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totalswag · 6 days ago

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podcast therapuss ⎯ DREW STARKEY

authors notes first time writing influencer!reader, i like it so far. this idea popped into my head the other day after watching one of jake’s episodes. there's no face claim for influencer!reader, i added this picture for the ideal theme.

taglist ⤕ if you would like to be notified every time i post you will type in your username then be all set to go.

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summary joining jakes podcast talking about various topics then mentioning not getting the chance to meet drew starkey. clips of you talking about him goes viral which leads him to reaching out to you.

warning(s) none!

About a month ago, your manager texted you about doing a podcast with Jake Shane, and you quickly said yes. You contacted him shortly after your managers confirmed it, expressing your excitement. Since then, you've grown closer and spent the night before the episode was filmed.

The two of you went out to dinner and got to talking about various of topics. It was a great way to get to know each other. You consider each other as friends now.

You've used social media since you were fifteen years old. You began by posting YouTube videos, and you continue to do so. Tiktok became another source of content to promote, including daily vlogs, hilarious content, and so on. Nothing would make you change it.

Everyone was getting settled before filming began. Jake started off by talking about a few topics then you came in. You were super excited about doing this.

“Welcome to Therapuss! "We've got the incredible Y/N here today," Jake says, gesturing toward you as you relax into the comfortable chair across from him. You flash your characteristic smile, which your followers enjoy. The cameras roll, but it feels natural—just another day in your life, sharing your thoughts and experiences with the world.

"Stop it!" you chuckle, shaking your head. "But seriously, Jake, thank you very much for having me. "I am a huge fan of the podcast."

"You're too kind," he replies, smiling. "So, let us dig in. You've experienced an unimaginable rise on social media. Your vlogs are really addictive, your TikToks are continuously trending, and everyone adores you. "How does it feel?"

You enjoy answering questions like this. They are your favorite because you don't always get to discuss what inspired you for doing this.

"It's surreal, honestly," you acknowledge. "I started YouTube my freshman year of high school because I wanted to look back on the moments I made. I never imagined it would turn out like this. It has been a whirlwind, but I am grateful for it."

Jake takes it all in, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hand. "Based on what I've seen, your content is incredibly diverse in your vlogs, TikTok, and lifestyle tips. Tell me, how do you balance all of that?" He asks, intrigued by what you do.

You respond to the question by explaining how you learned to draw boundaries over time. You prefer to keep a lot of things private that do not affect the outer world. As your audience grew, you formed a unique bond with them.

"Do you have a show you've been obsessed with lately?" Jake asks you while laughing and raising his eyebrows.

"Duh, Outer Banks pookie!" Before you laugh and toss your head back theatrically, you smirk. The statement, "I love all characters, Rafe is my favorite," leaves Jake speechless.

"Let me explain, his character is so interesting and yes, he's a psycho," you huff, putting your palms up in defense.

Jake and you keep talking about the show and his favorite show.

Jake nods in agreement. "Totally. Okay, switching gears to Pougelandia. Tell me everything."

You giggle and lean back in your chair. "Oh my goodness, that was incredible! The Outer Banks cast is as cool as they appear on television,” You gush, your excitement is evident.

Jake’s face lights up hearing you talk about the cast, “stop it that sounds so sweet, tell me more!”

You quickly point at him, “They’re so down to earth and so sweet. I got to meet practically everyone except for one person,” pouting then covering your hands with your hands.

Jake shrieks in surprise, "bitch who? "You must tell me!" He exclaims excitedly, settling into his seat.

“Drew Starkey. I was very disappointed since I'd heard he was the sweetest person, but our schedules didn't work out." you confess with a hint of disappointment. You were excited to meet him and start a conversation like you did with the rest of the cast.

Jake, of course, teased you about it, saying, “I feel like we’re setting up a rom-com here. Drew, if you’re listening, the universe is waiting.”

The remainder of the podcast you two continue to talk about various topics and even did the infamous NAME—someone will send in a question or mention something for Jake and the guest to answer the question on the podcast. There were lots of interesting questions.

A few days later, the episode is up—fans are talking about you talking about Drew and you wanting to meet him. TikTok is overloaded with clips of you talking about Drew, and your comments are full of hopeful hints about a possible meet-up.

You'd just completed editing your most recent YouTube video for your next vlog, and you were drained enough to fall asleep at your desk. The buzz of your phone buzzing from your bed, frowning but curious in who it could be.

You scream. Literally scream.

Drew Starkey followed you.

Drew Starkey sent you a message.

"Am I being punked?" Am I dreaming? "What the fuck is happening?" You ramble while holding your phone in your shaky hands and looking at the two notifications on your lock screen.

Allowing yourself to relax and compose yourself. You unlock your phone, tap on instagram, go to the messaging tab, you’re sure your jaw dropped to the floor.

Drew Starkey: Hey, I recently watched your podcast with Jake. We should get together sometime—finally make up for not meeting in Pougelandia!

What do you say?

How do you come off calmly?

Yourusername: Hi! Yes, it sounds perfect. Let me know when you’re free.

Fast forward two months later, you feel you’re still in a dream. Drew and you hung out together at a local coffee shop then went back to your place to talk more. Once you started talking you two couldn’t stop.

After hanging out the first time came more meeting ups. Drew asked you to be his girlfriend three weeks ago—you were shocked and excited all at once.

One day, while scrolling through TikTok in your kitchen, leaning on the counter, you came across the trend—wait they don't love you like I love you. You thought the trend was silly, so you decided to participate.

You did a couple tries and posted your favorite one out of the four—not realizing Drew was in the background on his phone, unfazed about what you were doing. Your comments started blowing up.

Bestie you got some explaining to do 🤨

Causally dancing in your kitchen while Drew Starkey is walking around at the same time? Interesting

When worlds collide fr 😏

Alright where the cameras at...

I fucking knew it!!!!

⎯⎯ my taglist!

✰ if you would like to be added to my taglist and be notified whenever i post please let me know in the comments or in my ask box. if there's a line across your name that means i couldn't find your account

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iamred-iamyellow · 3 months ago

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⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Don’t Prove I’m Right - [Part 4]

♥ prev

♥ series masterlist | main masterlist

♥ pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

♥ series synopsis: you didn't think twice about the dj you hooked up with until you found out you were pregnant. turns out the man wasn't just some dj but a famous formula 1 driver.

♥ chapter synopsis: after his reckless decisions, lando attempts to make it up to you. it took some convincing from oscar but you eventually gave in and had a conversation with him.

♥ smau + written - fc: girls on pinterest - none of the pictures are mine

♥ warnings: swearing !!!

♥ a/n: its been MONTHS since the last chapter I am so sorry lovelies!

liked by logansargeant, lilyzneimer, lilymhe, and 120,538 more

yourusername ever since @/logansargeant and @/oscarpiastri got camila these plushies she’s been obsessed with them

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yourbestfriend please don’t tell me the deer is being replaced 😔

yourusername camila would never

lilyzneimer shes just too cute to not spoil

user1 haven’t seen lando in any of her posts recently 😕

user3 they did JUST get back to Monaco so I wouldn't be worried

user6 they're not dating either so I don't see why he would be

user4 we need a godfather reveal

logansargeant it’s me

oscarpiastri its me

carlossainz55 … it’s probably not me 😕

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

It had been a couple of days since your last conversation with Lando and a knock on your door drew your attention away from your phone.

A giant box was sitting on the doorstep alone with no sender information. You hesitantly brought it into the living room and grabbed a pocket knife to cut through the clear strip of tape. The box quickly burst open from the pressure of the deeply packed objects—about a dozen jellycats and an apology note placed on top.

It was clear to you that this package was from Lando, and it was a very sweet gesture. He’d clearly seen the post you made the previous day and was trying his best to make up for his mistakes. You sighed and folded the note up, setting it on your couch. You pulled out a soft pink bunny from the box causing Camila to squeal and hold her arms open.

You still hadn’t checked your texts from Lando, but Oscar was right. You couldn’t ignore him forever. Lily offered to take you out for the night in order to clear your head. You were extremely grateful for Lily’s support and generosity ever since you met her. She had truly become one of your best friends throughout this experience.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

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yourusername girls night

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lilyzneimer <3

user1 we love a self care queen

user2 she’s so pretty

alexandrasaintmleux we should all hang out together <3

francisca.cgomes i second that

yourusername i’m so there

user7 i love that the wags include her 🥹

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

You sat next to Lily with a glass of white wine in your hand, conflicted. Of course you were. Like Oscar said, you had to confront him at some point, but it was going to take a lot for you to trust Lando again. You pulled your phone out of your purse.

