifts to cup your own. His expression shifts as he looks up at you. "But never again."

"What do you mean?" you ask him softly as you search his eyes for the meaning behind the look he gave you.

He takes both your hands in his own, placing them on your lap. "Make a deal with me. Sign a contract. If I have control over your soul, then I'll always know where you are," he said seriously. "I'll be able to keep you safe."

You shake your head, leaning up to kiss his screen. "No, baby we've talked about this before. I know I'm not the strongest sinner, but I don't want anyone to own my soul but me. I'll get stronger and one day you won't need to worry anymore. Just give me time."

"We don't have time," Vox snapped. The vision of you passed out in the alleyway, covered in the thug's blood was ingrained in the back of his mind. It was at this moment he cursed his active imagination. All he could think of was the horrible scenarios you could be in if he didn't take action.

At first, the two of you were able to talk sweetly enough while you tried to change the other's mind. But as you kept going in circles, you both got more frustrated and it eventually blew up into the fight you were having now.

"Just ļ̷̲͊ę̸̇ț̷̭̅ ̸̖̝̠̔̋͆m̵̧̈́͋é̷̈́͜͠ͅ do this for you!" Vox screamed as he yanked you to turn and face him. His expression was distraught, his face short-circuiting from the anger and fear.

His expression crumbled as he let his head drop. "Please..."

Vox's claws twitch against your shoulders, "I'm sorry..." He mutters softly under his breath.

You look down at him and open your mouth to say something, only to gasp as red and blue fill your vision. Vox shakes as he watches your face relax, your mouth hanging open, and the reflection of his pained expression and black hypnotic spirals in your half-lidded eyes.

"But I can't lose you," he said as he trembled. "You're the only good thing I've had in hell and I can't replace you."

The room sparked with electricity and the entire tower powered down as he made you sign the deal. Your soul for his endless devotion and protection. Even if one day you discovered what he did. Even if you hated him for it. He'd be yours until the end of time.

You blink slowly, shaking your head and feeling a little fuzzy as you look down at Vox. His head was still lowered and you remembered he had just apologized to you and said he'd believe in you to get stronger. You smile softly at him and lift under the edge of his screen to make him look at you.

"Thank you for understanding," you say as you gently kiss him. "I promise, you'll have nothing to worry about. I'll get stronger and we'll be okay."

Vox sighed, looking at you with a tired, loving smile as he kissed you back. "Yeah... Everything will be just fine."

[cathrrrine]

came across this screenshot of a tweet on pinterest and i couldn’t help but headcanon making it through the twd apocalypse because of a painfully obvious crush on daryl.

twd headcanon: obviously crushing on an oblivious daryl dixon.

giggling in the distance while daryl dixon is in the middle of killing walkers, “ugh he’s so cute when he does that”

kicking your feet sitting up in a tree going “hiiiii daryllllll! <3 whatcha doinnn” and he’s like “???” cause you’re legitimately surrounded by now dead walkers and covered in blood

very sunshine x grumpy coded

whispering to maggie “oh my god do you think he was checking me out?” in the middle of a battle

“does this top look cute on me?” “what do you think is his type?” “should i maybe start smoking so we can go on smoke breaks together”

reminding yourself you’re a grown woman with composure and dignity when you find yourself wanting to scream into your pillow, because this daryl crush is so frustrating and he’s just so hot and his arms are so perfect and the way his voice makes you want to climb him right then and there-

wanting to be all mysterious and cool around him but it’s like the spirit of your teenage self possesses you whenever he’s around

subtly standing riiigghhhtttt behind him so rick pairs you together for supply runs then fist-pumping to yourself when it works

rick pretends not to notice. he pairs both of you up on purpose everytime

if he helps you up, you hold on to his hand for longer than you need to, in what you think is a subtle way but everyone notices

while almost dying, “fuck, can someone make sure my hair looks good before daryl sees me? rosita PLEASE im your FRIEND stop messing with my wound and fix my HAIRhdhwhrjue”

“maggie if i pass out can you please do me a favour and make sure daryl is the one who carries me? <3 oooh do you think he knows how to do cpr-“

*in the middle of killing walkers* wow daryl!!! *slash* that was *stab* a great shot!

daryl being ultimately clueless about your flirting and genuinely just thinks you’re being friendly

carol having to tell him “daryl she’s in love with you it’s so obvious”

and he denies it “nah she acts that way towards everyone” even if he secretly wishes it was true

carol wanting to smack him on the head because everyone knows you’re head over heels for daryl dixon except for daryl dixon

when you’re caught in a herd, you force yourself to keep going because there’s no way in hell you’re going to die surrounded by walkers. in your dazed state you’re thinking “fuck this shit im tracking dixon down and im gonna use my last breath to tell him i love him”

and maybe dying in his arms sounds better than being ripped apart by reanimated corpses so you keep pushing yourself

when you make it home you basically just throw yourself at the gates and everyone rushes over to get you to the infirmary

you could’ve sworn you heard maggie yell at daryl to carry you but you’re too out of it to process the thought

bleeding out and feeling yourself fading but then you hear daryl’s voice

“come on, y/n, you’re a fighter. you gotta make it through this. i know you can. please, you have to.”

it’s a miracle how instantly that makes you open your eyes when you were seconds away from death just before that

bringing you flowers and random little gifts while you’re healing up in bed but only putting them next to you when you’re asleep because he’s too shy

him not used to the days being so quiet without you being two steps behind him

finding himself missing your ridiculous quips when he’s on a supply run killing walkers and having to fill the silence with your voice in his head, recalling all the things you regularly say to him, because it feels too weird without you

being so attentive to your needs when you feel good enough to be out and about

daryl feeling much, much better when you’re back to being yourself and the days feel normal again with you going “hiiiiii darryyylllll <3”

carol: she’s in love with you.

daryl: she ain’t. stop it.

carol: fine! but you can’t deny you’re in love with her

whole thing is very reminiscent of a high school crush; innocent, bashful, endearing. everyone’s so entertained by The Daryl and Y/N Show

they have a bet going on to see who asks who out first

daryl asking maggie if what carol tells him is true, trying and failing to be casual about it

very shrill “he WHAT?!?” scream heard from your room, just minutes after the exchange

“TELLMEEVERYTHINGHESAID-“

[itsabouttimex2]

any lmk ideas you wish were touched on more often in fanfic??

Underused LMK Premises

Oh so many dude you don’t even understand-

1. Courtnapping as a legitimately bad thing. Not “ooh it’s romantic for demons” or “it’s just part of their culture” or “it’s proof of how much they love you” but like… a portrayal of courtnapping that actually demonstrates how viscerally dehumanizing it is to be stolen away by someone you might not even know and treated like a prize who can be won with the right application of charm or power.

(Like I’ve used it I think only once before and pretty much stopped at the “this is what demons do in general thing, but the potential for varied application is just… so high.)

Especially for mortals- imagine being bruised and battered from a long period spent unconsciously slung over someone’s shoulder or under their arm, strewn over a lounge chair or tied up in front of the kitchen table, seething. Eyes focused and hateful, knowing that this would happen eventually if they let down their guard or let a demon too close. It doesn’t matter how the monster peacocks about with that tome or this battleaxe, it’s not attractive, it’s not sexy,- and nothing can steal the feeling of violation that settles in over having been stolen from home in your sleep so you could get an extended IRL version of “I showed you my dick please go out with me” from a thirteen foot demon who is more interested in wooing you than actually wanting you.

Or just… old demons who mumble and huff about “losing their traditions” or “young demons going soft” as they look at woven tapestries in their homes, proud depictions of past conquests standing frozen in time, unaware that their great-great-grandson would lose his newest baby to a hysteric mortal’s iron-toed boot, wild with unforeseen hormones brought on by demonic birth, unaware that his youngest granddaughter would face a life of misery as she grew up, constantly stolen back and forth by two demons as part of a glorified pissing contest, both more interested in one-upping each other than the sapient being they steal from her room each night.

Young demons secretly taught by the last crotchety stalwarts of an old generation that “What you want is yours to take, if you can take it,” before their parents can snatch them away from great-great-great-grandfather and hurry off, praying their little one is too young to understand what was said. Growing demons brought up with those horrid words rattling their horned skulls, heeding and obeying them, then wondering why their dearest friends snap and crack as they’re “spirited away”. Grown demons who come up lonely and tired, seeing their diminishing race in a world flourishing with soft little mortals and wondering spitefully “Why did we ever stop conquering”, only learning the answer at the blunt end of a glowing golden staff when their time is near, the finishing blow timed to the cheers of their captives.

(If I ever write a satire fic, it will 100% be about a Y/N who gets isekai-ed into LMK, but instead of any of the cool or attractive protagonists, they get courtnapped by a crusty-handed, balding and portly demon who doesn’t practice hygiene or housecare. Just to put into perspective how actually awful the whole “I’m being kidnapped as a spouse” thing would probably really be if it wasn’t your attractive, young, in-shape, washes regularly blorbo doing the snatching.)

2. With this, demons just… not understanding mortals. Not for lack of trying, and not for lack of wanting, but through simple psychological incompatibility.

Demons struggling with empathy toward mortals because their minds are shaped by instincts that value strength, endurance, and survival of the fittest. Emotions that seem obvious to humans, like fear, discomfort, or sorrow simply not registering for demons in the same way. They see these reactions, but interpret them through their own lens, often believing that mortals are playing games or faking them or maybe outright performing.

Communal demons in broad daylight snatching up children for hours or days, only to return them with scars and bloodshot eyes, and wondering why they receive no gratitude for, in their opinion “taking up parental duties” without so much as being asked. After all, isn’t a little bit of “toughening up” good for children?

Demons who don’t understand “allergies”, especially when they range from “mild cough” to “near-instant death” and maybe misunderstand how epi-pens work- “Is stabbing the flesh a way to bleed the illness”, asks an curious demon with ancient eyes, worn hands, ragged skin, “and will any weapon do?”

Demons who become artists that need calligraphy tools so large they get mistaken for weapons. Demons who don’t understand tipping culture and assume they’re being fleeced. Demons who need custom chairs and custom clothes and custom bedding. Demons who pick fights on behalf of their friends and coworkers, and then to combat this, demons who get hired on as protection against “honor battles”.

Demons being demons, not just immortal humans.

3. Characters with variable ages that widely differ- like, I’ve gone on here and there about my view on ambiguous ages for characters and why I love that trope so much and how it makes a series infinitely more attractive to larger crowds and audiences than a concrete “14” or “23” or “46”, you know? And the fact that MK and Mei and Red Son could be sooo many different ages all in different configurations is super interesting to me!

Like, imagine- Adult!Red Son with Teen!Mei and Teen!MK, having an absolute full-throttle meltdown when he realizes that the two upstart semi-mortals who keep beating his demonic ass are teenagers. Red Son being both mortified at his continuous defeats and furious at these children’s parents for allowing them to fight in such high stakes.

And then with that slowly growing sense of pity and anger he just scoffs and shakes his head the one time they maybe aren’t in such high spirits (drenched from rain and wind and exhausted from the vigor of battle) and whisks them off to his family’s lair, throwing a demon-sized towel for them to share as he whips up something spicy for the kids.

Children.

They’re children.

He goes home and thinks on that, and then decides that maybe he just doesn’t want to fight them anymore.

Red Son then being reverse adopted by Pigsy + Mr. and Mrs. Dragon because, hey, if he’s playing big brother, might as well let him. Then Red gets to learn what (mostly) healthy family dynamics are through direct interaction and then hold his parents to those standards and basically everyone heals together.

Or hey, Red Son being a teenager while MK and Mei are adults! The two heroes doting on this ever-furious demon with treats and drinks to “cheer him up” after his frequent losses and kinda… accidentally teaching him what unconditional kindness is by becoming surrogate older siblings to the kid.

Red Son freaking out because his parents are going to be mad about this loss or that failure, and

(Red Son getting a phone call in the middle of a fight because PIF is mad he didn’t take out the trash lmao)

4. Y/N being protective of Sun Wukong.

Man, I don’t know if it’s just me but I don’t touch most romantic Shadowpeach x Y/N fanfics at all because I know I’m in for more of the same “Macaque legitimately being an awful person to someone he’s sharing a mate with/to one of his two mates and Y/N thinks it’s funny/doesn’t care” and just like… dude.

Like I know I’ve talked about how much I hate Fanon!Macaque, the simpering sadsack who only exists to get babied and patted on the ass, all his actions whitewashed and cooed over, so like, obviously I wasn’t gonna be a fan of this.

Maybe I’m just not the target audience here but like holy shit… why? It’s never portrayed as unhealthy or anything more than a silly goofy thing that Macaque is constantly tormenting someone he either is supposed to love or share a lover with, and the reader in regard to that mistreatment is little more a drooling dumbfuck without enough braincells to breath through their nose.

I don’t get it. A Y/N who says “Teehee my mate is being abused ‘oh noes’ but Maccy needs cuddles so I’ll disregard one half of my relationship~” is not a Y/N I care about, and I don’t see what’s so compelling about neglect and mistreatment portrayed as the order of the day. I don’t see the merit in “I’m Y/N, and I’m stupid and blind to abuse!”

Cause I think it’s so much more interesting if it’s like…

“Do that again and you’re out.”

And Macaque whips around in shock, looking up from the shadow portal he just shoved Wukong into. “Excuse me-“

“Do that again,” you repeat, voice low and tense- Wukong would be fine, you were more angry than worried-, “and you’re out. Gone. Out of my house and out of my life.”

“I wasn’t-“

“I don’t give a fuck, Macaque! You will not MISTREAT my mate in my own house!”

“I- it’s not- I don’t-“

“I DON’T FUCKING CARE! HE’S NOT A FUCKING PUNCHING BAG, SO I’M NOT LETTING YOU TREAT HIM LIKE ONE!”

You know, a scenario where Y/N isn’t a passive enabler of abuse and bullying, and they actually have a voice of their own outside of “Teehee Mac you’re sooooo mean to my lover but I’m totally okay with that for some reason!~” but also gives Macaque explicit instruction on what he needs to do in order to better the relationship (ex: not abuse their other mate), in which they aren’t stupid or unforgiving and all three can grow together, instead of the usual: “Macaque isn’t ever a bad person. But when he is it’s not a big deal. But when it is his victims “deserve” it.”