You got the response pretty much immediately.

You sighed and turned to Lily, "I'm gonna go talk to Lando."

"Good luck," she said with a smile, and took another sip of her drink.

You picked Camila up off the couch and bundled her up in a small yellow blanket.

You were at his apartment in about twenty minutes. You knocked hesitantly, tapping your nails on the case of your phone and jangling your keys in attempt to reduce your anxiety. Lando opened the door in silence, letting you into the room. He sat back down on his couch and you followed, cradling your daughter in your arms and choosing to stand up as you spoke.

“Listen Y/n, I know what I did was-“

"I'm not going to take your child away from you,” you stated, cutting him off. “You said you want to be in her life, but you have to keep that promise."

He nodded and ran his hands across his face. You wanted to get straight to the point with no excuses. You had heard all of his apologies already.

"Lily talked to Kmag and found her a babysitter, so we're good on that end. But, you still have to earn back my trust to be alone with her and if anything like this happens again I won't be nice."

He looked back up at you, “It won’t ever happen again, I swear. It shouldn’t have happened in the first place.

”I agree.”

There was some awkward silence as you gently sat on the arm rest of the couch.

You looked down at your daughter, “She may not fully get it yet, but you’re her dad and she loves you,” you locked eyes with Lando again. “You chose to raise her with me, so you need to take responsibility.”

He nodded, “I understand.”

"Good," you responded, standing back up and stepping towards the front door. You paused without turning your head back towards him, "Good luck in Imola.”

With that you were gone.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

end notes: this was short, I am aware! there was originally supposed to be more to this chapter but I decided to turn it into its own whole part lol :) I've already started working on it so stay tuned!

taglist; @hc-dutch, @papaya-twinks, @2pagenumb, @formulaal, @erin-odonnell04, @drunkinthemiddleoftheday, | @kissesandmartinis, @ironmaiden1313, @six-call, @wolflover384, @tremendousstarlighttragedy, | @ilivbullyingjeongin, @celestialend, @silentreader128, @wolflover384, @ellesssssxzxz | @clowngirlsstuff, @ln4smiamitrophy, @whoneedsgeorge, @chezmardybum, @warlike-morning, | @gigicisneros, @hard4ndsoft, @eveninggstar, @jolixtreesunn, @acesofspadess,| @formulaonebuff, @notpeachybby, @shesmugirl, @mxdi0, @ririyulife, | @kravitzwhore, @bellinghambby22, @helaenatargaryensfavoritebug, @maplesyrupsainz, @harrysdimple05, | @pippyth3hippy, @noneofyourfbusinessworld, @littlegrapejuice, | @majx00, | @si1ver06 | @weekendlusting | @landossainz,

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@ysabay, @cleopatrick-123, @nichmeddar, @glai1023-blog, @sltwins,

@harrysdimple05, @toriiez, @theonottsbxtch, @fastfactory

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hcneymooners · 8 days ago

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⋆ woman of my dreams, don't betray me.

wife!ambessa x wife!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: you and ambessa are wives, and your parents have come to visit the two of you. everything will be fine, or would've been if you mother hadn't brought up her desire for grandchildren.

cw: angst, angst with a happy ending, wife!ambessa, wife!reader, age difference, older woman/younger woman, sfw but suggestive content, emotional hurt/comfort, you're a little bit of a crybaby, anxiety attacks, discussions of children and pregnancy.

notes: i hate this so much, but ce la vie hmm? this is a drabble.

“Sweet girl, don't bite your nails. You'll be so upset later.”

“You'll just give me the money to get them done,” you mutter.

Still, your hands lower from your mouth to tremble yet again over the dinner you've painstakingly made.

Ambessa moves behind you, her presence steady and warm against your back. Her hands settle on your shoulders, thumbs working small circles into the knots that have been building there all day. You lean into her touch despite yourself, despite the anxiety that makes you want to vibrate out of your skin.

“Will this occur before or after you protest against me giving you too much?”

A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it, and you turn to slide your arms around her neck. You take in the strong line of her jaw, the crooked set of her lips with it’s thin stripe of golden jewlery in the middle. You thumb at it, face flushing slightly as she nips at the tip of your finger.

“My nails have yet to cost five hundred dollars, Bessa.”

“I include the tip.”

“I must be incredibly generous.”

“You are,” she hums, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Besides, you never think of tax.”

“Tax?” You say in disbelief. “What tax would they be adding that costs that much? Honestly, Bessa.”

“You never know,” she says with a slow smile. “They could swindle you very easily. You have such a trusting nature.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you tell her, cupping her face.

"Talk to me," she says, and her voice carries that gentle authority that first drew you to her. You turn away, your attempts at misleading her thwarted. "Is it your mother again?”

You stiffen under her hands. "Among other things." The roast in front of you blurs slightly.

You can picture her expression without turning around - that careful neutrality she wears when she's processing something that angers her. It's the same look she gets in meetings when someone has said something particularly stupid.

"And what did you say to her?"

"Nothing. I deleted it. I’ve never been any good at convincing her to leave me alone." You pull away from her hands to adjust a perfectly arranged plate for the third time. "It's easier than explaining. Than having the same argument over and over about how I'll change my mind, how I just haven't met the right person yet." You pause, throat tight. "As if you're not..."

"As if I'm not what?" There's an edge to her voice now, not angry but intent. When you don't answer, she gently turns you to face her. "Look at me, little dove."

You do, though it hurts. She's beautiful in the warm kitchen light, silver hair gleaming, dark eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that still makes your heart skip even after all this time. You see the question in them and can't bear to answer it.

"The table still needs-"

"The table is perfect. You're being avoidant."

A laugh bubbles up, slightly hysterical. "Isn't that what I do best?"

"No." Her hand cups your cheek. You can smell her: blonde wood, vetiver, pink pepper, dry vanilla. "What you do best is love fiercely and completely. And we agreed that that meant being honest with one another.”

She titls your head up, presses a thumb against your pulse. The action makes you almost confess the words that crowd your throat, threatening to spill out:

I'm terrified you'll realize I can't give you the family you deserve. That one day you'll look at me and see all the things I'm not, all the things I can't be. That you'll regret choosing someone so much younger, so much less certain of their place in the world. That my mother is right and I'm being selfish, denying you something fundamental.

But before you can voice any of it, the doorbell rings. Your whole body goes rigid. Your hands come to your sides and you’re back to shaking, neck burning with sudden stress.

“I’ll get the door,” you say.

Your voice is rasping, as if you’ve swallowed down endless snakes of smoke.

‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Dinner is excruciating. Your mother talks about your cousin's new baby, about how wonderful motherhood looks on her, about how she's "simply glowing." You push food around your plate and feel Ambessa's concerned glances, even as she masterfully deflects conversation toward politics, toward her work, toward anything else.

But with each deflection, you can feel her growing more tense beside you - the way she sets her wine glass down with just a fraction more force, how her knife scrapes against the china with military precision.

"But really," your mother says, wine glass tilting dangerously in her hand, "I just don't understand why you two haven't started trying yet. Ambessa, dear, you must want more children? And you're not getting any younger-"

The fork clatters from your hand. "Mother."

You can feel your body pulsing with that sick warmth that comes with the rush of tears. You’re boring a hole through the dining room table with your gaze, eyes growing large and wet. If you were a lamb, you’d be bleating except your mother is the wolf so who will be the one to save you?

Beside you, Ambessa goes perfectly, terrifyingly still. The kind of stillness that precedes a storm, that makes the hair on the back of your neck rise. You can see her hand flat against the table, the metal of her rings catching the light, and you know without looking that her face has taken on that marble-smooth expression that makes junior officers quake in their boots.

"I'm only giving you something to think about, my love. I’ve been you before. You think you have so much time, you know? It’s just—you've always been so good with kids, sweetheart. Remember how you used to babysit for the Hendersons? And Ambessa's children turned out so well-"

"Stop." Your voice comes out strangled. "Please."

Ambessa's hand sneaks under the table to grasp your thigh. The touch is slightly grounding but you can feel the tremor in her fingers - not from fear, but from restraint. You know she wants you to look at her, but then you'll really begin to lose it.

You'll spill over, right into her lap, because she always could unlatch your body in ways you thought were only for other people.

You catch the slight movement of her jaw, the way she swallows whatever cutting remark she wants to make. Because this is your mother, and Ambessa—for all her power, all her authority, because of the love—is letting you handle this your way. But the tension in her body screams of fury, of a woman forced to watch her beloved take wounds she can't deflect.