5. Transhuman identities and abilities. I mean, just… there’s shapeshifting and magical artifacts and all manner of mystic trinket in the world. Does being gay or trans really matter when anyone can learn the 72 Transformations and become what they wish? Is it any bigger a deal than your child deciding they’re going to live life as a dog, or a demon? Are there potions to make these transformations permanent? Can a person become a demon, instead of transforming into one?

Does being immortal fuck with your taxes? Does knowing magic fuck with your insurance? Does your family look at you differently after you’ve tasted that ambrosial nectar, consumed that slice of eternity? Do they fear or long for a taste? Does your grandmother refuse to come to your wedding, ashamed that you would “break yourself from the cycle”? Does your mother cry into her hands that you wed a demon? Do you run to an old monastery to elope, wed by an old monk with ancient eyes because no other soul will officiate you and that demon? Will you be welcome in the celestial realm if you wed a heavenly soldier? If you take the hand of a god? What will you have you learn? How long until you feel at “home”?

Just… humans getting into mystical trouble outside of battles.

(If anyone else has some stuff they’d wish was expanded on more often, feel free to add on in the comments or reblogs!)

[writingfromasgard]

The Book Burrow [Ghost]

[Masterlist] || Requests are Open || GIF by hollow-epitaph

cw: Simon using an identity to hide from his previous job?, n/a

synopsis: The dodgy bar down the street was turned into a bookstore a few months earlier in your town and its the last place to try to find the book series your friend recommended to you.

The darkly tinted windows showed your reflection as you squinted, trying to peer inside to discern whether this was truly a bookstore or a bar with a gimmick. It'd previously been a bar that was shut down so the bar seemed the more likely scenario in your mind. The odd hours on the door mirrored that of any bar in the area, perhaps opening a little earlier.

Your teeth gnaw on your bottom lip. There was a singular book series you have been trying to find for the past week and the author listed this place specifically on their website. It seemed odd that an author would promote a specific, new maybe-bar bookstore.

While you've been in bars before, they didn't give you any joy to spend time there. The smell of alcohol made your stomach churn most days. You take a deep breath, gripping the handle firmly and tugging on it.

It opens with a creak of its hinges and you smell.. coffee. It's not so strong that it assaults your nose. It wraps around your figure, drawing you further into the building. Your eyes glitter with the scene before you: a legitimate bookstore, no booze included.

Shelves, sparsely populated with books, stand under large handwritten signs marking each section. You tilt your head, realizing the labels aren’t what you'd expect.

The traditional genre labels of "fiction", "romance" or even "nonfiction" have been superseded by handwritten replacements. Each section has it a descriptive tag hanging down above it -- 'Better than Stephen King', 'Mostly Accurate Espionage', 'Horrible Backstory with Good Story', and 'Monster dating'.

Laughter bubbles out of your throat. You approach the 'Monster Dating' section, plucking a random book to scan over the synopsis of it. It's indeed about dating in a fantasy universe where Werewolves and other things go bump in the night.

Engrossed in the first few pages, you don't notice the presence behind you until a throat clears. You jump, snapping the book closed and turning to face a man an intimidating aura to him. He's bulky, the t-shirt stretching over obvious muscles while his face is obscured by a half-mask with a skull's upper and lower jaw printed on it.

"Anything I can help you with?" His voice is full of gravel like his words claw their way out of his throat.

Clutching the book to your chest, you stammer, "I'm looking for a series by Grace Kirkly?"

"Oh." He mutters, motioning you to follow him with two fingers.

The floorboards creak under your steps as you follow him to the counter. He steps to his left, motioning to the display right beside the counter. Your eyes light up as you see the sale sign - twenty percent knocked off the first book, fifteen percent off the second book when purchased together.

You pick up the books, happy to be able to buy all three books in the series in one go. "Thank you."

The books land on the counter with a heavy thump while he rounds the counter. His eyes feel heavy on you as you timidly put the 'monster boyfriend' book on the counter as well.

"Ever read 'em?" He questions, scanning each book leisurely.

"No, a friend recommended her to me." You respond, digging your card out of your purse to hand it over.

"For the series, the first book is more setting up for the second. I enjoyed the second's descriptiveness during the sex scenes. The third shows he's growing as a writer, too." He tore off a patch of brown paper, centering your books on them. "The other book you picked up is a personal favorite of mine."

He creases the brown paper with sharp folds, making the stack of four books look like a singular box. He rolls a piece of tape on top then holds his hand out for your card. You hand it over quickly, a question balancing on the tip of your tongue.

"I thought Grace was a woman. Do you.. read a lot?" As soon as the question leaves your mouth, you feel stupid. He works in a bookstore - he can read as many books as he wants for free, most likely.

He swipes the card then lays it on the counter between you two, his gaze sharp. "Every book in my shop has been read by me. I didn't want to put anything I couldn't say was good on the shelves."

"So the signs are..?"

"It's nice to walk into a place and know exactly what you're getting." He grabs a small card, punching two holes into it before sliding it and your card toward you. "Tenth punch is a free book."

Your eyes read over the card's information - ten little skulls line edges of the card. In the middle is the shop's name - The Book Burrow and under that - Managed by Morys Neil.

Your eyes meet his again, a smile on your lips, "Thank you, Mister Neil."

"I can show you similar authors if you enjoy Grace Kirkly when you return." Morys leaned on the counter, picking up a book from under it to start reading. His combat boots land on the edge of the counter next to your books as he settles into his chair.

"I'll try to get through them as quickly as possible then." The words leave your mouth and a moment later, you realize how flirtatious it sounds.

His eyes leave the book momentarily, "Anticipation is the best part of any story. No need to rush to see me."

[heavencanbeaprisontoo]

The Other Shelby Girl

Platonic!Shelby Siblings x reader

Headcanon/Imagine for a second Shelby Sister. Explores dynamics with each sibling based on of the reader were their older or younger sibling.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, mentions of war, violence, period-typical sexism, over-protective sibling drama.

Arthur

Older Sister:

You are the third most respected woman in Arthur’s life, which is greater than it sounds. First was Mum, then Polly. To be succeeded only by Polly in Arthur Shelby’s eyes is precious. He’s always looked up to you, but didn’t always show it. After the war, Arthur would come to rely on you heavily for emotional support. There were nights he would come to your home and no be able to speak. Where he would seem to turn back into a little boy, crying into your shoulder as he begs you not to speak of this to the others. When Arthur met Linda, you were one of the few to be supportive. You are Arthur’s greatest advocate, but his pride and Tommy’s influence make it hard to help him. When you have a family of your own, it’ll only make things harder. You often feel like you have to take sides. Still, you do what you think is best.

Younger Sister:

Depending on just how young you are, Arthur might try to put on like he’s your Dad. Arthur doesn’t always know how to talk to you. You’re just a young woman, he doesn’t feel like he can talk to you the way he does with John or Tommy. He wants to tease you and pick on you as he would with Finn, but he can’t. The moment you hit out your bottom lip and look like your feelings got hurt, Arthur is a flustered mess of a guilty brother. You might resist his attempts at being fatherly, or welcome them. Regardless, you can see that Arthur just wants you to know he’s a safe space for you. Maybe if you ask him nice enough, he’ll teach you how to draw horses like he used to. No matter how old you get, Arthur is the brother that still sees you as a little girl.

Thomas

Older Sister:

Before the war, Tommy only saw you as someone who nagged at him. The meddling older sister warning him away from throwing curses at people and fighting with the cops. After the war, you became something far more delicate than that. You became something like his conscience. That pleading voice that begged for peace and forgiveness that grows fainter every year. As adults, you swear sometimes he hates you. The way he disregards you and keeps you at arm’s length. In actuality, he’s only trying to avoid the shame your hopeful gaze gives him. It was you who tried to get the brothers to hide from the draft. It was you who told him getting involved in London affairs would be dangerous. You who told him not to accept anything from the Russians. You were always right. Always good. He also feels he must protect you because you know him when he was soft and weak. Aside from Polly, you’re the last person who ever heard him laugh.

Younger Sister:

He lumps you in with Ada without really meaning to. You and Ada are both younger, and are both girls. As such, you both have similar problems that have his head aching and his trigger finger itching. Two pretty girls tend to attract a lot of scummy men. You’re both so stubborn about not needing anything from him, which is bloody absurd. Of course you need his help. Whatever money you’re making doing legitimate work isn’t going to be enough to keep you safe. You have never gone on a single date without someone Peaky Blinder watching you. Arthur tries to give advice like he’s your dad, and Tommy drops rules on you like he’s your dad. He has absolutely said the phrase, “And where are you going dressed like that?” Tommy will kill your ex-boyfriends if asked, he already knows why you want them dead and he agrees. The only thing he likes more than you accepting his help is hearing you admit he was right.

John

Older Sister:

He is the little brother who reads your diary and eats your food after being told not to. As a kid, John was Hell on legs. As an adult, John is still Hell on legs but with children. Growing up, you spent a lot of time picking John up from police stations and headmaster offices. John stresses you out like he’s being bloody paid for it. But, he loves you dearly and you forgive him more often than you should. John has called you “Mum,” as a joke many times but it’s not quite a lie. As an adult, he is far more respectful towards you. He is one to bow his head when you lecture him about fatherhood and how his drinking is going to harm his children. John respects you enough to take his cap off when he enters your home. However, he’ll still gobble down any treats you’ve left out in the kitchen and have the audacity to say, “What?!” When you shout at him for it.

Younger Sister:

John will not only read your diary and eat your snacks, but he will loudly announce your crush the moment he finds out. Any reluctance Arthur has about picking on you is nonexistent in John. He is a fully grown man who is unafraid to tease you with schoolyard chants in public spaces. Has walked into your room while you were reading just to slap something off of your desk and run. John has spent so long as the younger brother, he has to get his kicks where he can. That said, nobody better say anything rude to you. Ever. One time, a mate of his simply repeated a mean name he had called you and John slugged him for it. Nobody is allowed to annoy you but him. John is obnoxious in an almost biblical sense, but he is the one to see you cry and ask: “Who did that to you.”

Ada

Older Sister:

Yet another sibling to boss her around. Excellent! Ada is one who would resist you trying to take care of her. She doesn’t want to hear your advice! She doesn’t need it! Until her first heartbreak and then she’s sobbing on your bed waiting for you to come home. Ada hates to feel dependent on others, but she does trust you. There’s something special about having a sister. You understand each other in a way your brothers never will. The fear that builds as a man walks a few yards behind you out in the streets at night. How every romance has that bitter taste as you think about all that you’ll lose if you were to get married. Ada gets her best advice from you, but you’re also her security. You were probably the one to start taking her to the movie theater. It’s likely that Ada imitates you subconsciously. When you got your hair bobbed, so did Ada. When you started wearing heels, so did Ada. She denies it, but it’s obvious that she follows your lead.

Younger Sister:

Might be a sad thing to say, but Ada didn’t think much of you until she had Karl. You were just this clinging little sister that everyone thought she was supposed to take care of. All you did was follow her about town and put your nose where it didn’t belong. Tommy probably found out about her and Freddie through you. You don’t mean to be annoying, you’re just lonely. Ada couldn’t see that until she had a child and a home away from Small Heath. The dynamic flips hard when Ada comes back to Small Heath. Ada is all about leading you in “the right direction,” and is very serious about your education. She essentially begs Tommy to set aside money for you to go to university when you express interest. You want to be in with the Peaky Blinders, though. Oh, God. You’re in your rebellious phase and Ada wants to shake you till you forget all about jazz and pretty boys with guns. You both adore each other, but you butt heads over where your life is going and who should have a say in what direction it goes.

Finn

Older Sister:

Between you, Polly and Ada, he’s almost got a mother. As a young boy, Finn has actually called for you as his mother by accident. It makes sense. You were often left in charge of him. To Finn, you are all that he knows. It’s often left to you to make sure he goes to school and stays out of trouble. You’ve spent many afternoons arguing with his teachers to give him a second chance. Finn needs that, someone to stick up for him. That doesn’t mean he always likes it though. Finn wants to be a gangster, like his older brothers. You want him to do literally anything but that. When Tommy, Arthur, and John, pick on him too much you are the one to back Finn up. He used to like it… until he was roughly twelve. What used to be you coming to his rescue has become you inadvertently humiliating him. You try to back off, but Finn makes poor choices for himself which require you to come save him. Therefore, the cycle continues.

Younger Sister:

You are the only one beneath him in the Shelby Family Pecking Order, and he lives for it. When Finn has a bad day, he takes it out on you. Why not? It isn’t like he had anyone else he can push around and be the boss of. So, he’ll cut your dolls’ hair, call you names, and make fun of the things you like. But only if there’s other boys who can see him do it. When he goes too far and you cry, he has to answer to all of your siblings and Polly. Finn picks on you to soothe his own ego. When it’s just you and Finn, he’s very quiet. You two can spend hours not talking but be perfectly happy. Finn likes to turn on the radio and just sit, listening to music or the results of a boxing match. Sometimes, he vents to you about how Tommy wouldn’t let him do this or do that. You always listen to him. Finn usually takes these quiet times to apologize for past pranks or insults. You always forgive him. It’s odd to you how your accepting of his apology seldom puts him in a better mood. Truth is, he’s very jealous of you.

[msbigredmachine]

New To This - Chapter 12

MASTERLIST

“Yo Parrish, guess what just came in for you!”

Turning towards the office, Delilah allowed the excitement to bubble up inside her knowing exactly what had arrived at her mentor’s doorstep. Accepting the letter from him, she smiled as she opened it up and the details of her new developmental deal stared right back at her. At last, confirmation that in just three months’ time, her life as a struggling Jill-of-all-trades trapped in lowly, boring Pensacola was going to be a thing of the past.

She wanted to share this news with her father. She wished he was here. She would share her joy with her mother, her sister, and the man she loved. She’d already shared with the “other” man in her life, the one that had pushed her this far to begin with. It felt good to tell him, even though every thought of him was plagued with this weird, aching mix of guilt and desire all the time these days.

Ever since she returned from her tryout two weeks ago, Tank noticed there was something off about his star pupil. She was still sharp and solid in the ring and the light in her eyes still seemed to shine for this business. But there was something else weighing her down and he couldn’t figure out what it was. Running his hand over the top of his shorn head, he reached out and snapped his fingers in front of her face, rolling his eyes when she masked her true feelings by playfully blowing a noisy raspberry. "Earth to Miss Parrish. Talk to me. What’s goin’ through your mind right now?" he asked.

With a sigh, Delilah took a seat in the chair across from his desk and crossed her legs in the roomy seat. Letting her eyes skim down the second page of the contract where the finances were detailed, she assessed, "It's a dream come true, Tank. The money's a lot better than I could have hoped, especially for developmental."

Tank nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I woulda killed for this kinda money when I first started out," he agreed, looking over the numbers in the contract. "Fifty-five thousand a year for a rookie, even before tax, ain’t no joke. And with multiple appearances a month on NXT? Not a bad gig, girl. Not bad at all."

"Well it better be, it was hard enough to entice Andre as it is," Delilah said, "The money’s good and all, but I care more about wrestling than anything else. And let’s be realistic. I could spend months, maybe years in the Performance Center before I’m ever let on NXT. It happened to the Rock’s daughter. Other star candidates, too. I’ll just focus on working my ass off until they deem me ready to go."

Tank scoffed at her attempts to downplay her worth. “I might be biased when I say this shit, but them girls can’t lace your boots,” he assured her. “And what’s this talk about enticing Andre? Is he still digging his feet in?” Though she had told him about nearly every fight she'd had with her fiancé since she first stepped through the doors of his gym, Tank had always done his best to keep his professional distance from her relationship. Delilah Parrish was the closest thing he had to a star, and all he was truly concerned about was making sure that she stayed focused and happy.

Blowing out a long breath, she crossed her arms over her legs and drew one knee up to her chest. "In his defense, I am asking him to change his entire life for me," she acknowledged, knowing that it was the only real argument she had. To be honest, she was yet to get a real answer out of Andre since they had started fighting over her dreams, and only left it alone because the fighting had subsided and he seemed to be legitimately putting in more effort for her. He worked out with her when his schedule allowed and accompanied her to a few of her matches. In exchange, she was putting in more effort with their wedding plans, hoping to maybe finally do the deed before the move. Right now, things between the couple were as stable as she could hope for.

Tank, like everyone else she had talked about the situation with, just shook his head. "You a team, right? Ain’t that what gettin’ married is?" When she rolled her eyes, he chuckled. "Yeah, that's why I never did it and never will. Honestly, though, Dee, I think you need to talk to him about it. Ask him, point blank, exactly what his issues are. See if you guys can work through them between now and when you move."

Maybe they could. But did she really want to start bringing up old dirt again now that there was some semblance of harmony between her and Andre? If anything, these days, the burden of their tension was shifted to her. Because two weeks had passed and she still had no answers. The realization was more powerful than ever. Her relationship with Andre had been forever changed by what she did with Josh and it was only a matter of time before Andre found out. And if, when, that happened, there would be no more fixing anything.

Especially not with her currently bookmarking the coordinates to a location just sent by said lover of hers, who was back in town and asking her to come over.

Delilah looked up from her phone, swallowing down the emotion climbing up her throat. "And if we can't work through them? What happens then?" she asked Tank.

Her voice was so fragile, like a little child, that he fought the urge to hug her and tell her it would all be okay. "You'll figure it out. Just know that I’ll be there for whatever you need regardless," was all he offered, fully aware that she was an adult and ultimately, her personal decisions were hers.

Delilah nodded, grateful for his mentorship yet eager to change the subject before she said something she regretted. "Thanks. So, now that I'm using a submission move as my finisher, I think I need more work on my core strength…" 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Oh my god, stop,” Delilah panted, her voice stuck somewhere between a giggle and a gasp as he dramatically peppered her face and neck with pecks and kisses, his big hands all over her naked body.

“Mmm, you make the prettiest sounds when you come for me, mama,” Josh murmured, caressing her breast, their little play fight quickly becoming more serious as he switched to slower, much more passionate kisses that had her moaning into his mouth, “So damn pretty, make me wanna go another round...”

Delilah cupped his face in her small hands, her thumbs smoothing over his beard as she forced him to focus on her words, “Babe, chill…I need to recover a bit. You’re a…lot…to take in.”

Josh grinned proudly. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, rewarding her with one more long, charged kiss before tapping her ass and pulling out of her with a quiet groan. Delilah rolled onto her back and stretched out on the plushness of the sofa, watching him slide his briefs back on. The sunlight streaming from the window illuminated his tatted back muscles and toned legs, the scrumptiousness of them making her squeeze her thighs together from lust and seriously tempting her to drag him back onto the sofa and take up his offer for round two.

Slipping into his t-shirt, she followed him out of the conversation pit and to the kitchen island where he was pouring two glasses of Merlot. "This is a really nice place, Josh," she complimented, finally getting to look around since they had barely made it past the front door before they were all over each other like dogs in heat. "I like that there's not much furniture yet. Just the bare essentials but it gives the house a more open layout than it already is."

"Thanks, I love it," Josh answered, handing her a glass of wine as she perched on the stool next to him, his eyes on his iPad showing his backstage promo with Bron Breakker on YouTube. "I can just come in and chill when I get tired of Atlanta. A couple minutes’ drive to the beach, nice little pool outside and gym area. It’s the perfect escape, uce." He gave her a long look. “Shame you won’t be around these parts no more, though.”

Delilah laughed and kissed her teeth. “Not you talkin’ like you don’t got other reasons for coming to Pensacola. And I see me definitely coming back to visit every once in a while. My mama and sister are here. You got family here, too, right?”

“Yeah, but it ain’t the same.” It was a silly thing to say considering the fact that despite her being here with him right now, Delilah was still all about Andre. Josh knew that. Even when she was with him in Orlando, he had sensed that her fiancé was still very much on her mind. But he had to admit that deep down he was happy that Andre was being a giant asshole, that the dude clearly didn't know what he had in this beautiful woman who was going places, that she had ended up seeking comfort in his arms and still was. 

Moving on quickly so she couldn’t react to his statement, he reached into his open carry-on suitcase and pulled out a gift bag. “Oh, by the way, I got you something," he announced. Sliding the gift box labeled Swarovski over to her, he chuckled at the gasp she let out, a bewildered look on her face.

“What’s this?” she inquired, looking over at him with wide eyes.

"Just a lil' sumn to celebrate your brand new contract as a WWE Superstar. We co-workers now, girl," he said with a big smile, watching her loosen the ribbon from the box and remove the lid. Nestled in velvet was a simple diamond necklace with a matching bracelet and earrings, the stones gleaming with flawless clarity. His heart warmed at her facial expressions and her happy smile as she looked up at him.

“You didn’t have to do this. You’ve already helped me so much, Josh,” Delilah insisted, her voice thickening with emotion. “You’re the reason I got this contract, the reason I’m about to start living my dream. I can’t begin to tell you just how grateful I am for you.”

Josh felt a smile of his own touch his lips. “Nah, baby. You did that,” he replied tenderly. “You’re the one who made the decision to follow your dreams. I just…made a few suggestions, ain’t nothin’-”

He was silenced by Delilah flinging her arms around him, her body angling to face him as she tucked her face in the crook of his neck. In turn, his hand lowered down to her hip, holding her close as he brushed his lips over her temple. 

“I take it you like it?” he asked.

“I love it. Thank you,” she whispered back. She would figure out how to explain away the gift to Andre, but right now she was consumed with gratitude, and maybe something else for this wonderful gesture from a man who, despite the complication between them, had grown into one of her closest friends. 

Her phone buzzing from across the room interrupted their embrace. Her reluctance to unhand him for the few seconds it took to retrieve the device humored Josh as he watched her slide off the seat, his gaze fixated on the tantalizing sway of her hips and ass still visible through his shirt that was baggy on her.

Delilah winced as she found her phone face down on the floor by the couch, no doubt knocked off while they were knocking boots. She was relieved to see the screen wasn’t cracked and even more relieved to see that the notifications were only from her favorite wrestling gossip blog and nothing more serious or concerning.

Or so she thought.

Gossip Gworl Piping Hot Tea: Exclusive pics of Jey Uso and his (ex?) wife Tameka.

She should have cleared out the notification, knowing full well of the drama that was about to be unleashed. But her curiosity was too great. With jolted nerves, she unlocked her phone to read the article.

Several pictures, at least six in number, of Josh and another woman sitting cozily in some park. His wife, according to the comments. They were recent pics as well, just last week. Wearing sunglasses and a SnapBack backwards on his head, his arm was looped around her neck with their fingers linked together. Delilah’s heart raced faster, her fingers shaky as she scrolled through more pictures, of him and her sitting in a circle with whom she assumed were their sons…Of him kissing her cheek, a big grin on her face as she adjusted her sun hat...

It was a steep drop, the plummet of her stomach. A dull ache that materialized in her chest and only seemed to grow stronger with each breath she took. Yet somehow, with this suffocating myriad of emotions swelling inside her, she still managed to put one foot in front of the other, her numb legs steering her towards the kitchen in search of answers she already knew she wouldn’t like.

“You ready to eat, bae? I did my best makin’ this chili con carne so don't-” Josh turned around, startled to find her right in front of him with her phone in his face. 

“That’s your wife, right? The one you’re still separated and not divorced from?” Delilah questioned, her tone accusing. She watched his eyes frantically scan her phone, and his reaction told her everything she needed to know.

Josh sighed, reluctantly meeting her fiery glare. “Babe…We was at an event with our kids. We…we had to put up a united front…”

She smiled, the wry stretch of her full lips devoid of any humor. “Mm-hmm. That looks real united to me.” Stomping back over to the living room area, she stripped off his t-shirt and grabbed her clothes. “I gotta go,” she murmured.

“Baby…Dee, wait,” Josh trailed behind her, making one excuse or the other, but she tuned him out, focusing on getting dressed and packing her things and getting the fuck out of there. 

He wasn’t even to blame, not fully at least. This was on her. She had been so enamored with him and his aura, swept up in his sweet talk and his gestures and the dizzying sex that she had forgotten she was messing around with what was essentially a married man. This was the bitter dose of reality that she sorely needed, and she was grabbing onto it tightly with both hands.

Josh was still following her around like a lost puppy; he was starting to babble, his words tumbling over one another as he tried to plead his case. But she didn’t want to hear it. She couldn’t hear it. Swinging her backpack over her shoulder, she brushed past him only to be stopped by his hand catching her arm. “Delilah, look at me, please,” he implored, “Let me explain-”

Delilah shook her head, calmly extricating herself from his grasp. “There’s nothing to explain. I shouldn’t be here. I should never have been here, so I’m going home.” Her gaze fell on the gift box sitting abandoned on the countertop, and she felt like an even bigger fool. She pointed at it as she finally looked him in the face. “And that belongs to your wife. Not me.”

Ignoring the wounded look in his eyes, she made a beeline for the front door, fighting to shake off the burn of his eyes on her as she yanked the door open without another word and fled. Half-expecting him to come after her, she was ultimately grateful that he didn’t; the last thing she wanted was for him to see the anguish on her face.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that evening, Delilah was curled up in the loveseat watching Andre, blissfully unaware of his fiancée’s turmoil as he threw his head back laughing at a Chris Rock special on TV. For the first time in ages, she looked at him, really looked at him. A huge ball of emotion swelled up in her throat, and she had to blink rapidly to keep her tears from spilling down her cheeks for the umpeenth time in just a couple of hours.

She couldn't lose him. She couldn't bear to lose the most stable relationship she had ever had in her life. She had fucked up badly, but he didn't know that, therefore there was still time to fix it.

"I love you," she blurted out.

Andre looked over at her, the confusion in his eyes quickly giving way to a tender smile. "I love you too, baby."

Delilah stood up and pulled her tank top over her head, exposing her breasts. Her shorts soon followed before she made her way over. She snatched the remote from his unsuspecting hands, tossing it somewhere. He looked even more confused now, but she straddled his body before he had time to react. Leaning down, she cupped his face and kissed him with all the purpose and passion she could muster. Her tongue invaded his mouth, catching him off guard. She had never kissed him like that; it was as if she was trying to devour him whole. Her fingernails raked across his bare, toned chest, causing him to wince a little, but she didn't stop. He moaned into her mouth as she rolled her ass against his covered crotch, maneuvering him so that they both fell across the couch with her on top. 

"I want you, Daddy. Touch me," she commanded, breathless.

It was more of an order than a request, one Andre eagerly obeyed by letting his hands roam over her bare breasts down to the silky material that barely covered her plump backside. Impatient, Delilah shoved her hand inside his pants, her grip firm on the long, hard erection that was aching to be inside her. Releasing it from its confines, she stroked him eagerly, lowering her mouth and spitting on the head.

"Whoa, Dee," Andre choked out in surprise, trying to catch his bearings. "This some OnlyFans shit you got goin’ on…"

Delilah ignored him as she continued her oral attack, sucking his dick from base to head and back down. It was a striking contrast between the tight seal of her lips and the pain of her teeth scraping his hard flesh that had him groaning and squirming from pleasure. A couple of minutes passed before she climbed back on top of him and slid his dick as deep inside her as possible. With her hands planted on his chest holding him down, she rode him wildly, their heavy breathing met only with the sound of the worn couch creaking beneath their writhing weights. Her eyes fluttered shut as Andre grabbed her hips and thrust harder inside her, her mouth falling open in a groan as he hit that one sweet spot that made her eyes water. She opened her eyes to look down at him, her heart lurching when instead another pair of eyes was staring back at her.