"I don't see why you're being so sensitive about this. It's a natural progression-"

"Natural?" You're standing now, though you don't remember deciding to. "Natural is me not wanting to vomit every time someone mentions me being pregnant. Natural is not having a panic attack every time you send me another fertility clinic link or baby clothes or-" Your voice breaks. "I can't. I can't do this."

You flee, ignoring your mother's startled "Well!" and your father's awkward attempt to change the subject. You're halfway up the stairs before the tears start properly, and by the time you reach your bedroom, you can barely see. The door locks behind you with a satisfying click.

You stumble to the vanity, clutch blindingly at your hair to yank out the pins. You feel out of control, your hands sliding up your neck and over your face.

A sob slips out despite you clutching your fingers over your mouth, and you press at your stomach until you feel the urge to dispel the mixture of your decayed dinner and acid that sits within it.

The bed. You need to be under the bed. It's childish and ridiculous but it's where you used to hide when things got too much, and right now everything is too much. You curl up in the darkness there, pressed against the wall, and try to remember how to breathe.

Time passes. You hear murmured voices downstairs, the front door opening and closing. Footsteps on the stairs - Ambessa's, you'd know them anywhere.

"Little dove?" A gentle knock. "Let me in?"

"It's unlocked," you manage, voice thick.

The door opens. A pause.

"Are you under the bed?"

"...yeah."

Another pause. Then, to your utter astonishment, you hear grunting and turn to find Ambessa - your tall, dignified, warrior-queen wife - attempting to squeeze herself under the bed frame.

"What are you doing?" you ask, hiccuping between tears and startled laughter.

"Coming to get you," she says, voice strained as she wriggles forward. "Though I'm beginning to think this bed was not built for someone of my size."

"You're going to get stuck."

"Then we'll be stuck together." She finally manages to get next to you, though she has to lie completely flat to fit. "Hello, sweet girl."

A rush of gratitude floods you and you press forward, drawing her into a soft kiss. She deepens it, sliding a large hand underneath your thigh and holding you to her. You part with a soft, slick noise.

“You’re always meeting me where I am, even when you don’t understand,” you tell her. “Literally.”

You gesture weakly at the whole predicament. The absurdity of it - Ambessa Medarda, covered in dust bunnies, cramped under a bed - breaks something in you.

"I have this terrible secret inside me, and it’s that I feel so—so sick when I think about being a mother," you blurt out. The words slide out of you, like maggots from a rotting body. "Not—not your children, I love them, but being one myself. Having them. I can't. I won't. And I know you must want- but I can't, I just can't, please don't leave me.” You begin to sob again. “Please, Bessa. Please don’t leave me. Please. Plea-”

"Shh." She pulls you closer, awkward in the confined space but no less tender for it. You tuck your head into her neck as she soothes you. "Shh, my love. I'm not going anywhere."

"But-"

"I have two children," she says firmly. "Two wonderful, grown children who I love dearly. I have never once thought about having more. What I want - all I want - is you. Happy. Whole. Exactly as you are."

You're crying again, but differently now. "Really?"

"Really." She strokes your hair, rocking you as best she can in the tight space. "Though I would very much like to have this conversation somewhere with fewer dust bunnies."

You laugh wetly into her shirt. "Sorry."

"Don't be. I would crawl under a thousand beds for you. Even into a grave." She kisses your forehead. "But perhaps we could move on top of this one? My back is not what it used to be."

"You’re really not getting any younger," you quip, the onslaught of relief making you giddy.

"Watch it, little dove." But she's smiling - you can hear it in her voice. "Now come out before we really do get stuck."

“What if we stayed here forever,” you whisper, “and you never let me go?”

She releases you, then shimmies out from the crawl space. Gently, she curls a hand around your ankle and pulls you out with a sharp yank. You gasp as you emerge from your hiding space, hair spilling around you and your dress rucked up just enough to display your panties.

Ambessa leans over, drags the dress further up until she can kiss the swell of your breasts. She looks up you, face ever-calculating.

“I will never release you,” she finally says.

It should scare you, the clear promise, but it doesn’t. You lead her hand to your throat, just to hold it there, and smile instead.

#ambessa medarda #ambessa x you #ambessa x y/n #ambessa x reader #ambessa arcane #ambessa league of legends #ambessa the chosen of the wolf #female!reader #fem!reader #arcane fanfic #arcane x you #arcane x reader #wlw #lesbian #sapphic #mine ; 🐎.

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gaypirate420 · 10 days ago

Note

Viktor running his fingers through m! Readers hair and Jayce is getting jealous of us so Viktor starts giving him a scalp massage too.

This was inspired by that viral post of Viktor High Key being a Dom.

Here nyehehehhe, very short I'm sorry.

Puppies// Jayvik

S1!Jayvik x male!reader.

Summary: Viktor has two puppies in a lab.

Suggestive. Fluff.

Viktor takes a small sip from his drink, the sugary taste of the sweet milk traveling down his mouth, his amber eyes looked down, you and Jayce where on the floor, a chalk in hand as each of you drew his notes on the literal floor of the lab, per his request, something about scaling.

"Is this big enough for you?" You asked a little breathlessly as you leaned back on your knees, going backwards trying not to mess the chalk drawing, a small pout adorning your face as you placed chalk, ruler and measuring tape to a side, you were the first one to protest against this idea.

"it gives me a better view, sweetling." The pale man answered back before returning his lips to his mug, Jayce sighed and shook his head, the sound of chalk and his tired breaths filling the air for a moment.

"Bigger papers exist, V." The tall one mumbled as he kept drawing, his knees already feeling a little sore after being in the cold floor of the lab.

"No need to whine, love, a little mopping will get rid of it." Viktor answered back before taking another sip, you rubbed your eyes, a soft yawn escapes your lips as you rest your head on his lap, avoiding his brace for an inch. His brows were furrowed deep in thought as he saw his blueprint on the floor.

"We have to take a break, we're going insane! We're drawing on the floor! We're scientists not cavemen." You mumbled against his thigh, the sound a little muffled. Viktor shushed you gently and returned to his own little mental palace, one of his hands left his mug, his pale and slender fingers finding your hair. He could feel your tired exhale against his leg.

His touch is gentle, slow, his eyes focused on your tense shoulders, he carefully digs deeper, massaging slowly. Almost as an apology for the burden of making you drag yourself around on the floor drawing.

Jayce finally finished his part, looking down at the whole layout and starting to take mental notes, he steps back to allow the zaunite to see the drawing completely. He claps his hands, getting rid of any chalk dust in them.

The taller man's hazel eyes catch the tender scene, you, on your knees by Viktor's side, your hair getting played with, he feels a warmth creeping on his cheeks, he looks away quickly and tries to focus on the drawing but something else start to brew. Jealousy.

"Hm." Jayce sat down on the floor too, perhaps a little inspired by you on Viktor's left side, he swallowed as his eyes focused on the drawing almost too much and too intensely. Viktor placed his mug between his thighs, he smirks ever so faintly and his hand goes to brush the taller one's hair back, the reaction is immediate, a soft sigh hangs on the air, he leans against his thigh too as Viktor brushes down his neck.

"I can picture your tails wagging perfectly." Viktor said with a teasing tone, you chuckled against him while Jayce whimpers and hides his face on his thigh. Both of you are blushing though, neither pulling away from his touch.

A/N: HEYYYY, hi, how are y'all...I know I KNOW I have some promised fics on the waiting but I'm picky and I want to enjoy my winter break I'm sorry, arrest me. Hope y'all liked this!

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calolily · 16 days ago

Text

“Astarion’s breath caught in his throat as he heard the door latch shut. He tried to utter a soft “hello,” but his greeting was quickly stifled into the fabric that clung to Gale’s chest as he was pulled into a warm embrace.

For a moment, Astarion stood perfectly still. He felt the heat of his short breaths against the cotton of Gale’s clothing, bewildered and paralyzed by indecision. He was no stranger to hugs, rare as they were. He wasn’t unfamiliar with Gale’s hugs, either. But there was something about being held by Gale at that very moment that felt alien and strange to him. It felt like the first hug he’d ever received in his lifetime.

Astarion decided that maybe the world wouldn’t end if he allowed himself to rest his chin on his damp shoulder. The sun wouldn’t fall out of the sky, even if he did slowly wrap his arms around his body. His fingers clung to the edges of his hoodie, feeling the smooth, plush skin of his lower back gently graze his knuckles. The stars wouldn’t burn out if he focused on the sound of his heartbeat and compared it to his.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

A familiar intrusive thought crossed Astarion’s mind, louder than it had ever dared to speak before:

Gods, I wish you would kiss me.

Shame and regret pooled in the pit of his stomach, rising up to his chest.

Would you even want that?

With little warning, the story of Orfeo and Proserpina that had been vividly carved into the proscenium archway from his nightmares barreled its way to the forefront of his mind. He pondered her death. His descent into the Hells to find her, lute in hand. The botched rescue.

He pictured the tangible anguish immortalized in his face as he watched her vanish into the ether.

Astarion felt his raw, red eyelids squeeze shut almost instinctively. He was both enamored and terror-struck by the safety he felt in Gale’s arms. He drew in the scent of sandalwood that mingled with the fresh notes of petrichor on his neck. He could feel the cold, wet, wavy strands of his hair clinging to his cheek. He felt so damn real. And he was real. Corporeal—not the immaterial figment of his imagination, the shade of stardust that seeped into his every dream. If he gave himself permission to look upon his face, just for a moment—if only to verify that he was more than a phantasmagorical apparition come to torment him with sweet, meaningless nothings in his darkest moment—would he vanish, too?

Dire as the mythological consequences sounded, Astarion dared to tempt fate—the chances he was dreaming were slim. Defiance was the one way he could think of to prove his theory to be true.

He opened his eyes.

To his relief, his feet were still firmly planted on the ground. His fists were still balled up in cotton fabric. He was still in Gale’s arms.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

Neither of them were.”

#bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #astarion #baldurs gate astarion #bloodweave #seen fic #bg3 fan art #bg3 companions #bg3 art #bg3 gale #bg3 fanart #gale bg3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction

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jarofstyles · 6 months ago

Note

hi! i cannot express how u have i adore your writing!!

this is my first time resending in an ask so i don’t know if i’m doing it right lol, but i would love to see this prompt:

“you're fucking gorgeous like that, spread out like a good girl who just wants to be eaten.”

for bsf’s dad harry.

thanks!!

Hi Angel! Thank you so much, you’re so sweet! You absolutely did it right and I’d be happy to write a little blurb for it.

Check out our Patreon

Warnings- age gap relationship, smut hehe

———

Y/N felt the shiver run through her body as she looked up at Harry. He’d arrived home from work, one of the unfortunate days he actually had to go into the office, calling for her. Usually she dealt with these days just fine, but today… she had been feeling exceptionally needy.

Sprawled out on his bed, her fingers dipped over her swollen clit and her hair fanned over his pillow, she laid naked on top of the downy comforter. Slick to the touch, hot and throbbing under her fingertips, her eyes peeked through her lashes as she gave him a tiny little smile, the slow circles drawn into her cunt slowing just a bit.

“Hi, Daddy.” She purred.

His jaw clenched, tightening up as he dropped his suit jacket onto the bench at the end of the bed. There was no hiding the hunger in his eyes as he drew them over her naked form, pausing at her pebbled nipples, soft little tummy and right between her thighs.

“Hi, sweetheart.” He murmured. Slightly disheveled, his tie was undone and his sleeves rolled up on his button up-‘and god, if that didn’t make her even more wet. His hair he’d slicked back had fallen slightly, a few strands on his forehead as he knelt on the edge of the bed. “What’s goin’ on over here, hm?” He tilted his head, fingers curling around the bedpost. “S’my girl feeling a little needy?”

“Mhm.” She hummed, spreading her legs further and pulling her fingers away so he could see the arousal stringing on her fingertips.

“Christ.” He muttered under his breath. “Why didn’t y’call me, baby? I could have been quicker getting home.” As if he didn’t worship her already, she had to admit that the genuine disappointment made her keen.

“Cause you need t’focus. I can’t be a brat just because M’a little too horny.” The girl pouted. “You’ve told me not to be a brat. I think it would be a little bratty to have you rush home just to make me cum… wouldn’t it?”

“Not when you’re the only best I have t’look forward to when I get home.” He shook his head, crawling up the bed and flittering his eyes between her cunt and her face. “You’ve been so good to me. Rarely ever a brat anymore. S’cause I fuck you right, I know, but you’ve been insatiable lately. Can’t say I’m complaining.” His lips smeared over her knee as he slowly inched closer, laying himself down between her pretty thighs. “Didn’t know I’d come home to such a pretty picture. Could be very motivating for me.”

Considering his last marriage had been a disaster at the end and he’d been unused to this, it still felt like there were times he needed to pinch himself over the fact that he had Y/N. It wasn’t without sacrifice, but he considered each and every one to be a worthy one in exchange for the sort of relationship he’d always craved. At the risk of sounding in the midst of a mid life crisis, she made him feel young again. “You’re fucking gorgeous like that, baby.” He groaned, gently taking her wrist and moving it away from herself, exposing her pussy to him. “Spread out like my good girl. She was jus’ waiting to be eaten as soon as daddy came in the door, wasn’t she?”

Y/N let out a shuddery breath as his tongue slicked up her slit, starting his own clean up mission. Her clean hand tangled in his hair, ruining any semblance of hold that his gel had tried to keep. “Yeah.” The dreamy sigh was aimed right for his cock.

“I know. I missed you… missed this perfect cunt, fuck.” He groaned, hooking his arms under her thighs and pulling her into him. Nuzzling into her pussy without a second thought, no hesitation to get his face wet. It was an honor to taste her and he wasn’t holding back as his lips suckled around her clit.

“Oh my- yes.” Her head fell back against the pillows, his mouth suctioned against her cunt and hands holding her thighs. “Yes, I missed you. Missed you so much.” She whispered, bucking up against his mouth. Tongue flicking against her clit and slow head movements as he pulled at her, sucking and licking each little motion to make her eyes water.

“Jus’ call me next time, baby.” He mumbled the words, muffled by the kisses he pressed to her mound. “Care about you more than business. Don’t wait it out when I want you just as bad.”

#jarofstyles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry styles imagine #harry drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #harry fanfic #harry styles fanfics #harry styles fic #harry smut #harry styles fanfictions #harry styles au #harry styles one shots

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fluentmoviequoter · 1 year ago

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Poisonously Bad Day

Requested Here! (Thank you so much for my first Tim Bradford req!!)

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: Just before your anniversary with Tim, you receive threatening messages. When someone tries to take your life, you and Tim learn the importance of talking to one another. (Or, Tim's crazy ex stalks you and Tim gets really worried about you.)

Warnings: reader is stalked and threatened, violence with a nail gun, reader has severe food allergies and uses an epi-pen, a little bit of grumpy x sunshine with our favorite grump, angst to fluff & hurt/comfort

Word Count: 4.1k+ words

A/N: I do not have much practice writing for Tim, so I apologize if he's OOC. However, I really love writing for him and trying to capture his amazing character, so I love the practice and appreciate any other requests you send me! I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!🤍

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

Tim Bradford doesn’t believe in love at first sight. Or he didn’t before he met you. Your sunny personality drew him in, making his world a little brighter. From the moment he met you a few months ago, Tim has been enraptured by you. He’s still grumpy; his personality didn’t change overnight upon meeting you, but your sweet laugh and kind responses to his grumpiness make him happy. His smile isn’t as rare as it once was, but you still fight to see it, bringing as much sunshine as possible.

As your two-month anniversary approaches, you’re happier and giddier than usual. Toning it down as you knock on Tim’s door, you’re surprised to see him already smiling when he invites you in. It seems you’re rubbing off on him, even if he only shows you the softness that lies under the grumpy Tim you know and love. Although your relationship is very new, you haven’t even learned much about Tim’s previous relationships, you know you love him and treasure every moment you spend with your man of honor.

“Hey, you,” Tim mumbles, pulling you into a warm hug. “Missed you.”

“Long day?” you ask, pushing your fingers through his hair.

“Unbelievably. Nolan and Lopez decided to interrogate me about why I was in a ‘good mood’ all day.”

You stifle a laugh at Tim’s air quotes. He rolls his eyes when he sees your bright smile but pulls you into the kitchen anyway.

“I didn’t even know you could smile,” you tease him. “Now I want to know what caused the good mood.”

“I think you know.”

Despite his initial hesitance in getting close to you, Tim obviously knows how to treat you right and make you feel seen, appreciated, beautiful, and loved. Each moment you spend with him makes you a little more curious as to why no one has snatched him up yet. Yes, he’s grumpy, but he’s also just a big teddy bear underneath if you’re willing to dig.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim usually walks you home after dates, but he gets called into work, so you return alone. There is a small envelope slipped in the space between your door and the jamb, and you decide to open it before going inside.

The simple message reading ‘Back Off’ doesn’t give much information, so you shrug as you unlock the door. It’s probably just some kids messing around or a silly prank that ended up at the wrong house.