“No,” she hissed, burying her face in Andre's neck as she bounced on him with increasing desperation, trying to focus on the man groaning underneath her. She grabbed his hand from her breast and guided it down between her legs, making his fingers work her clit like Josh would do. His face haunted her, the memory of him hunting her down until all she could do was let the pleasure consume her as she climaxed hard. Underneath her, Andre’s body jerked as he emptied into her with a strangled moan, his warm seed splashing deep inside her walls. Delilah shivered as her pussy clenched and unclenched, making a mess between them as they drained each other to the last drop. When it was over, she collapsed on his torso, briefly disoriented from the sheer strength of her orgasm.

"Dre…"

Andre ran his hands along her back and kissed the top of her head, weaving his fingers through her hair. "Damn, baby. We been fucking so good lately, so spontaneous. I love it," he lauded her with a kiss on her lips.

Delilah rolled off of him and stared blankly at the ceiling. Now what? This was supposed to fix everything. This was supposed to bring them back to normal. Supposed to erase what she had done with Josh. But nothing had changed. Nothing was different. Everything was very much still the same. And all that was left was a painfully gnawing feeling she was now convinced would never go away.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Things just took a sharp turn. Thoughts?

I love likes but I love comments more 😉

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[thedarkmistress16]

A/N: Watched Deadpool 3 and Iron Man 1 (the latter for the first time, can you believe) with my boyfriend in the same day last week and my mind was fighting between finishing a Hugh Jackman wip or a Tony Stark one. My creative juices followed popular demand in a new wip until it didn't, lol.

So, here's a yan!series I started writing a long time ago that I feel I can finish if I put my mind to it. It just may take a while to do.

I would include all the tags I've listed like on my past works, but I'd rather y'all be surprised when the time comes for this one. 😏 I will tag them per chapter. In this case, chapter one has no warnings. Just expository/setting up/housekeeping. This time, Fem!reader is female and has female parts, but still feel free to switch it out if desired. Gif isn't mine.

——————————————————————————————————

Stalker!Yandere!Tony Stark x Fem!Reader- To Steal and Dote On

Chapter 2 |

Chapter 1: Two Worlds Collide

——————————————————————————————————

“(Name)!” You’re abruptly snapped out of your stupor as your friend comes barreling through the bustling cafe toward your comfy spot by the window. “I got invitations!” Your friend waves her phone around in the air, bumping into other disgruntled patrons along the way.

You sigh softly, closing your laptop. You had a feeling you wouldn’t be getting anything else done for the rest of your shared lunch break. This must’ve been what she had to “take care of” before meeting you in your usual spot today. She plops herself down right across from you with a beaming smile and seems to almost vibrate in place as her eyes excitedly pour into yours. “Invites for what?”

(Friend name) thrusts the device in your face and after blinking a few times, you find it’s opened to an email. “You’re looking at the next attendee to the hottest spot in New York City!” She announces as you skim it over, and while it reads like any generic acceptance letter, it seems legitimate.

Your friend usually works more in the spotlight than you even though you’re employed at the same company, networking whenever she could as you spent those hours pushing pencils. So it made sense that (Friend name) gathered some connections and got some strings pulled to get into an event like this. And judging by her barely-contained giddiness, a very anticipated one.

You don’t understand her excitement, but are happy for her nonetheless. You raise your head to look at her past the device. “Congratulations, (Friend name).”

Her eyebrows level and she just stares for a moment, like she’s analyzing you. “Girl, did you even read it?”

“Um,” Confusion fills your voice and then she’s glaring at you in irritation. It’s so unexpected that it makes your eyes dart around the table to avoid the stare.

“It says ‘all invited attendees are allowed an additional guest.’” She states matter-of-factly, reminiscent of a teacher explaining something one-too many times.

“Okay?”

“And,” she pauses for dramatic effect, “you’re my plus one!” Your friend's expression lightens again and your eyes widen in shock.

“Really?”

“Yes, silly!” She laughs as she pulls her device back from your face. “It’s over the weekend and I know you don’t have plans, so don’t even try to flake out on this.”

“But I-” you start, but (Friend name) pipes up again.

“Oh, and don’t worry if you don’t have anything to wear. You can always borrow something of mine.”

Despite your hesitance, you didn’t really have any reason to say no, and you didn’t want to leave your friend hanging when she asked you of all people to go with her.

You can feel her bubbliness make its way into the smile steadily growing on your lips.

“When are we leaving?”

——————————————————————————————————

It took you a while to find something suitable, but between the hangers cluttered in the section of your closet that you barely ever touched, you did discover a classy little black number that felt appropriate.

You wanted to fit in enough where you wouldn’t stand out like a sore thumb, while blending to avoid being the center of attention at the same time. It was more (Friend name)’s event than yours to try hard or impress anyone at, anyway.

That, and- well, you didn’t have anything else that was on the fancier side.

By combining different accessories, however, you were able to make the ensemble stand out a lot better than before. It still looked subtle and classy, too. Inspecting yourself over through the tall mirror fills you with a wave of confidence, and you mentally pat yourself on the back for your gifted ability to improvise what you had.

Your phone blared with a notification as you slipped the dress on, and you turned to pick it up from your bedside table.

‘(Friend name): Coming over in 10, (Nickname). Don’t be late!’

You smile to no one, tapping away at your reply before setting the device down and touching up the last of your look.

When you headed out of your apartment and climbed into the cab your friend was waving you from, she had given you a once-over.

“You look gorgeous, (Name).” A pleased laugh escaped you, and you complimented her in kind.

“And you look ready to devour the night, (Friend name).” She poses for you, winking with exaggeration, before falling into a fit of giggles alongside you.

After calming down, she relays the address to the driver and the vehicle lurches to life. You distract each other with some small talk, and by the time you get there, it feels as though not much time has passed.

(Friend name) steps out first, and you’re left to fumble with your purse to pay the fare before getting out yourself. You’re immediately greeted by hoards of flashing lights that discombobulate your vision. You swear you’re about to stumble before you feel an arm looping around yours.

“Sorry, I should’ve warned you,” your friend whispers as she guides you down the red carpet arm-in-arm.

You mildly shake your head, not wanting your unfamiliarity in this setting to put a damper on her night.

“Ah, I’m fine; just been a while since I wore heels this high.”

(Friend name) looks at you and smiles, but doesn’t say anything more as you both head toward the entrance of the high rise. She flashes her phone at the man clad in black who stands by the glass door like a sentry guard. He grunts, signaling a confirmation with his hand, and you both step inside.

Right away, the crowd is overwhelmingly large. The space is just as expansive, and your eyes can’t help but trail up toward the ginormous chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It’s so expansive and gaudy that you can’t help but think it has no business being here besides spectacle.

“Will you be okay?” She asks, concern bleeding through her eyes. You wave her off again.

“Oh- yeah. Go on and mingle. Just let me know when you want to leave. I'll be close by.” You give her a reassuring thumbs-up.

“Okay,” (Friend name) breathes, easiness and positivity morphing her mood quickly as she surveys the room. “I'll be rubbing elbows if you need me,” she winks, letting go of your arm to happily bound off in one direction, and your heart feels a bit heavy at the loss.

A part of you regrets even saying that, wanting her to selfishly be by your side in such a foreign place you would never step willingly into on your own accord. Another side of you spins the overwhelming assault on your senses as a good thing, telling you to suck it up and enjoy yourself for once. Ultimately, you decide to head over to the bar first, get something to loosen you up, and meet up with your plus one later. How you'll spend the time in between though, you're unsure.

——————————————————————————————————

A surveying sweep of the event room from your perch on the uncomfortable plastic of the bar stool turns fruitless almost immediately. The more you stare out into the sea of people, the less you see somehow.

It feels somewhat like a classy, high-end nightclub with art studio lights bearing down like a terrarium heat lamp; the kind of party that requires knowing someone just to get your foot in the door. Walking up to a stranger to strike up a conversation is possible, you muse to yourself, if you want to commit social suicide. Knowing nothing about the purpose of the party or who anyone is will sink any incoming credibility you could have going in. And although a part of you wanted to come out here for a new experience, you realize you aren't ready for what that entails just yet.

So, you planted your elbow down on the wooden grain-textured surface of the bar, resting your phone in front of you and scouring through apps to pass the time. You don’t know how many drinks you had; you do know that the more you sat there, the more tired you got.

Clusters of guests came and went, rattling off drink orders and chatting with their entourage. Some spoke many pleasantries while others sounded more serious. It was interesting to catch snippets of their lives, but none of it was interesting enough to pull you away from your distraction and jump into their conversation.

A few people shuffled around your spot at the bar, moving off to the side and away from you, as if making space. Then, you feel a presence beside you, accompanied by the shuffling sound of paper rifling through someone's hands. A whiff of cologne stings your nostrils, something reeking strongly of ethanol and new car smell, oddly enough.

“Hey, you. Gimme a martini, yeah? Dirty it up for me.” Your peripherals caught a black sleeve hovering over the bar on your left side, quite close to your person. “Actually,” the male voice chimed up once more, fingers snapping shortly afterward, “throw in a scotch, too. Rocks a-plenty.” The way he was talking to the bartender was starting to put you off, further worsening your mood and whatever intrigue he had.

Then your brain got to thinking about (Friend Name). Where did she walk off to? Was she enjoying herself? When will she be ready to leave? Tapping your phone, you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, lightly biting it as your eyebrows furrowed. You start to wonder whether you should call a cab in advance.

“All by yourself, sweetheart?” The voice is too close to not be directed at you, you think, and you finally turn your head to look at the male.

He’s dressed in a crisp black and white tux, devoid of any wrinkles. A ring shines from the finger on his right hand as he moves his drink up, which draws your assessment to his face. You catch the hint of his dark stubble behind the glass as he sips, and the bright lights overhead tell you it’s a of deep brown color like his seemingly fluffed and gelled hair. Your gaze drops to his eyes, finding the same shade in them as his other features, but feel as though some kind of mirth is playing behind them. It seems he’s waiting for you to say something.

“Uh, who are you?”

“I’m Tony Stark.”

…Okay? Who the fuck was that?

Your brows scrunch together in confusion.

“You know, a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.”

No, you didn’t know.

“Oh, and part-time superhero. I’m sure you heard my name pop up in the news.” He waves his free hand in the air dismissively. “It’s made of different stuff, but iron is more digestible to say than Gold-Titanium Man.”

You wonder if you’re conversing with a crazy person or if you're really the crazy one.

And you really want to believe you’re in some sort of lucid dream right now, because there is no way this guy is actually for real. But he’s looking at you with such confidence, steadily maintaining eye contact. It’s as if he expects you to agree with him or go along with it even if you don’t know what he’s talking about. If the latter is true, then this man is offering that bridge between your world and this foreign one.

It's too bad that you're well out of whatever party mood you were in when you arrived. If you were more hopeful for such discussions going well, perhaps you would play along with his jest and cadence. But not tonight. The more you sat there, the stronger of an urge you had to retreat back to your apartment and relax.

Casting him a side-eye served with a raised brow, you wearily speak up. “I’ve never heard of you before in my entire life.” He, this... self-proclaimed Tony-GoldMan, opened his mouth to say something.

“Excuse me.”

Both of your attention turns to a woman who strides up with confidence in her sparkling heels and shimmery dress. She addresses you with a brief flick of her eyes before settling on Tony, silently telling you she only acknowledged you out of courtesy, and had only approached for him. You turn away unbothered, knowing your time in the conversation is up, and it will be a matter of time before they shimmy away from you, too.

“Are you Tony Stark?” Her inflection is high, almost pitchy-sounding, and asks it in a way that hints she does, in fact, know him.

“Well, that’s what my birth certificate says. So, probably.”

She laughs, and you weren't sure if it was the volume of her voice or the strain on your ears from the crowds up to that point, but it gave you a splitting headache.

Your phone pinged with a text suddenly, and while it startled you like a jumpscare would, you felt your mood brighten a bit as you open the message.

‘(Friend name): Got caught up with some cutie, lol. Don’t wait up! Be safe, okay?’

Good for her. And oh, fuck yes! Now you didn’t have to wait for your friend so you could leave together. You were so outta here.

You peeked a subtle glance towards Tony and the woman as you handed the bartender your payment, purely out of curiosity. Seeing them standing very close to each other, lost in their own world, you left the bar without parting ways and beelined for where you remembered the entrance to be.

“What’s the rush, gorgeous?”

While it was projected from somewhere behind you, you couldn't pinpoint if it was Tony's voice calling out to you or that your ears caught someone else’s exchange of words. Either way, you couldn’t care less who it was. It probably wasn’t even directed at you anyway.

——————————————————————————————————

You trekked your way into your silent apartment building and rifled through your purse until your fingers brushed over the familiar, jagged shape of your keys. Fiddling with the lock until it gave way, you pried open your unit’s door and stepped inside. The echoing slam the door made when you flung it backward made your hearing cringe, but you didn’t find it in yourself to care.

You slipped off your heels with a pained groan and carelessly threw them to the side as you walked further into your apartment. The living area was barely lit enough from the flimsy curtains that were drawn over the windows, and you had to squint your eyes to make out darkened outlines of your worn furnishings, but you still managed to not trip over anything. Your sluggish and bare feet made their way to your bed where you unceremoniously flopped down onto the covers and immediately passed out.

——————————————————————————————————

Tony regretted rousing the next morning, feeling the waves of his hangover relentlessly pounding into his brain. He groaned, pinching his eyes tighter despite not even opening them yet. Raising a palm to massage the ache behind his forehead only made it worse, and the brunette rolled over to smush his face into his pillow with more displeased noises.

The billionaire was intrigued enough to inspect the features of the woman he took to bed, but lost interest fairly quickly when he saw who she was.

It wasn’t who he was hoping to spend time with last night.

A part of him stopped to wonder why he became picky in his conquests all of a sudden, but shook it off as he begrudgingly got ready for the day.

——————————————————————————————————

[camlovesjace]

No grave can hold my body down, I'll crawl home to her.

Jacaerys Velaryon x oc!fem Targtower. Part two, -part one, here:

https://www.tumblr.com/camlovesjace/747473041907449856/no-grave-can-hold-my-body-down-ill-crawl-home-to?source=share

WARNING: war stuff, violence, grief, etc. SINOPSIS: Cellys thinks Jacaerys is dead, the whole kingdom mourns the crowned prince while the war pushes everyone and everything apart. All must choose.