As soon as you lock the door behind you, your phone rings.

“Hello,” you greet cheerfully.

The line is silent for a few seconds before it beeps, disconnected from the other end.

“Wrong number,” you hum to yourself as you walk away from the phone.

When it rings again, you don’t answer. Your cell phone rings, a rare picture of Tim smiling (that he will delete as soon as he finds it) lighting up your screen as you race to answer it.

“Hey,” you say.

“I called your house a second ago, are you home yet?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, someone called right before with a wrong number, and I thought it was them again.”

Tim hums before telling you he wouldn’t be at work as long as he thought; he just needed to help with some paperwork before a case went to court.

“I can get reservations for next weekend if you’re still okay with my restaurant choice.”

You smile at Tim’s willingness to let you choose before assuring him that you only want to be with him, but you like the food there, too, so it’s a win-win.

After Tim hangs up, you fall asleep, forgetting about the note and the phone call.

✯✯✯✯✯

Someone knocks on your door as you exit your bedroom the following morning. You locate a bathrobe, pulling it over your pajamas before opening the door. Another envelope is on your mat, but no one is in sight.

The message in this one is a bit more concerning. The message, typed in a plain black font, reads: ‘I will KILL you to take him back.’

You consider calling Tim, asking him if he knows of any pranks like this going on in the neighborhood before deciding he’s probably too busy with real police work. Maybe you’re just paranoid.

Your cell phone rings, and you answer quickly, silencing when the only noise on the other end is distorted breathing. After they hang up, your thumb hovers over Tim’s number.

“Grow up,” you chide yourself before returning to your room to get ready.

✯✯✯✯✯

Throughout the day, more creepy phone calls are made to your cell phone until you finally turn it off. When you meet Tim for lunch, he asks if you got the message he sent you, and you tell him a white lie: too many telemarketers were calling, and you turned it off. He nods, but his gaze is intense like he doesn’t quite believe you.

✯✯✯✯✯

After three days of phone calls with nothing but breathing and more notes about someone killing you to get whoever him is back from you, you’re tired. However, the morning goes by with no calls, and you think maybe whatever it was is finally over. When you walk out to your car, you freeze in the driveway and nearly drop everything you’re holding.

Someone has slashed your tire and put a large building nail through it to attach a note.

You are next.

Up to this point, you’ve been more agitated than anything, but now you’re scared. Whoever this is has been close to you and knows when you come and go. But, at the same time, it’s just some notes and phone calls, not like you’re in any immediate danger.

Your phone buzzes, and you jump, an incoming text from Tim startling you. You reply to his message quickly, telling him you ran over a nail at some point and won’t be able to meet him for lunch. Seconds after pressing send, he calls you.

“Morning,” you answer, staring at the nail in your tire.

“Are you alright?” he asks, ignoring your nice greeting.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m still at home, just noticed the tire.”

“I can come pick you up for lunch,” he offers. “Or come see you.”

“It’s completely out of the way, Tim, no worries. I’ll make up for it tomorrow?”

Tim doesn’t speak for a moment, and you can nearly see the crease on his forehead as he dissects your answers.

“Sure,” he says finally. “Call me if that changes.”

As he ends the call, he rubs his chin and decides to ask you what’s going on next time he sees you. You had been so happy and excited leading up to your anniversary, but it’s like a switch was flipped in you, and now you don’t want to talk to him. He believes you about the tire, but something else is bothering you, and he intends to find out what.

✯✯✯✯✯

Eating lunch at your desk, someone brings you a box from your favorite bakery.

“This was delivered to the front desk,” your coworker says, leaving it with you.

There are no names on it, but Tim is one of very few people who knows how much you like their treats. He also knows that you have severe food allergies, and it is one of the few bakeries in Los Angeles that happily works around them. Smiling at the idea of Tim sending you something after your rough morning, you open the box and take one of the goodies out.

After the third or fourth bite, you realize something is really wrong. As your throat closes, you start to panic as you dig through your bag for your epi-pen. One of the girls at a desk near you sees you and rushes to your aid, pulling your spare epi-pen from the communal snack area and inserting the tip into your leg as she yells for someone else to call 911.

The adrenaline surges into you, clearing your throat as you take a deep breath. Immediately, you know that whoever slashed your tires knows more than where you live and when you leave.

✯✯✯✯✯

The hospital is busy, and people are in and out of your room so frequently that you can barely think straight. You hear someone yell your name, recognizing Tim’s voice anywhere. He appears in the doorway a moment later, wide-eyed as he looks you over.

“I completely forgot I put you as my emergency contact. I’m so sorry,” you apologize lowly.

“What happened?” he asks, his voice softer than it was outside as he nears your side.

“I- I ate something and forgot to check the ingredients. Then I couldn’t find my epi-pen.”

Tim knows you always check the ingredients; your allergies dictate part of your life. If you didn’t make it or order it after inquiring about its ingredients or how it’s made, you don’t eat it.

“How are you feeling now?” Tim asks, deciding it’s not the best time to press for the truth. His hand lands on your leg, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb.

“I’m okay. My chest is still a little tight but they gave me something for it.”

“Let me call my chief and I’ll take the rest of the day off so I can take you home,” he offers.

“No, don’t do that, Tim. One of my coworkers can give me a ride home so you can go back to work.”

“I don’t think you should be alone.”

“The medicine is working, I just have to give it time and take it easy for a few hours. I promise I will be fine.”

Tim nods, squeezing your hand before kissing your forehead. “If you need anything, call me.”

You nod, watching him go. The feeling of his hand on yours is still there, and you feel terrible for lying to him, but there’s no real evidence that someone is trying to hurt you. Maybe someone was trying to be kind with the treats and didn’t know about your allergies.

Even as you think it, you realize it sounds ridiculous. You’re in danger, and you’re going to have to tell someone eventually.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your coworker drops you off after you insist you can walk to the door alone. Mostly, you don’t want her to see the giant nail in your tire.

Worse, you realize, is the other one. You slow when you see your front door, with a six-inch building nail driven into it. It’s nearly level with your eyes, and a disgusting mix of red and brown paint covers the door below it. A replica of a murder scene, you presume.

Finally understanding that every little thing over the last few days has been a threat, you don’t feel safe alone in your house. Stepping back, you prepare to call Tim.

Before you can, you see a woman standing in your driveway, staring at you with a nail gun and a paintbrush hanging from her hand.

“Who are you?” you ask quietly, swallowing as you try to steady your voice.

“I’m the one that Tim Bradford is supposed to be with,” she answers, slowly moving toward you. “Everyone could see how good we were together. Then you showed up and he changed his mind about me. Whatever you did to get him away from me… I will do so much more to you.”

You step backward as she speaks, fumbling with your keys behind your back. Just as she reaches the front of your porch, you step inside quickly and slam the door, locking it and looking around frantically for something you can use as a weapon. It gets quiet outside, not even a footstep audible as you hold your breath to listen.

A key slides easily into your lock, and you scramble into the kitchen, loosening your grip on your stuff to grab a knife on your way to the bathroom, one of the only doors that lock. The front door closes and locks, her easy footsteps far too familiar with the layout of your home.

Reaching for your phone to call for help, you realize that you dropped your phone to get the knife. You stand in front of the bathtub, terrified as you raise the knife in front of your chest.

After a moment of silence that seems to last an eternity, the doorknob jiggles. You tighten your grip on the knife handle as she hums.

A nail shoots through the lock, lodging in the metal mechanisms, and you back up until your calves are pressed to the cool side of the tub. Another nail comes through the door, launching through the hollow wood and lodging into the tile on the wall behind you. You drop your head as the tile shatters, and a third nail follows quickly, her aim much lower as it hooks your pants, pinning you to the porcelain behind you. You rip your leg free, stepping away from the tub and failing to notice the stinging sensation or the blood trickling down your ankle as you climb into the tub, hoping it offers enough protection.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim clenches his jaw when his third call to you goes unanswered. You promised to keep him updated after the anaphylaxis scare, but it’s been a couple hours since he left you in the hospital, and he hasn't heard a thing.

“Tim, just go,” Angela says, a knowing look on her face. “You won’t be able to focus until you know they’re okay. Unless you’re finally willing to tell me who brought a little sunshine to Timothy Bradford’s cloudy skies,” she taunts at the end.

Tim lets out a soft “hmm,” accepting her offer and gathering his things from the edge of her desk.

“She must be important,” Angela calls behind him, smirking to herself when he doesn’t correct her.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your breaths are loud and shaky even as you focus on controlling them. Several more clicks are heard from the nail gun, and you flinch each time, curling further into the bathtub. A loud screech draws your attention, a second nail dislodging the knob and the lock before the door opens.

You take your chance, hoping to surprise her as you jump toward her, knocking her to the floor and using both hands to point the nail gun away from you. She tries to roll out from under you, squeezing the trigger and firing a nail into the ceiling as she does. A small shower of drywall dust coats the room, but you keep your head down, entirely focused on keeping her at arm’s length.

“When it ends – when you end – I get him back!” she grunts, twisting in your grasp.

The sharper end of the paintbrush she had earlier is pushed into your side, and you gasp, loosening your grip on the nail gun. She raises it quickly as she tilts to the side, dumping you onto the floor and taking the upper hand. A nail is fired beside your head, momentarily deafening you as you flinch away from it.

You are unsure if she said him or Tim, but you think she means the same either way. Tim is the only thing you can think of that someone might want to take back from you.

“Isn’t that his choice?” you ask, pushing her hands away from you as she gets angrier.

She drops the paintbrush before using both hands to push the nail gun toward your forehead. You raise your legs, kicking her forward and over your head. As she topples, she squeezes the trigger multiple times. After the last firing sound, you open your eyes and notice a nail holding your shirt to the floor.

When you hear her groan behind you, you reach over until you feel the metal trash can beside your toilet, raising it over your head and dropping it aimlessly.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim has dozens of questions he wants to ask, but as he races to your house, they slowly fade into two: are you safe, and how can he make you see that telling him everything will benefit you both? He knows he doesn’t always seem like the best listener and isn’t big on sharing, but he wants to know what is happening in your life, what you’re feeling, and what you’re dealing with. More than that, he wants to be at your side, helping you navigate a life with him.

✯✯✯✯✯

The door opens with a loud bang, causing you to flinch. You attempt to sit up before yelping in pain when something tugs your side. Someone is running through your house, and you’re torn between yelling for help or staying silent in case she wasn’t working alone.

Tim yells your name, and you sigh before answering, “In the bathroom.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When Tim turns into your driveway, blocking the sidewalk as he parks behind your car, he sees the oversized nail protruding from your tire. Walking past it, he knows that wasn’t accidental, nor was the slash below it.

Worried about you and racking his brain over who would do something like that to you, he sees the scene on your door and kicks it open before he even thinks to knock.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim stops in the hallway, his eyes raking over the nails lining the door and the few stray ones in the wall across the hallway. It appears that most of the attack was aimed at the bathroom, but whatever happened escalated quickly.

Using his shoulder, he forcefully opens the door before entering the small bathroom. He steps over your unconscious assailant, lowering to his knee beside you. Looking over you, he lays a hand on the side of your neck, a warm and welcome comfort as he directs you to look at him.

You try to move closer to him, but he rushes to stop you.

“Don’t. Don’t move. The ambulance and more help are on the way, let’s just wait for them,” he says.

You nod, trusting him but unsure why he won’t let you move.

“Is she…” you ask, trailing off.

“She’s unconscious,” Tim answers concisely. “What’d you hit her with?”

“The trashcan,” you answer, a small smile appearing and making Tim shake his head.

“I should get one of those,” Tim jokes, leaning toward you.

Sirens grow louder as they get closer, and Tim sighs in relief.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “I can’t ask what happened yet, that’s for the next cop. But as your boyfriend, are you okay?”

“I am now,” you answer, raising your hand to lay over his on your jaw.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Do you know who she is?” the officer asks as the EMT sits beside you.

“No,” you answer. “I’ve been getting phone calls and messages for a few days, but I’ve never seen her before.”

“I have,” Tim interjects, shaking his head at you before supplying a name. “My ex.”

“Any idea as to why she attacked you?” the officer asks, glancing toward Tim.

“Sergeant Bradford, I presume. She said she’d kill me to get him back, but never said who him was,” you answer.

Tim nods, lowering his voice to explain something to the officer as the EMT asks questions about how you feel.

You sigh in relief as the paramedics carry Tim’s unconscious ex out, gripping Tim’s hand as he moves to your side again.

“This is going to hurt, I’m sorry,” the kind EMT says.

Tim moves his fingers, letting you squeeze him as much as you need.

“The nail caught some of your skin, but I’m going to try to go fast to minimize the pain.”

Understanding why it hurt to sit up before, you focus on Tim’s hand in yours rather than the hands on your torso, working to free you from the bathroom floor and stop the bleeding.

“All done,” the EMT announces. “You didn’t even flinch. We’ll get you to the hospital and let the doctors check everything.”

You sit up with Tim’s help, leaning against him as a temporary bandage is placed on your side. Looking around your destroyed bathroom, you move closer to Tim, grateful for him.

“Your ex is crazy,” you mumble against his shoulder.

Tim laughs, and it's a short but relieved noise accompanying his arm across your back, keeping you close and comforted.

“We’ll fix the bathroom later,” he promises.

You tilt your head and furrow your brows, prompting Tim to kiss the crease between them. “You’re not coming back here for a few days. Don’t give me that look.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Leaving the hospital, Tim lifts you from the wheelchair, staring at you when you grab his shoulders.

“I can walk, Tim,” you remind him.

He doesn’t listen or doesn’t care, taking the last few steps to the passenger seat and setting you down before buckling your seat belt, mindful of your bandaged side. He carries you into his house, grabbing some of your favorite snacks and drinks before sitting beside you and welcoming you into his arms. He’s quiet, but you’ve grown to understand Tim’s different silences better than most people’s words.

Right now, he’s relieved, but you’re sure he has a lot of questions, too. Getting him to ask them is the hard part.

“Have any other exes I should know about?” you ask after a few minutes.

“Hmm.” He raises his fingers as he nods and shakes his head, a playful ‘debate’ over who is worthy of being mentioned. Lowering his hands and giving you a sincere look, he says, “No, I don’t think so. And I’m sorry I didn’t mention her, I never expected she’d do something like this.”

You nod, though you never considered blaming him for something so completely out of his control. This is all on her, and she’ll have a chance to explain herself.

“Think I’d be a crazy ex?”

“You won’t be an ex at all,” Tim answers, tugging you closer against his chest.

Turning toward him, you trace your finger in small shapes over his chest.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Tim asks gently.

You shrug. “I didn’t know how. And it wasn’t that bad at first.”

“You have to tell me these things or I don’t know something is wrong, I can’t help.”

“But you get grumpy,” you reply with an exaggerated pout.

Tim proves you right, grumbling even as he kisses you. “I’m allowed to be grumpy when someone is hurting the woman I love.”

You sit up quickly, and Tim’s eyes widen, his hands raising to your side as he grows concerned that you hurt yourself.

“You love me?”

Tim shakes his head, rolling his eyes as he mutters, “Against my better judgment, yes.”

You giggle at his grumpiness, leaning back into his side. He pulls your legs across his lap, letting you curl completely into his side. Toying with the hem of his your borrowed sweatpants, Tim lets his mind wander before tracing a gentle finger around the bandage on your ankle.

“Tickles,” you argue when you yank your leg away from him.

Tim pulls your leg back down, pointing out, “I deserve a few tickles after the week you put me through.”

“I was poisoned, and you had a bad week?” you repeat.

“I knew you were lying, you lying liar that lies!”

You duck your head at the reminder of everything you kept from Tim over the last few days. The anniversary you were so excited about now seems tainted.

“Hey,” Tim whispers, drawing your attention. “I’m not mad at you. And whenever you’re ready to talk about it, I’m right here.”

“I don’t even know how she found out about the allergies,” you mumble.

“That’s probably my fault. I have notes and epi-pens everywhere, so if she was close enough to do this to you, she was close enough to find any of my stuff laying around.”

You shiver at the idea of her going through your things, but Tim’s hand rubs down your back and chases those thoughts away.

Taking his invitation, you start at the beginning and tell him about the notes, the phone calls, the bakery box, and how the little, seemingly harmless notes progressed so quickly. He grows grumpier with each word, so you determine you may need to make the ending a bit more interesting for him.

“And then my knight in shining armor showed up and saved the day,” you finish, kissing his cheek. “He’s just a grumpy teddy bear.”

Tim pulls you closer, glad to have your company again. “Tell me things and I’ll be even more of a teddy bear.”

You smile excitedly, so Tim clarifies, “Only for you.”