The days were a torture, the nights even more. His face seemed to haunt her anywhere she could look at, his honey eyes, those who capture her whole heart and tempted her to worship him until her last breathe. The lords were ashamed, like if the biggest burden were resting on theirs shoulders, and how could they not feel like that? Even the white haired girl felt ashamed, ashamed of being alive while Jace wasn´t. It felt totally wrong...to be in a world without his presence, to know that her name will never come out of his mouth, that his hands will never touch her again, that his gaze will never find her own in this lifetime once again.

Aegon and her mother moved from forced to stay into her bechambers to force her to get out of them, but Cellys wasn't really interested in keep pretending that a piece of her had not die with Jace. The sheets of her bed were glued to her skin, in a mix of tears and pain, her cries in the moonlight kept the whole castle awake. Her sobbing were a constant reminder of the life this was was stealing from them. Not only the lives of those who fight for the greens, but also to their enemies. The lost of Jacaerys Velaryon, prince of Dragonstone and heir to the iron throne, was a stab in the guts of everyone.

Maester Eustace stayed loyal to the young boy, claiming him as legitimate and denying the comments of those who dare to call him bastard, even if those rumors were true or not. Aegon knew Cellys would be destroyed and devastated, and it was happening in front of his eyes. She barely ate, her pale skin turned into a gray almost lifeless, her white hair was silver and her eyes seemed empty. All the rage in her stopped suddenly, it was like if she were a shelf of the old fearless princess who always had something to say.

Seeing her like this wasn´t usual at all.

Now it was all silence, empty and breaking silence. No words, no fight, just a deep whole of darkness. And she was not fighting against it, Cellys was just letting it ate her.

"No, mother..." she spoke, refusing the petition of the old green queen about walking in the gardens. Her voice was slow, hoarse from all the crying of the last night. Half a moon had passed since the death of the eldest son of Rhaenya and Cellys Targaryen was already rotting from inside.

"Do you want to keep living like this?" Alicent asked, yet her question didn't get any answer from her younger daughter "He...he was..." she spoke but when the young woman gaze her she closed her mouth, unsure if her words would help or make her feel worse.

"Do no insult him in front of me" Cellys said, thinking about the worst.

"I was not about to insult him" the old queen said, sighing "I know how much you cared about him, i know it...but he wouldn't want you to consume yourself with the pain of his death"

Cellys knew Jace would not want that, if he would be here he would literally pick her up from bed and take her to take sunlight, he would try to distract her with anything to not let her felt alone. He would want to her to live, and move on...to find happiness again.

But he wasn't there, and that was the most unbearable feeling.

Cellys doesn´t know if Rhaenyra found his body, or if the sea sank him. The thought of his body alone, cold and forlorn made her want to die as well.

"I..." she whispers, but the knot on her throat cut off any words, she wanted to cry but the sore on her eyes was painful. She wanted to ask her mother to let her go to Dragonstone, to talk with Rhaenyra and...at least, confess that her heart the one of his son were one. Even if a marriage didn´t tied them officially, their souls were one.

But now she was only a half of that soul, cursed to try to find a glimpse of him her whole life.

He never made her his own, her womb never carried and never will carry a child of his, his blood and flesh. And she will have nothing to remember him but her own memories, that will deteriorate every moon, every second.

She missed him, and she wouldn't doubt to die instead of him in any chance she could get.

His lungs were sore, every breath felt like the slowest torture. His eyes were still closed, soft gasps rolled out of his tongue when the unknown hands on his back moved to heal his wounds. The pain on his chest was overwhelming, and yet his mind was consumed by her face.

"Cel..." he says, but a gasp of pain cut his words, his whole body aching while the soft cries ran out of his mouth "Cellys"

He called her, hopeful to hear her voice against his ear, to see her face, but the touch of those hands weren´t hers. The warmth was not the same as the one she has.

"Eis baos han daar" an old woman said and he couldn´t understand her, the language was something he'd never heard before.

-the boy had woke up-

"Han esse jeiclis?" someone asked -is he still hurted?-. Jace felt a wave of cold sweat ran over his back, he stayed there, trying to not be seen like a threat. But that voice, the voice of a man, was very familiar.

"Naor, we essese kao jeiciness" again, the woman who was taking care of his wound spoke those new words. -yes, but he will heal-

He opened his eyes, breathing heavily and biting his lower lip to hold on a cry of pain. He felt embarrassed for being crying like this like a child but the pain was too much to handle. Then a man kneel beside him and the face of Lord Stark blind him for a second, until the feeling of relieved hit him. A soft smile showed up on his face and Jacaerys tried to do the same yet he was sure that it must have looked like a grimace.

"Prince" The man said, almost proud to see that he survived. The arrows on his back looked bad but he was awake and that was a good sight.

"Cregan" Jace says back, he tried to get up from the small mattress but his friend stopped him, shaking softly his head. The background sound were a mix of man's speaking and horses noises, it was an army...

"No, stay there, you need to heal" he spoke and then his dark eyes found his own, and everything that needed to be said spoke for itself in between their gaze. Both knew what will happen next, and Jace was ready to face it, to get back his mother and his own birthright...and to take his woman back to his arms, where she belonged "We have came to fight for our dragon queen"

[thesunfyre4446]

Marrying Daemon was the dumbest thing she could have done. It solved no problems just made the existing ones more glaring.

First, if Laenor had been alive the Driftmark succession would not have been brought into question (Yet, it eventually would have always) as after Corlys, it goes to Laenor. It would’ve freed up some years or decades and Luke could’ve idk- actually gone to the fucking island he was set to eventually rule over or learn to sail. Maybe endear himself to some more people because as much as certain viewers like to pretend otherwise, Corlys was the only Velaryon happy to spit in the eyes of his ancestors sit that boy on the Driftwood throne.

Two, Viserys would not have had to use his last breath and final braincell to go to the throne room to help Rhaenyra usurp the Velaryons. He probably would’ve lived a little while longer and maybe this time he would’ve died quietly without uttering nonsense about a prophecy the Targaryens should not have even been involved with in the first place.

Rhaenyra could’ve maybe got her shit together and stopped living in a lalaland where she thought she would just be handed things because she’s *checks notes*

-A Targaryen

-She has a Dragon

-Daddy said so

But we know she wouldn’t, the entitlement runs deep. She would’ve stayed on Dragonstone where she’s ruling over a castle of employees sworn to her and a small merchant/fisher’s village. Rhaenyra lived in bliss on that island for a decade with no responsibilities.

Three, when you raise the Strong boys alongside their brothers and especially alongside Rhaena- who is literally a Targaryens/Velaryon child who is what the strong boys are actually supposed to look like, it becomes so obvious that the boys are bastards of non Valyrian parentage.

The only one who won in this arraignment was the Child groomer. He got the woman he spent years grooming as a child and he got a heir and a spare. Let’s pretend in a fairytale world where the Greens don’t crown Aegon and they slink off to whatever corner of the world TB think they deserve to after Viserys dies. The history books would write about the series of freak accidents that took Rhaenyra’s first 3 sons until Little Aegon was the heir.

i honestly don't have anything to add anon. 100% agree with everything you've said.

rhaenyra is a horrible politician. her marriage to laenor kept the velaryon alliance and secured driftmark for her son. if laenor was alive, vaemond wouldn't have called for a petition, and rhaenyra wouldn't have to marry the strongs to the dragon twins. she could've arranged for marriages with other important houses like baratheon or lannister and win their support. also, by having legitimate sons with daemon she harmed jace, Joffrey and luke's legitimacy and position. especially jace.

your point about the strong boys parentage being even more obvious next to baela and rhaena is sooooo true. as if they didn't already stand out enough, raising them alongside the velaryons that they're usurping is ridiculous.

i really don't understand the people that are saying that rhaenyra is a good ruler because she managed dragonstone. dragonstone is a little island with a couple of villages surrounding it. you can't possibly compare it with ruling SEVEN KINGDOMS. (and even dragonstone turned against rhaenyra in the end, but i digress) rhaenyra thinking she's prepared to rule shows just how clueless she really is (she even says in ep 8 she doesn't know anything about ruling a kingdom lol)

i don't think that rhaenyra's decision to marry daemon was necessarily politic. i mean yeah he's a dragonrider and a soldier, but his loyalty was never an issue because he would never never never NEVER side with the greens (aka otto). the marriage def did more harm then good for rhaenyra, and the main benefactor was daemon.

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

A/N= I had this idea 5 or so days ago, and I can't tell you how much Professor Geto stuff I've seen since. I guess we're all on the same wavelength, and that's awesome. There needs to be more Professor Geto in the world.

C/W= P->V. Oral (giving/receiving). Lap riding. Masturbation (tiny talk of toys). Adult movie. Some cutesy shit. Some humor. Maybe a few other things. MDNI NSFW 🔞

W/C: 7k+some

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For Science! 👊

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"The pattern of the effectual relationship is more obvious in the decline of overall satisfaction. Do you all see how this corroborates with the suggestion that love and sex don't have to go hand in hand?" He looked at you when he said this. It made you shift slightly in your warmed seat.

Professor Geto was trying not to lose his students' attention in this lecture. But they were all idiots who were run solely by their hormones.

"She can go hand my cock!" Someone yelled from the middle of the auditorium.

"Yes. What a very clever hypothesis," Geto said. "Why, uh, why don't you all just head out. Winter break starts in ... 39 minutes. Just go. Happy whatever. I'll see you in the new year when we're back in session."

The same asshole yelled out, "You mean SEX-SION!" Him and his dipshit friends laughed all the way to the courtyard.

Geto, unamused, shook his head and adjusted his glasses as the rest of his students filed out into the snow. He began putting a gross amount of paperwork into his worn leather bag, and then he looked around to make sure everyone was gone before he locked up.

His eyes landed on you. In your heavy sweatshirt and jeans. You sat in the very last seat in the front row, farthest from the exit.

"Were you asleep when I told everyone to go? Fucking kids these days –" You cut off his complaint and asked him if he could go over one thing with you before you left.

"Oh, a legitimate question. I apologize. What about ....?" He turned his left ear a little to you, hinting at you to say what your name was.

You put your hand to your chest, "Y/n. It's y/n."

"Ok, y/n. What's your question?" You gathered up your laptop and scattered papers and stuck them in your backpack. Then you stood and walked over to him.

He immediately saw how beautiful you are, even hidden away under the navy blue sweatshirt and bulky jeans you wore. You pulled your hood off and let your hair pool around your shoulders.

It surprised him, you staying behind. Most of his students made a run for it as quickly as possible.

Professor Geto was no fool. In fact, he was quite intuitive. He'd run his course based on several factors; how the audience was reacting to him, how he was being perceived at different parts of his lectures. He was always aware of his surroundings.

You got to his desk and leaned your curvy hips against the edge of the heavy, dark wood.

"You say that scientists have long supported the idea that love and sex don't have to go hand in hand?"

"Mmhm." He nodded. Feeling the slightest rush of heat throughout his body while discussing this with you. Surely, he shouldn't feel like he was crossing a line. He was the professor of a very valid and increasingly important course. Plus, you approached him. It's not as if he asked you to stay behind to discuss your grade so he could bend you over his desk and fuck an 'A' next to your name on his computer. These things were typical discussion topics.

"Have these "scientists" done any studies of the effects of dopamine levels in two people that fuck —"

Both of your eyes locked with the other's. Uncertain if you meant to say that to him as he was your teacher or if you intentionally left the word dangling between the two of you in the emptied room.

"If you fuck someone enough..." you continued like you were, for the most part, unphased by his pause. "...and they're good at what they do, and they make you cu– I mean, climax often, if not consistently, then on a semi-regular basis, won't some sort of feelings develop over time? Like, there would be some sort of attachment formed. I know it would be hard for me to be fucking someone, to be so intimate with them and not have feelings bubble up at some point. Especially with all the hormones and shit involved. Some people just make you feel better. You can feign physical attraction. But a chemical one? I don't know."

He stared at you with a blank face. You looked right back at him, waiting for his answer. Your e/c drawing him in. Shifting your backpack from your right shoulder to your left, you cleared your throat.

"Um, shit. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked YOU this. I'll go talk to my family priest or something."

Geto laughed, "You have a priest?" You sat your stuff down and scrunched up your nose, smiling back at him. "Well, no. The only time my family talks to God is when their asses are in the air gettin' – no. Not religious."

"Did you have any other ideas about sex and love? How can you have them both, none, or merely one or the other?"

You were a little taken aback as to why he wasn't offering you an answer. You did, after all, approach him about this.

"What are you doing right now?" He asked you, hoping to come across as cool and apathetic as he always was. But his cock was beginning to ache for your undivided attention. And though Professor Geto was a master at driving people's attention where he wanted it, he could not seem to alter your ability to maintain eye contact.

You suddenly straightened your body at his question. "W‐what am I doing right now? I mean," for some reason, you wanted to come off as if you were in really high demand.

That was anything but the truth: Your mother and step-dad went to his family's vacation home in the English countryside a week before you were out for the winter. They offered to pay for your ticket. But you really didn't like Christmas anyway and told them you had a lot of studying to do.

"Do you have plans over the holiday with your family? Friends?" He waited what he thought was a healthy amount of time before he asked you if you were doing anything special with your boyfriend.

Your outburst of laughter was embarrassing. You haven't had a boyfriend since your junior year of high school. The guys you knew made passes at you, sure. But they were so fucking childish. You hated it.

"Sor- hahaha -no, sorry. I don't have a boyfriend waiting for me under the mistletoe this year. I'm just going to be in my quiet dorm room. Waiting for this godforsaken stretch of time to end."

He didn't find that funny at all, which made you feel like an even larger tool. "So, you're just, going to be alone this Chrismas?"

You lifted your hood over your hair and answered him smoothly. "Yyyyep. I guess I'll see you when we're back in sex-sion? Eh?"