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford #the rookie #requests #tw: violence #tw: injury #🐿 anon

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cottonlemonade · 4 months ago

Note

hii! may i please order a medium pineapple lemonade with extra ice for suna? your work is always so wonderful 🥹🌸

Accidental Confession

word count: 1317 || avg. reading time: 6 mins.

pairing: rival!Suna x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff with some suggestiveness, enemies to lovers

warnings: mdni

request: fluffy-spicy accidental confession with rival Suna

It all started with a meme. If Suna hadn’t taken that picture of you stretching during class and added a little Simba into your hands, you wouldn’t have photoshopped his face onto a mop.

To be fair, his was harmless. Yours was downright rude and so he fell in love immediately.

He followed you around - not as inconspicuously as he might have hoped - to sneak a photo in the most meme worthy moments, flooding his camera roll with dozens and eventually hundreds of snapshots of you. The whole front of a silly little meme war was a great excuse to mask his steadily growing crush and his friends didn’t think anything of it when Suna set a picture of you mid-sneeze as his lock screen. Granted, he himself was still very much in denial about his feelings as well, so it wasn’t that difficult to pretend that he wasn’t bothered when you talked to an upperclassman and laughed loudly at his, undoubtedly, mediocre joke - although Suna did sweep his pencil case off his desk in an attempt to wave Osamu off when he asked if he was okay.

The class groaned when the teacher announced that for the impending field trip they’d be split into teams of two via random lottery. Half the students got assigned a number while the other half drew a little piece of paper from a box held out to them to match with said number. Quiet cheers and not so quiet disappointment could be heard and the teacher called for silence.

Annoyed that he didn’t even get the minuscule chance to work with him, Suna leaned over to Osamu, “Who do you have?” His friend unfolded his paper and turned it over to read.

“5. That’s…”, he craned his neck to check and count, “Y/n, ya?”

“Switch with me.”, Suna said.

“Why? Who do ya have?”

“Don’t care. Come on.”

Osamu frowned and raised an almost disappointed brow.

“What happened to ya, dude? Ya know, yer bein’ real obvious at this point, right?”

Suna rejected the allegations, waited a moment, then simply exchanged his slip of paper with Osamu’s.

“Ya owe me.”, Osamu noted.

“Yeah yeah.”

Meanwhile, you seemed less thrilled about the match and when the bell rang you threw an annoyed look at Suna who gave you a blank stared wave and went to lunch with your friends. He was a very unfortunate long-term crush you had nursed since the beginning of the year and was as handsome as he was annoying. In spite of this, you had a great time complaining about your matched partners over your bentos while enjoying the mellowing summer sun under the shade of a tree.

When the next morning arrived, Suna made sure to be only two minutes late instead of his usual 15, so he could secure the spot next to you on the long drive to Kobe. The class would be headed to the big art museum in the city and as an assignment got a list of 15 art pieces they had to find, like a scavenger hunt. The first team to get a picture from each of their art works would get to choose where to go for lunch.

With a sigh you dropped in the seat next to him, frowning at his sleepy grin. When you only scoffed and looked away, his heart started pounding and he had no idea why. And this wasn‘t a “oh Suna, you‘re just in love, silly“ kinda pounding. No! This was more similar to that one time when he went out for coffee with his friends and instead of admitting that he wanted his favorite - a sickeningly sweet vanilla latte with extra syrup pumps - he ordered an iced Americano with a triple shot because he thought it sounded cool and for hours it had felt as if a tiny panicked bird was trapped in his chest. In short, he concluded, you were not good for his health.

“Alright.”, you said once you turned to him. You stood in the entrance together with the rest of the class, holding the reference paper in hand listing the artwork, “I’ll take the top 8, you take the bottom 7.”

He bit back a comment about how there was nothing “bottom” about him, but one look from you and he was quiet. That icy stare of disdain made him want to do the cooking and the cleaning and ask how your day had been while he finished up the ironing. “Let’s do this.”, he replied and nearly whimpered when you rolled your eyes at him.

With some quick online searching, the artwork was quickly found and the pictures taken. To keep up appearances he snapped a few pics in between of the NPCs in baroque paintings with increasingly weird facial expressions, fully intending to ask, “This you?” the next time he saw you. He could also airdrop them during class and looked forward to receiving a less than flattering emoji or thumbs down.

But now he had a different objective. Excited at the prospect of finally having an excuse to get your number, he jogged through the museum to your previously agreed upon meeting spot, finding you seated and waiting for him on a bench. You were scribbling on a notepad precariously balanced on your knees. He snuck up behind you, leaned in close to your ear and in a low calm voice went, “Boo.”

The yelp you let out had museum goers turn to you and a man with a lanyard, who was guiding a tour, threw an exasperated sigh in your direction.

“You better sleep with one eye open.”, you pressed out through gritted teeth, a deep red tint on your cheeks.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”, he said simply and in one smooth movement sat down next to you.

“So, how do you wanna do this?”, he then asked casually, waiting for you to say the words.

“Just airdrop them to me.”, you frowned.

“Oh.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Luckily his deflated shoulders were masked by his chronically bad posture and he quickly selected the necessary pictures.

Your phone gave a little buzz and you accepted the stack. “That’s all. You’re excused. Go off and do… whatever it is you’re doing.”

“I can stay and help, you know? I skimmed some of the plackets.”

“What great work ethic.”, you deadpanned but moved your notepad closer to him so he could see.

With your other hand you swiped through the photos, double checking if you had everything.

He was too busy catching a whiff of your shampoo to notice you furrowing your brow.

“Uhm, Suna.”

You turned your phone screen to him and the blood drained from his face.

It was a picture of you - of course, what else could it have been. You were absently staring out the window in the classroom, your hair a little messy from a regular day of fending for your life in high school. Your chin rested on your palm and the sun shone beautifully against your face. He knew the picture well, because just last night when he couldn’t sleep, he edited it. Black and white hearts bordered the snapshot, a slightly blurry filter gave it a dreamlike feel. He gagged when he saw just how mushy he must have felt to add words around your head. Pookie. Baddie. Loml. My Bbg.

“What kind of prank is this?”, you asked, suspicion clinging to every syllable.

Suna thought.

Telling you that this picture was born out of post-nut hormones would only lead to a somewhat compromising confession that he fondled and humped his body pillow thinking of you, having no problem at all imagining your so very tempting love handles spilling between his fingers.

“Would you believe me if I told you my dog took my phone?“

You stared at him for a moment, then broke into giggles.

a/n: thank you so much for continuing to participate in my events! I’m so happy when someone comes back for more 🥺 I hope you enjoyed this one! 🌟

And once again thank you to @haikyu-mp4 for letting me surf her brain through the storm ✨

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insomniasdelusion · 3 months ago

Note

astro x artist reader where the reader is like "wait ohemgee he doesnt like pictures of him what if he doesnt like being percived in art?? what if he doesnt like me when he finds out ive been drawing him??????" but he like.finds out and is totally okay with it HELP SORRY IF THIS IS A LONG SPECIFIC REQ,,,,

Dude- this is so cute!! I love it <33

Warnings: none!

Astro x Artist!Reader

————————————

A gentle thrum of music played in the air, soft and sweet just like the current moment you were in.

Astro had his upper arms wrapped around your waist and his lower ones massaging your upper thighs, head snuggled onto your stomach with a soft wispy noise that sounded awfully close to a purr.

You had a sketch book resting on his head, humming along with the background music. Your pencil making soft scritchy noises as you sketched out Astro, you didn’t do it often! You never showed him either.. you didn’t know if he didn’t would like it considering he doesn’t like photos. The flashing of a camera made him nervous, making his anxiety skyrocket and usually ended with him MIA for meetings. It was easier to just.. not.

Focusing back onto the paper instead of your thoughts you smiled softly, stars.. you loved this silly little moon. From the fluffy rim of his hat, to his second pair of arm, and all the way down to his two goofy little tails. You did small doodles on the edge of your papers, never really full sketch’s or pieces though. You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable! But as people have said, to loved by an artist is to be remembered forever.. or something like that-

You didn’t notice your blue moon partner peaking his eyes open from your lack of movement, looking up at you to see if you had zoned out just to see you staring at the paper. His curiosity peaked slightly, wiggling up to see what you drew.

You jolted at the sudden movement, looking at Astro you moved the sketch pad closer to your chest blocking his view of the paper.

“Whatcha doin?”

You ask confuzzled.

“..was just wondering why you were staring at the paper, bad sketch..?”

He asked his voice a little raspy but no louder then a whisper, titling his head, you normally always showed all of your drawings! He loved to see you get so excited about and then go into detail about all of what you did.. it just made him so happy to see you happy.

“Oh! Nonono, just thinking is all!”

“..could I see?”

“I- uhm, I don’t think you’d like it Azzy”

You squeaked, a little nervous, Astro how very just blinked at you confused. He loved all your art! Even if it looked terrible!