At long last, you got a laugh from him. "So wait. You're telling me that you're capable of laughter!?" You said sarcastically.

"I'm capable of more than you can imagine, little one."

That was it, your cunt fluttered at his suggestive admission. Grasping at anything to break that spell he cast over you. Those were the words that spurred on your attraction for your Human Sexuality professor.

"Well, if you're not doing anything this week, there's a French film playing at the old cinema on 11th and Craine. We don't have to go together. We don't even have to sit near each o-"

"YES. I mean, yeah. I'd love to go. What time?" You interrupted him so hard that he jumped a little at your shouting. He smiled. It was beautiful. He never smiled in class.

"There's a showing to- ah, damn it. Let me check my phone for the times again. Sorry. Hold on." He pulled his phone from his professor-y blazer, and scrolled through the listing. "Yeah. Ok, so there's showings tomorrow night at 7, 9:20, 11:40, and 2am."

Your heart sank to the floor. "Nothing tonight, huh?" He looked at you. So small and absolutely let down. He wanted to comfort you over this absurd disappointment. But that is a line he shouldn't cross. You were his student. It was against the school's code of conduct for him to do anything more than teach you. But this was a loophole. He was fairly certain he could talk himself out of any infraction.

Oh my god, how he wanted to reach his hand to your face. To lift your eyes to his with the pads of his fingers under your chin. It was such a stupid blunder. He almost wishes he hadn't said anything to you about it.

"I – no. I'm sorry, y/n. As it stands, the only showings are tomorrow. I prefer to go to the –"

"Earlier shows, right?" You asked, not even trying to shield him from your growing frustration at having to wait.

"Eh, no. No, actually, I prefer the later ones. The later, the better. Despite being a teacher, I really try to avoid people as much as possible. My friend group is pretty small. Anyway. Here's my card with my personal cell on the back. Let me know if I should expect you, hm? If I don't see you, please have a nice break."

You wanted to protest from the rooftop to keep him there talking with you. But there just wasn't a reason to say anything else. So you said goodbye and walked out into the freezing air. And head back to your 1/2 vacant dorm room.

The way back, you replayed the conversation between the two of you. It felt like a really long talk. But really, it took no longer than 10 minutes.

You felt a little stupid for getting upset about having to wait a whole day to see him. Well, if you decide to go, that is.

For now, you would find odd things to keep you busy to better pass the time.

* ● *● * ● * ●

You woke up feeling FANTASTIC. You slept for 9 hours. Your dreams were filled with Geto fucking you until you couldn't walk anymore so he had to carry you to his bed and fuck you to the point you couldn't talk. It was the best night in you've had in ages.

Today was the day you were supposed to meet him at the old theater for the French film. You picked up the jeans you were wearing yesterday and dug around for his phone number so you could let him know you would be joining him tonight.

"Whe– Where the fuck is that card! Shit! How am I supposed to call and let him ... oh goddamn it all to hell." You sat down on your bed and tossed your hands into your lap. "The later, the better. Ok. No one goes to an 11:40 movie over winter break. Right? Ok! So I'll just get there at 11:30 and go sit in the theater ... and, and wait. Where is that fucking card!?"

You ripped your desk apart. Shook out everything you wore when he gave it to you. It was nowhere to be found. But at least you knew roughly what time he would be there.

* ● *● * ● * ●

It was 8 pm, and you were beside yourself with anticipation. You'd already gotten yourself off twice and considering a third orgasm to dull your nervous edge just a bit more.

Instead of trying to ease your anxieties a 3rd time that way, you tried a shower with your favorite aromatic oils. You hated how well this shit worked. "It's so cliché, mom." You told her when she brought you back a box of oils from India.

That all changed when you made your own sandlewood and vanilla blend. You never gave her any shit again. And when they travel, she will oftentimes pick up some new oils for you to test. There's literally an oil for whatever is ailing you.

You were lucky to be one of the on-campus residents to have a newer dorm with a shower in the room. You were fine showering in a more public space, but there were time restrictions in the shared bathing areas.

Turning the water on, you took off your clothes and stepped into the steam. There was a part of you that wanted to take a leisurely shower. To exfoliate and shave and deep condition your hair.

But you were too nervous to hold a razor to your body. The looks Professor Geto had been giving you all semester had finally amounted to something. Was this a date? "I need to stop this hyperfocus shit. Gotta cum again."

You cracked open the shower door and stepped carefully out onto the mat on the floor to dry your feet. You've fallen too many times to not take shower safety seriously. And if you fell tonight you'd never forgive yourself for fucking up this chance.

Your new vibrator was still in its box in your nightstand drawer. You opened the packaging like a child on Christmas morning and started button mashing the 3 at the base of it to figure out which button did what.

"Let's see just what this baby can do. Ok. This button – oh! Oh ... damn." You raised your eyebrows. "I ... may never ... be stressed about anything again."

You figured out the most basic settings; the bunny ears got you off really quickly. Truthfully, it was the in-your-head Geto who did the heavy lifting. But you felt a little better.

You shaved everything you wanted to shave and exfoliated everything that was safe to exfoliate.

The outfit you chose was simple, but seen by the right eyes, it could be considered sexy. It was a long, large floral-print pattern over a solid green background and a white tight-fitting t-shirt. You wore boots with thigh-high socks. This provided you with some warmth from the cold. The socks were thick and connected to a garter belt around your waist so they wouldn't slouch down. You made the conscious decision to forgo panties for the night.

"Ok," you said. "You smell delicious. You're soft and silky. You. Are. Ready. Ready to sit with him for 2 hours and 20 minutes."

"S'do this, y/n."

* ● *● * ● * ●

Friday 11:30pm

11th and Craine @ The Faux Devant Theater

Film: Ton sexe. Mon sexe. Notre sexe.

Translation: Your sex, My sex, Our sex

* ● *● * ● * ●

"There's just the one movie playing here tonight?" You asked, embarrassed that you were alone and buying a ticket for a movie that had the word sex in it 3 times, and you didn't know what the other 3 words translated to.

"Yeah, this is here until the end of the week, and then we dig up another one. Blah blah blah."

You laughed at their apparent boredom with the job. "Ok, uh, 1 adult for," you pointed at the poster of the naked people in a lovers embrace. "For this one, I guess." They gave you your ticket, smirked, and told you to enjoy the show.

You went into the dark room, and you were surprised to see how it was set up. There was no traditional theater seating. But there were couches and loveseats spread smartly across the floor.

You looked around for anyone else who might be in there tonight. It was totally empty. Even the projection room lights were off.

The movie was going to start in about 5 minutes. Where was he? "Oh god. Ohhh nooo. Fuck. He's standing me up. And not in a good way, either. God, to think that he would sit through some stupid French flick with me."

You sank down into the loveseat in the middle of the room as your heart sank deeper into your heavy chest. Settling in to watch a movie that you wouldn't have chosen on your own. You were hoping for the best and expecting the worst.

The opening credits started to roll, and the story began to unfold. And quickly, to your surprise. There were subtitles, but you wanted to watch the story rather than read about it.

You're fairly certain that it was about a couple of people who knew nothing of each other or about sex. They experienced all the feelings that come with arousal and wanting another's touch. But they'd never *experienced* it themselves. Not under their own hand or someone else's. It was a sheltered existence they had before moving to the city.

There was one scene that will always stand out to you: They met by chance at a café.They reached for the sugared cinnamon to sprinkle on the foam of their cappuccino, and when their hands touched, neither one of them recoiled. They knew they had to be together come hell or high water. It was cheesy. But beautiful.

It was like because of touching the other person's hand, they finally belonged to this life. They were grounded by this single brush of skin. They were meant to be together.

They explored, touched, tasted their partner's body, and came to find that the only thing they'd been missing from their lives was the other person.

In the scene where they fully dive into their sexual awakening, you thought you heard someone stepping into the room. But you couldn't see anyone when you looked around, so you just turned your focus back to the film and watched these people devour one another.

They both gave of themselves and received everything physically possible. Some things you took note of. If nothing else, you could walk away from this with a few new tricks.

It left you in a frustrated state. Your hands dug into the soft fabric of the couch, and you shifted your weight often. You wondered for just a second what would happen if you spread your legs and slipped your fingers up under the long skirt you wore.

The movie and your feelings were bordering on pornographic. But you've always been a curious soul, so it didn't bother to see this. You were surprised that your professor had invited you to such a thing, though. How was that not crossing into misconduct?

You really didn't give a damn and pushed the thought to the back of your mind. The whole thing was quite beautiful, actually. Despite your growing frustration at Geto for not fulfilling his commitment to you. But no matter. You were no worse for the wear. What could have possibly happened with you two anyway.

Once the end credits came on the screen, you were sure there would be a wet spot on your skirt. You felt yourself filling with that familiar hot tension. Again. As if 3 orgasms just weren't enough for you to chase off the burning need.

You stood from your seat and put on your jacket before you walked out into the freezing night. As you turned around, your eyes zeroed in on a shadowed figure in the corner of the big room.

"Oh shhh–! Oh my god! You fucking scared me, professor! What the hell are you doing here ... now? The movie just ended." He stood up and seemed to glide across the floor to you. Like a vampire or something. He looked dark.

His hair was down; hanging over his shoulders and just a little in his face. But all he saw was you, standing there, trying to explain away your flushed skin as merely the frozen air that had slapped against your face.

Even though that was nearly 2 1/2 hours ago. It was not a good excuse. Nor were you very proud of it. "I'm glad you stayed to watch this," he said in a low tone. "I knew you'd watch it whether I was here or not."

"You mean, you ... you were here? The whole time, too? Why didn't you sit by me? Or, oh gosh, I dunno, at the very least say something to me?" He could see you were getting pissed at him.

Geto knew it was a little dirty to play with you this way. But he couldn't help himself. You are an adult. A big girl, even though you weren't wearing your big girl panties tonight.

"I wanted to study your reaction to the film. And from the looks of your rosy cheeks and dampened spot on your skir– well, imagine my surprise when I saw you enjoying this.

"My skirt and how wet it is OR isn't, isn't really any of your business. Is it? Pro– Geto?" You stopped yourself from calling him professor and called him by his name. It made you two closer to equals that way. Not teacher and student. Just horny woman and sexpot man.

"Oh. I see. So you're saying it's possible that your little cunt was squirming throughout these last 2 hours? And tell me, pretty girl, just what was it you imagined could tame the burning between your legs? Hm? Was it the toy you fucked yourself with earlier but imagined they were me? How many times did thinking of me make you cum? 3? 4?"

He snapped a black band from his wrist and threw his hair up in a careless bun. "Oh. Fuck," you thought. "This man is obsessed with me and stalking me and, and ..." Your thoughts trickled off as you realized how stupid you sounded thinking this garbage. He wasn't interested in you.

As relieved as you felt at that conclusion, you were also hit with a brief sadness that you were just another student to him. He's probably invited all kinds of people to cinema. You were no more special than the last.

"Relax, sweetheart. I don't have cameras set up in your bathroom watching you or anything. That would be tacky. I just know your type. You're easily scared."

You laughed at this.

"You get off to relieve tension and stress."

"Yeah? So? Who doesn't?" You shot back at him.

"Fair enough, fair enough." He looked amused by your argument. "Mm. Well, this is all very interesting. But it's time, once again, to watch, so sit down." He pointed to the place next to him.

You openly mocked him for ordering you around. "'Sit down? Sit," your laughter was spiteful. "Sit down. Oh-kay professor." There was that word again. "I've already seen the movie, thanks."

Geto reached up to take your hand and place it against his soft lips. He held it there for a moment and said, "Yes, but you haven't seen it with me." He rooted his dark eyes to yours and stuck the tip of his tongue between where your index and middle finger met. And licked you.

"Sit." And you did.

Wet pussy and all.

The movie has started, and all you want to watch is Geto. The man is beautiful. It made you almost angry about how beautiful he was.

30 minutes into it. He has kept to himself.

45 minutes into it, and his breathing hasn't even changed. But you're feeling the slick between your legs becoming more and more prevalent. Your skirt is getting the worst of it. You're not sure why you do this, but you uncross your legs. Hoping against hope that the way they were pressed together, the way they forced your pussy to rub on itself, would stop.

You were going crazy from this man's indifference.

1 hour into it, and you feel him turn and look at you. He readjusts himself on the plush seat and puts his hand on your knee.

You looked at him, thinking again of how the sharp tip of his wet tongue felt between your fingers. Your breath hitched for just a moment, and he took notice of the change in your demeanor.

Your body is no longer languid on the wide cushion beneath you. Geto wants you to relax while under his watchful eye. He wants to see you come apart at his fingertips. He wants to put you back together, too.

"Is this ok, pretty girl?" Geto asks in an almost too-quiet voice. He looks at you as shadows dance around the room. The couple in the movie has just discovered going down on one another. You watch them with an unwavering focus because if you don't, you're afraid you'll climb on your companions' face and suffocate him between your thighs.

"Mm. You're not comfortable with this. That's fine." He started to pull his hand back from your knee, and you turned your attention to him. Ready to protest his withdrawal, you stumble for your words. "I, I neh–" You clear your throat and try again. "Fuck! I never said that I wasn't comfortable with your hand on my knee. We're not in middle school, Geto. Put your hand on my fuckin' knee if you want to. It doesn't make any difference to me."

He cocked an eyebrow. "No? No difference at all. You're a bigger pain in the ass than I gave you credit for." He shook his head. "I think it's best if I just go. Would you like a ride home?"

"A ride home? Are you fucking kidding me?" You pulled his hand over and sat it on your lap. About 5 or 6 inches above where he'd originally positioned it before. "It ... does ..." You nearly choked on your words this time. "It does make a difference. Ok? OK? Happy now?"

Geto scooched a little closer to you so he could relax, and his hand would stay where you put it. He smiled. "I am. Thank you."

His hand was a double entendre. It made you wonder how something so presumably light could feel so heavy. Such a calming gesture, making you feel so wild.

Geto's right index finger began to draw small but deep 8's over your skirt into your skin. He could feel how warm your body was getting.

You're breathing heavily now. He leaned up and got much closer to you and reached up to brush one of your stray hairs aside like it was the whole reason for the sudden lack of oxygen to your brain.

1 1/2 hours, and his hand is the only thing holding you to this earth. You could sprout wings and fly away. You feel lighter, somehow. Even though he's tethered you here. Tied you to this couch that's seen god knows what. Will it get a new viewing of its own tonight, perhaps?

A particularly graphic scene comes up as you sit there next to Geto. You try to look away, but his grip on your leg tightens. You feel a wave of dizziness as his piercing eyes lock onto yours. "I didn't ask you to the movies with me so you could stare at the wall. Watch this. Learn. Listen. Why do you think that it's impossible to keep love and sex separate during the course of a relationship? And I'm not referring only committed ones.

"A sexual relationship doesn't have to be anything more than the expression of appreciation for someone's physical beauty." He continued. "Love usually runs deeper. To a person's soul. I mean, if you believe that people have souls."

You rolled your eyes. "I hate to play the sexist card. But leave it to a man – a really fucking attractive man, no less, to downplay the closeness that can resonate during sex. Lovemaking. Fucking. Call it what you want. But that's about as intimate as you can get with another person. And I think it's a really vulnerable posit–"

Geto started belly laughing. He lifted his hand from you to hold his flat stomach as he cracked up at your expense. "Listen to you. You sound like a virgin who's grown up watching only movies where there's a happy ending. A true happy ending with a knight in shining armor riding in on his unicorn steed carrying a single white rose because only the best for his untouched bride." He laughed another hard chuckle and looked back at your unamused face.

"You can be a real asshole, you know that." You said. "Just because I think that love AND sex go hand in hand doesn't mean I live for Disney movies. I'm well aware of the harsh realities surrounding love and sex. The way that people are lulled into a false sense of security. They give themselves fully over only to be kicked in the teeth and left on a curb holding a sign that says, 'I'm broken, but give me a chance. PS I'm a good cook, b‐t‐dubs.' And furthermore, it's no secret that the more invested a person becomes in their S/O, the more they turn themselves over to th—"

Geto leaned in and kissed you so lightly on your lips that were moving a thousand words a minute . "Who hurt you." He asked after pulling back. His smile was like a corrosive gel that you could slather on the most tarnished surface to get the ugly off.

You were surprised at how gentle his lips were against yours. You always imagined your time with him would be, well, not that tender. "W–what was that for?" Goddamn it. Why were you always suspicious of people who showed you any interest?

He was silent. After a long pause, he finally spoke, "I wanted to see what it would feel like." You scrunched up your face without even realizing it and asked him if he's ever kissed anyone.

"Are you fucking dumb? Of course I've kissed people. Many people. Men. Women. Any adult on the 'human' spectrum." He rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand. "Ahh. I wanted to see what it was like to kiss you. Ok?"

You thought about that for a moment before leaning over and kissing him again. Softly. Timidly. Sparingly. You were afraid to give too much of yourself to this man. Through kiss or otherwise. It would be too easy to become all consumed with him. You could see yourself vanishing in his wake.

"And that? What was that for?" He asked, staring at you through lustful eyes. You shrugged playfully.

You're not even watching the movie anymore. Really, there was not much point for both of you to sit through it again. You wouldn't forget about the story for a long while to come.

He grabbed your hand and pulled you closer to him. "Prof–professor Geto ... I ... I ..." Your words were desperate. They almost came across as whines. You hoped he'd only note the neediness in your voice and not the pathetic way you're so touch starved.

"Yes, y/n? Tell me. Just ... just tell me." You ran your fingers down the back of his head, eliciting a heavy shiver as you sat down, straddling him. You could feel the bulge grow beneath your spread cunt. He reached to cup your breasts in his slow hands.

You dropped your forehead to his, and for a moment, you wondered if he knew you were bare under your skirt, save for the belt and your socks. You pooled your skirt up around your waist, exposing your thighs and ass. He does now, you thought.

Geto's hands fell to your legs, and he rubbed the soft skin heartily. He leaned forward and grabbed up the most round part of your ass cheeks, and pulled you closer to him. You could feel the slick gathering on his pants. The fabric covering his zipper began to feel tacky.

"Wha– do you wa–want, y/n? Tell me what you want ... from me." You let out a moan as he massaged and held your breasts. He licked around your nipples and nibbled at the mounds of hot flesh.

Your movements on top of him were becoming more and more focused. It was all you could do to not reach between your balanced bodies and denude his cock from its cloth prison. He let out a low moan as you started stroking your pussy against him harder. Your body quivered with pleasure as he tipped forward, putting his mouth on the outside of your ear.

"Do you want ... this?" He sat you down on the couch again and got down on his knees on the floor before you. Geto kissed from where your garter belt stopped on your right leg all the way around. He stopped to lick at your slick opening a few times before turning his attention back to your other thigh, continuing to kiss you there until he was met with the clasps on the opposite leg.

His hands slid easily under your twitching legs as he pulled you to the edge of your seat. "Watch me, not the movie. Understand, pretty?"

You brushed rogue bangs aside to see his face better. "Mmm .... mmhmm." You nodded almost maniacally as he began licking your clit with the focused tip of his tongue. It was all you could do to not slam your head back. It felt so good.

There was a gradually growing wet spot underneath you on the loveseat (now you see that it was ironically named). Geto started to taunt your opening with the tip of his finger. Your body jolted whenever he retreated despite him not really even entering you.

"What do you want, y/n?" You wished that you could talk. That you weren't such a fucking blubbering mess after he'd been going down on you for less than 5 minutes.

"Ah, I wan' – fffuck." You can't hold your head up any longer, so you lay it against the back, still eyeing him. "I want you ..." You manage to say the words clumsily. If your eyes were daggers, he'd have bled out by now.

"You got it." He knelt in front of you and spread your legs and pushed his hands under the long skirt.

He passes the clips on your thighs with his roaming hand. You feel a mix of excitement and nervousness as you try to concentrate. Taking a deep breath, you remind yourself of the hours of preparation. You'd be damned if you weren't going to be rewarded for all of it.

"Do ... do you think anyone will come in?" You asked, suddenly aware you're on display right now."

Geto didn't answer. "Muhh." He was too focused on you. Whatever kind of answer that was. It made you wonder if he was just being agreeable or actually listening.

"Get‐Oh shiiiittt. Oh my god, y-yes. Hmmm..." You didn't remember there were other people on the planet right now. His face was completely buried between your thighs. You see now that he couldn't answer if he wanted to. And from the way he was devouring you, you knew assuring you wasn't at the top of his to-do list.

He went at you like you were an iceblock in the most stark desert. Licking you and sucking you into his mouth. His tongue swirling around your clit had you squirming out of his grasp.

It wasn't that you wanted to break his grip on you. But the feelings were so intense. All focused on one ... tiny ... spot.

"Oh god, Geto, I need ... fffuck. I haf'ta ... " Your words were failing you.

He sat up, licking his lips, smiling at you. His hair disheveled from your fingers, finding their way onto his head. "S' sweet, pretty."

He helped sit you up and sat down next to you. His eyes drunk on your body as he looked at your lips for a minute. The corners of your mouth turned upward slightly as you inched your way over to him.

"Scoot back," you told Geto. You got on your knees on the small couch and leaned over, resting on your elbows. He was so hard. You just wanted him inside of you so badly.

You rested just above his lap as you undid his belt, button, and zipper. He muttered something and moved to help you. "Uh-uh. It's my turn now." You said, and Geto laughed a little. "Who am I to argue."

You pushed his pants down to his knees and then gently, like you were holding a priceless artifact, pulled his thick cock out from his boxers.

You couldn't help but gasp a little as you held it. The way he watched you look it over made you feel nervous. Like you had never seen something like this before. His gaze remained on you as you closely inspected each vein and all the characteristics of it.

You brought the head to your lips and kissed it, immediately dragging a moan from Geto's throat. You've never been with someone who so easily gave themselves over to the sounds. If it were at all possible, you were turned on even more at his vocalizations.

There was no hurry here on your part, so you took things slowly. You were also hoping he had nowhere to be at 2 am.

Adjusting your position so you could rest on his thighs and still utilize your hands, you slipped and felt him hit the back of your throat. "F.U.C.K." You thought. "Does he know I slipped or does he think I'm just amazing?!"

You remembered your roommate telling you the crazy shit her and her boyfriend do. "Yeah, it's really simple once you get your breathing under control. When you master that, you could choke back an actual eggplant." She told you one night after she stumbled in half naked. You promised to take her to coffee as a thank you for her invaluable advice on the subject.

"Ho– holy shit, y/n. That, that's – oh fuck." Geto was restraining himself from thrusting upwards anymore. You were doing well enough on your own.

Bringing your right hand up, you wrap it around his length and begin to stroke him. Your mouth still holding the tip, you lick him with a flat tongue.

"Y/n y/n y/n, fuck ..." He sounds and feels like he's close. You can detect the slight contracting in your mouth when you touch him a certain way or roll him around in your hot, wet mouth.

Geto reached down and cupped your face in his hands. "S-s- M'gonna, hah, ." You sat up, your skirt still somehow held in place at your waist. Your upper legs are shiny from sweat and your juices mixing around.

Geto was lifting his hips off of the couch, and the hand he had on the back of your head was becoming more firm and careless in its grip.

You started breathing heavily through your nose, preparing yourself for what you were about to do.

You took him so far deep, so suddenly, that he let out a noise you were sure was a staple in his infancy.

He leaned forward a bit and grabbed your shoulder with his right hand, and softly put his left on your ear.

"Fuck, y/n. Fucking h– oh, mmhhm, ffffuckkk!" You felt the heat hit the back of your throat and you instinctually swallowed.

You sat up and wiped your face with your forearm. It took him a moment for him to regain his composure, but he was smiling at you like you'd told him the secret to a happy life.

"Y/n. Why are you just sitting there?" The question caught you off guard. "Was – was I supposed to go?" Geto extended his arm to you, and you took it.

He pulled you up onto his lap, and you let out a little squeak at how easily he hauled you over. "Geto ... what'cha, what'cha doin'?"

"Calm down." He chuckled before he settled back into his spot on the couch. He sat you down, straddling him again, but this time, his pants were down.

"C'mere, sweetheart." He pulled you close into him, and he kissed you. Geto's arms wrapped around your waist, and his large hands kneaded the muscles on your back.

You kissed each other so deeply and slowly that you never wanted to stop. Your tongues twist around, leaving you both breathless but unwilling to be the first to pull away.

His bottom lip trailed from your neck to your collarbone, sending shivers down your spine. You let out a soft moan as his hands slid down your back.

You couldn't take the teasing you anymore. His cock was pressing into your wetness, practically begging to be swallowed up into you. "Geto ..." You tried to plead with his reasonable side. But he had no reasonable intentions right now.

Geto whispered in your ear, "You can have it all if you want." The temptation lingers to see how long you can dance over him like this. But ultimately, you sit down on him, taking his cock all the way inside of you.

Both of you throw your heads back, wildly different sounds erupting from your throats. Geto moaned deeply as you enveloped him. His skin was so hot to the touch. "Fuck Geto, ya feel s'good."

He raised your shirt above your chest and ran his thumbs over your nipples. "You're so fucking tight, y/n. Shit, I could – ah, fuck. I could cum right now."

You hastened your movements on him. The way his cock drags against your hot walls was clouding out the reality around you. "Mm–me t-to. Oh god, mmhmm. G'na cum!"

Geto slid his hand between your legs to rub your clit but he wasn't halfway with his reach when the two of you came together.

"Fuck, pretty girl." He lifted you up just enough to see him still inside of you. You looked down to see your body already letting go of the combined juices.

"Now, y/n. I have to ask. Do you love me? Or was that just sex?"

You laughed as your face turned a bright red. "I dunno. I think it's you who loves me."

Geto hooked his arms under your legs and flipped you onto your back on the couch. "Whoo! What're you doing!" You giggled and brushed his hair from his face.

"From a scientific perspective, I think this is going to require a lot of research."

You rolled your eyes, smirking. Geto lined himself up with you and eased his way in.

"For ... mm, ah ... for science!"

□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□

[the-s1lly-corner]

Yayyy, so excited you're writing for TADC! Could you possibly write some hcs for Ragatha with a s/o that's really interested in animals but bugs?? As soon as it was revealed she fears centipedes, I've been obsessed with the idea of her ironically having a partner who loves the very thing she fears- They love to draw the anatomy of bugs and read facts about them...just complete obsession

Sometimes (before the two started dating) I imagine the s/o find centipedes and in the heat of the moment for forgot about Ragatha's immense fear, immediately going to show her with excitement because they love showing her their interests... only to be met with a screaming Ragatha before apologizing multiple times!

Ragatha x a bug loving partner!

YIPEE! i actually love this idea so much! i think this might be the last request for tonight! if i dont go to sleep after this im probably going to be drawing! yall better not be afraid to keep sending requests! i dont have much going on rn so its nice to be able to keep busy

very polite about it but you can see the fear flash in her eyes when you let slip that you love bugs; as well as you having a soft spot for centipedes

encourages your hobby, but like, from afar

avoids going into your room if you keep your bugs there, in cases and enclosures. its not that she doesnt want to spend time with you, but she doesnt like the idea of those hundreds of beady little eyes watching her!

loves your drawings, though, she has to admit that you got some real talent to be able to capture every detail of the critter, as well as being able to label them if its meant to be a diagram

i think asides the art shes the most tolerable of hearing bug facts, since some bugs do have some legitimately interesting and cool things going on with them

coming from someone who hates bugs btw, i panic when i see something more than an ant; will go fuzzy in the head if i see a spider or centipede

speaking of fear, i think ragatha is the type to seize up before running away. not screaming, but definitely getting a little incoherent as she begs you to go capture the damn thing

freezes like a statue when you approach her with a bug, forgetting shes scared of them. it truly looks like her soul left her body when youre about two feet in front of her

then it dawns on you

oh yeah!

shes... scared of them

you quickly turn around to shield your body between the creature and her, as well as quickly getting it out of her sight while letting the apologies spill out

quickly forgives you since it was a genuine accident, accidents happen

[avengersfantasies]

Anymore - Chapter 8

Summary: You determine how you really feel about Bucky.

What to expect: fluff, angst

Masterlist here

taglist: @kandis-mom @missvelvetsstuff @mavrellover91 @natashasilverfox @vicmc624 @blackhawkfanatic @haruvalentine4321 @felicitylemon @vonalyn @aboobie @stinkerbelle007 @crist1216 @je-suis-prest-rachel @buckysforeverprincess @bathwater101 @frickin-bats @lovely-geek @winterslove1917 @opheliabarnes

The feeling of Steve’s lips on yours brought you back to the time when you two were madly in love – when everything seemed perfect. His lips tasted like mint – a taste that you had missed for months. Your hands found their way to either side of his face, and you allowed his tongue into your mouth. You moaned against his lips and tangled your fingers in his hair. His lips were always soft and gentle, but now, his kiss was desperate. He needed you closer otherwise he might die. You climbed into his lap and let his hands grips your hips – grinding you against his hardening cock. Needing to feel him, you pulled his shirt off over his head and let him do the same. Carefully, his lips sucked your nipples while you took him out of his jeans.

            “Do you miss my cock, baby girl?” Steve asked – his voice filled with lust and desire.

            “Steve,” you whispered against his lips – tears starting to fall. “If we do this…then it’s the last time.” Steve softly wiped the tears away and held your face – resting his forehead against yours.

“I can’t let you go,” he whispered. “I’m sorry…but I can’t just let you go.”

“You have to,” you told him – your voice soft and pleading. “Steve…”

His hands found their way to your belly, and he held the little baby bump carefully. “I can’t let you go…I love you too damn much.”

“Steve…if you love me, then you need to let me go,” you tried to reason with him. “Let me be happy with Bucky…because right now…I feel horrible.” You climbed off his lap and put your shirt back on – the realization of what you had just done sinking in. Steve sat there silently – watching as you left his room and sprinted back to Bucky.

            You came back into Bucky’s room sobbing. “Babydoll?” he looked up at you. “Hey, hey, hey…what’s wrong?” he asked – walking up to you and pulling you into his arms.

            “I’m sorry, Bucky,” you sobbed against his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

He held your face in his hands. “What happened, baby?”

“I-I…almost had sex with him,” you confessed. “We made out…then I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Fuck! Bucky, I’m so sorry.”

Immediately, Bucky’s lips captured yours in a deep kiss. It was almost as if he knew you needed the taste of Steve out of your mouth. “C’mere baby,” he said – picking you up and laying you on the bed. “You’re okay, doll,” he assured you, “we’re okay.”

“I’m so sorry, Bucky,” you sobbed again, clutching onto him as tightly as you could.

His thumbs stroked your cheeks. “I told you to do what you needed to move on, remember?” You nodded a reply. “Now you know how you feel, okay?”

He was right. You felt horrible about what happened with Steve even though Bucky said he’d be by your side no matter what it took to move on from the Captain. The fact that you felt horrible about what happened with Steve meant there were legitimate feelings for Bucky, and it was the first time in months that you had clarity about anything in your life.

“I want you,” you cried, practically pleading with him – hoping that he’d still want you. “Please, Bucky…I want you more than anything.”

“I want you too, babydoll,” he spoke against your lips – capturing them again and picking you up. He sat you in his lap and wrapped his arms around your waist. “Not gonna lie…I was scared,” he confessed softly. “Thought he’d win you back.”

“Never, baby,” you promised him – holding his face in your hands and looking into his eyes. “I want you, Buck.” Bucky gently held your belly in his hands – softly caressing the little life that grew inside. “We want you.”

His lips gently pressed against yours, and you swallowed each moan he gave you. You opened your mouth, inviting him in to explore. He did the same, and you wasted no more time in showing how much you wanted each other.'

            The next morning, you woke up still tangled in Bucky’s arms. The two of you had spent the majority of the night showing just how much you loved each other, and you both promised the other that you’d never let go. You smiled up at Bucky. He was still sound asleep and snoring lightly. It made you happy that he was able to get a good night’s sleep without having a nightmare, and the last thing you wanted to do was wake him up. You snuggled back up to him, and he unconsciously placed his chin on top of your head when you nuzzled into his chest.

            “Mornin’, babydoll,” Bucky’s sleep-filled and raspy voice said softly.

            You looked up at him. “Did I wake you?” you asked. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He chuckled lazily. “No, sweetheart…I got a whiff of your shampoo…smelled so good it woke me up.”

You giggled and kissed him gently. He reciprocated by deepening the kiss and pulling you into his lap. His hands found their place on your cheeks – his thumbs gently stroking them and pushing your hair behind your ears.

“What do you say we go get breakfast?” he suggested. “There’s a really good diner down the road…best pancakes you can ask for.”

“Ooo, pancakes,” you hummed. “Do you think it’d be okay for me to have coffee?”

Bucky didn’t say anything, instead, he grabbed his phone off the nightstand and opened up Google. You watched as he looked up if it was okay for a pregnant woman to have coffee. “Says as long as it’s not over two cups, you should be fine.” You nodded, and Bucky held each side of your small bump – planting a loving kiss on the little being growing within.

You could feel yourself falling for the super soldier. Although the baby was biologically Steve’s, you knew that Bucky would do whatever he could to help you out and be a second father to them.

“We need to come to an arrangement with Steve,” you quietly brought up. “About custody and all that.”

Bucky nodded. “If we’re together, then we have to decide on what we want first.”

“I want you,” you said softly. “I want you, and I want you to feel welcome about being around the baby.”

“I want that too,” Bucky smiled. “And I don’t want to overstep any boundaries.”

“Maybe the three of us could do lunch?” you suggested. “Somewhere public so that there’s no arguments or anything over the top.”

“I like that,” Bucky agreed, mindlessly rubbing your belly. “Is it bad that I’m the one who gets to kiss your belly every day?” You could tell he was starting to feel bad. “After all, it’s Steve’s baby…he should be able to kiss your belly if he wants.”

You couldn’t argue with him. Even though things between you and Steve were rock, to say the least, you knew you wanted to give him the opportunity to start building a bond with the baby you were carrying.

[judysxnd]

Hey can you write jealous pedro for us please?

This is legit a dream I had a few days ago 😭 but my heart could never

———————————————————————————

You have one of your friends over and you’re talking together with Pedro about anything. At some point the subject of crushes came up. You said that you recently had a dream about Garrett Hedlund. In it he became your boyfriend during an event. You pouted because at the end he went outside to chill with a few friends but you stayed in because of the event. Someone texted you to joined them because he was drunk. He was flirting with Selena Gomez.

You were sitting on the couch with your friend, talking about anything. You haven’t seen her in a while so you had a lot to catch on. Pedro joined the conversation when he came back home after his last interview of the day. You were chilling, drinking a glass of wine each. It wasn’t your first anymore for the three of us.

Your friend started to talk about her celebrity crush that she got the chance to meet two weeks ago at a convention. She’s been a fan of him since she was a teenager.

“I still can’t believe it” she repeated excitedly while showing you guys the pictures. “I met my celebrity crush!!”

“How did you react when you saw him?” You asked

“Oh my god I started to cry” you all laughed “but he was so nice”

“Yeah he is” Pedro added. “I met him once at a gala or something”

“And you didn’t say anything!” She hit him playfully

“It was long time ago, like, I-had-no-beard long time ago” you laughed

“Understandable” she said looking at her phone “Have you ever met yours?” She asked the both of you

“Yes” Pedro said proudly

“I didn’t” you admitted “I have too many” you joked

“Who’s your current crush?” You friend asked. You were practically sure that you heard Pedro gulp.

“I don’t really know. Because of a dream I had a few days ago I’ll say Garrett Hedlund”

“What?” Pedro asked

“Ohh what kind of dream?” Your friend smirked

“Not that kind of dream” you assured her

“I’m legitimately curious” she said “explain the dream”

“Yeah explain” Pedro added, he furrowed his brows “explain the dream you never told me about” you stared at him for a few seconds

“We were just at an event like a gala something like that, and that’s when we became girlfriend and boyfriend apparently”

“You kissed or something?” She wanted details. You have a quick glance at Pedro. His joyful expression disappeared.

“No, I mean I don’t remember, probably, I think so actually, but then he left outside to chill with a few friends while I stayed inside for the event”

“And then???” You chuckled at how your friend was excited

“Then someone texted me to check on him because he was drunk, so I left the gala to join him. They were three including him, a man that I didn’t know and Selena Gomez”

“What? I’m so curious for what is about to happen next”

“I’m not, because I was trying to like contain him because he was fucking flirting with Selena like I wasn’t sitting next to him” your friend laughed

“What a dream” she said still laughing

“So like he cheated on you?” Pedro asked confused

“I don’t know I woke up right after, but they were very close, like physically, and about to kiss. If I wouldn’t have been here, I think he would have”

“So after this dream Garrett is your crush?” Pedro wanted to know

“Not really, I do find him very cute and I wouldn’t be mad to see him in front of me, but that’s it”

“That’s kind of a crush” Pedro corrected you

“Whatever it was just a dream”

“I’ll say almost a nightmare” your friend joked

“I got to be his girlfriend, I think there’s worse like nightmare”

“That’s true” she said as she got up. “I’ll be right there just need to go to the bathroom” you watched her leave, your eyes falling on Pedro who seemed upset.

“Are you okay?” You asked a little worried

“Yeah yeah” he answered dryly. There was a silent for a second. “Why didn’t you tell me about this dream?”

“Why would I tell you? It’s just a dream” you retorted “I have a lot of weird dreams, we generally don’t speak of it in general so”

“I know, it’s just, I’m sleeping next to you while you think of someone else”

“Mister Pascal are you jealous ?” He didn’t say anything “I don’t think of anyone else, it’s not my fault I dream of people, I don’t control my subconscious” you calmly said. “Just like you can’t help being a bit jealous” his upset expression was changing into a smile

“I’m sorry” he apologized “it’s true it’s just a dream-”

“It’s okay, I’m a bit jealous too so” you shrugged. You scooted closer to him, resting your head on his chest as he wrapped his arm around your neck. He kissed your head.

Your friend came back and you continued your conversation, changing the subject as you were done with it. A little jealousy is fine when it’s not jeopardizing your relationship.

[itsabouttimex2]

Hello there! could we see a prequel of when platonic yandere Erasermic first saw Cloud quirk reader! I feel like the reader wouldn't exactily look like oboro, but then seeing that quirk and having that energetic personality would send the memories of oboro back into there mind

These two mourn Oboro to this day. It’s a major part of both of their characters, woven into their beings. They won’t move on. They can’t forget. So when they see you, something kind of cracks inside them.

Aizawa pauses, and just… stares. His chest tightens painfully, as a deluge of long-buried memories gnaw at his mind. It’s easy to that he’d be the strong one, the stoic one. But he isn’t. He’s a broken man long burdened by grief. It’s clear he hasn’t managed to move on from losing Oboro in the slightest.

However, Hizashi was able to healthily move on to some degree and become a teacher, a DJ, a radio host, a hero. Sure, it’s possible that he uses his exuberance to cope with grief or to draw Aizawa out of his worst moments, but he stills manages to be sunny and bright. All the same, he possesses a well-hidden ruthlessness and an extremely powerful Quirk that he’s not afraid to use. The moment he stops smiling, it’s probably time to run and hide, because something is terribly wrong.

And when he sees you, he stops smiling. There’s a moment where his larger than life personality and cheery disposition both slip, leaving him in a rare state of shocked silence. Hizashi just stands and watches, eyes going wide behind his concealing sunglasses. His gangly arms drop to his sides, his every bit of attention focused on staring you down.

Maybe it’s some kind of cruel joke. Maybe he’s been hit by a Quirk, creating a tailored distraction to keep him from noticing an approaching foe. Maybe he’s just seeing things. But no, he isn’t. You’re real, with his personality and Quirk.

———————————————————————

“Oboro…,” Aizawa mumbles to himself, caught in a similar state to his loudmouth friend. His bloodshot eyes catch on your smile, watching as you chat with a friend. The two of you walk side by side, trails of vapor and fog drifting from your fingertips as you show off your Quirk. Your friend laughs in amazement, watching in awe as the clouds shift into different shapes and figures, bending perfectly to your will.

Once, Oboro had done the same for him. Whenever Aizawa seemed down, he’d whip up a cloud and shape it into the cutest kitten he could manage, often ending up with a horrifically disfigured mess that had his friend stifling a smile.

Words catch in his throat. He can barely think straight. It feels like he can’t even stand.

He stumbles through the halls, making the short trip to his classroom, still empty. He snatches his phone from his pocket, fumbling with it until he has his loud-mouthed on the other end.

“You saw them. I know you did. Why didn’t you… why didn’t you warn me?”

A loud sigh from the other end. “Sorry, Sho. The kid’s in class 1-B, so I figured I’d get the chance to tell you in person. Didn’t think you’d run into them so soon.”

He desperately racks his brain for something to say, some way to respond. Hizashi beats him to it.

“Actually, Nemuri learned before me, and didn’t say a word either. I think she’s a little broken up too, honestly. Least we’re not alone, right?”

At least they’re not alone. Aizawa would agree, but can’t manage to swallow the lump in his throat. He just holds the phone to his ear, wondering if it was a blessing or curse that you didn’t get put in his class.

“They seem like a good kid, Sho. I’m gonna keep an eye out for them.”

“So they don’t end up like Oboro” is the unspoken second half of that last sentence. Voicing it out loud makes it a legitimate fear. Leaving it vague means the image stays vague, the fear stays vague. Just an uncanny feeling of potential danger, rather than outright fear for a child’s mortality.

“You know what, Mic? I think I’ll keep an eye out for the kid too.”

Because he can’t bring himself to relive that scene ever again a child shouldn’t have to worry about getting hurt at UA.

So they’ll look out for you. Nothing strange about it. Nothing serious, no cause for alarm.

Not yet.