“Mm.. well shouldn’t I be the judge of that?”

He smirked, a little sass lacing into his voice.

“Okay smarty pants, but still-“

You huffed back.

A beat of silence passed before your sides were attacked with feather light tickles, you shrieked in surprise before laughing loudly.

“AH- HAHA- A-ASTRO NO!-“

You yelped in between laughs as Astro sneakily yoinked your stuff. He stopped tickling you, looking at the paper his eyes going wide.

You breathed heavily, still getting some of the giggles out before hugging and look at the moon toon.

“That was so unfair!”

You grumbled, seeing him frozen you tilted your head, quickly realizing you don’t have your drawing book in hand your own eyes widen and your heart sinks with panic.

“I-I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have drawn you without your permission and I know you don’t like photos, I’m so so sorry Astro-“

You spilled at nervously, eyes shaking slightly. You felt so terrible, a good partner doesn’t go against boundaries! Why would you do that? You should’ve never made those-

A hand gently setting on your face pulled from your thoughts, you looked up your eyes meeting Astros periwinkle ones.. they had little white spots mimicking stars in them that made you want to fall in love all over again.

“It’s beautiful my moonlight.. I love it..”

He murmured, softly bonking his head with yours.

“Y-you do..? I was worried I’d.. make you uncomfortable”

“I do.. you draw so beautifully love, you made me look divine my dear”

He hums gently, wrapping his other pair of arms around you again, holding you close planting a sweet and short kiss to your head.

“Do you have anymore you can show me..?”

“Mhm”

You nod staring at him with a love filled smile, wrapping your arms around. You’re so glad everything turned out okay, even if it was a little silly..

————————————

Man- I love writing for Astro he’s so just- RAAAHH

#astro dandys world #dandy world #dandy’s world astro #reader x astro #dw #x reader #dandy’s world x reader #astro novalite #sillyposting #silly little guy #i love him so much

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sserpente · 2 months ago

Text

Bite Me (HAPPY HALLOWEEN! 🎃)

A/N: Happy Halloween everyone! I’m dressed as a kitten tonight because…well. ;) This year's Halloween Imagine simply had to go to Sylus.

Words: 2029 Warnings: semi-public smut, biting

“Pleeeeeease?” You drew the word out, putting on your best puppy face. Sylus was a hard one to convince. But if there was one opportunity to spend time with him in public, with your friends, it was Halloween.

Tara and Simone had invited you to a party on the 31st, a costume party you desperately wanted to go to with Sylus. It would be the perfect chance for him to dress up and remain undetected. Besides, the idea of dancing with him, grinding against him on the dance floor surrounded by strobe lights and fog…it was on occasion you both knew would lead to sex sooner or later.

“No, kitten. You go and have fun with your friends. I’m not the type to play dress up and get drunk on cheap party alcohol.”

But Sylus was a tough nut to crack. He really wasn’t the type for parties like that, you knew him well enough by now to know that. Still, you’d hoped he’d make an exception for you. After all, it was Halloween! The best time of the year!

The connection of the video call wavered for a moment.

“Sylus, pleeeease? You don’t have to do anything crazy. How about we just smear some fake blood all over you? Then you can say you’re dressed as a serial killer. That should do it!”

“A serial killer? That’s what you think would suit me?” He didn’t sound offended, instead he gave you a low chuckle. “Go to bed, kitten. I still have work to do and you will complain to me in the morning that I kept you awake.”

“Well, you are keeping me awake! Just say yes and I can go to sleep peacefully!”

“No. Good night, sweetie. Sweet dreams.”

He hung up before you could prepare a comeback. You growled. Damn it. But for what it was worth…at the very least, Sylus had just given you the perfect idea for your Halloween costume this year.

You were a little irritated when you got ready for the party the following evening. Applying your make-up meticulously, you eyed your outfit. A black bodysuit, a black skirt, black tights, high boots you normally wore for hunting, glued-on fake whiskers, and adorable cat ears made you absolutely certain that Sylus would have loved your costume of choice.

As you drew on a little button nose with your eyeliner, you debated whether you should send him a picture. But he didn’t deserve that, really, right? You could respect him not wanting to go to a party with you but you couldn’t help but feel bitter he’d turned you down regardless. He knew you loved Halloween!

You sighed, glancing down when a message from Tara popped up on your phone.

Are you ready, friend? We’re outside!

You nodded at your reflection. You were ready. With or without Sylus. Tara’s friend would drive you tonight so you could drink. And you were just on time too, arriving just before midnight.

The building where the party took place was decorated brilliantly. There were spiderwebs in the corners, garlands and pumpkin string lights lining the walls, and orange and purple strobe lights illuminating the dance floor. Fog wrapped around the ankles of the people dancing.

Pumpkins with spooky faces carved into them laughed at your face, and the selection of snacks and drinks was phenomenal. The bass of the music reverberated in your chest the more you mixed in with the crowd, with Tara holding your hand so she wouldn’t lose you.

You went with a Dracula shot for your first drink—vodka and cranberry juice—before hitting the dance floor. It’s just that someone was missing for this to be truly fun. God damn it.

You didn’t want to be one of those girls who couldn’t enjoy themselves without their boyfriend anymore. You could and you would. Still, it was alright to wish Sylus was here, right?

With a sigh, you nodded when Tara gestured she would get another drink and kept on spinning around on the dance floor—and rolled your eyes when a stranger placed his hands on your waist from behind.

“Go away! I have a boyf—” You flipped around only to be met with a very familiar figure. Your heart skipped a beat. Sylus.

“Sy-Sky! You…you’re here!”

“And you look absolutely ravishing. My kitten is a kitten. How adorable.”

Heat crept up your cheeks. Sylus didn’t exactly look bad either. A small trickle of blood decorated the right corner of his mouth, and his black shirt wasn’t buttoned up all the way. A pair of fake fangs completed the look when he flashed you a mischievous grin.

“You…you’re a vampire!”

“Let’s just say our conversation inspired me. Besides, I wasn’t keen on the idea of smearing fake blood all over myself.”

Oh, but I would have loved to roam my hands all over your bare chest, Sylus. You cleared your throat.

“But…you’re here! I thought you didn’t want to come…”

“I changed my mind. You seemed rather upset when I declined.”

You smiled. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Tara returned with your drinks before you could say anything else. You passed the one she handed you on to Sylus and leaned against him, careful not to smudge your makeup on his shirt and ruin it.

“Oh hello! Sky, right? Lovely to see you again! So you’re a vampire?” Tara began.

“And you. I am indeed. And you’re a…”

“A werewolf-zombie-witch!”

You chuckled. “Tara couldn’t decide which of the three she wanted to do so she combined all three of them.”

“I see. Very creative.”

“I’m sure you two want some alone time. Here, take my drink, I’ll meet you later!” She left with a wink before you could protest—not that you had any. You all but longed to throw yourself into Sylus’s arms. Which you immediately did as soon as she was out of sight.

“Kitten, you’re going to spill our drinks.” But instead of pushing you away, his arms wrapped around you even tighter.

“Let’s get rid of them then.” You downed your little cocktail way too fast for it to be healthy and put the plastic cup on a nearby snack table. Sylus took his time with his drink before doing the same though. You almost started tapping your foot impatiently—and you were certain he was doing this on purpose because the amused expression on his face spoke volumes.

God, he looked so handsome tonight. Your mind drifted back to that conversation you’d had with him, back when he’d taken you to this old castle and you’d slept in front of the fireplace. You’d told him he resembled a vampire…and right now, you wanted him to bite you so badly you could already feel yourself getting wet. Fuck.

“Dance with me!”

“Are you tipsy already?”

“That first shot was strong. And I had two glasses of wine prior to coming here so… probably yes.”

He shook his head, smirking.

“Now dance with me!”

“So demanding, kitten.” Sylus wrapped his arm around your waist and flung you around so your back was pressed against his chest. He moved you both to the rhythm of the music, his face buried in your neck.

“That’s a new perfume,” he muttered.

“Should the fact that you can tell concern me?”

“You tell me, kitten.”

You grinned and kept on dancing, your behind grinding against his crotch in the process. Again, and again and again…for what felt like an eternity, ignoring the rest of the crowd as if you two were the only one who existed.

“I can’t guarantee anything if you keep rubbing yourself against me like that, kitten,” he murmured with a start.

“Maybe that’s the plan,” you whispered back.

Sylus’s gaze darkened. Challenge accepted. He didn’t need to say it out loud. Still, you were unprepared for when he wrapped his hand around your wrist with a start and dragged you out of the main room into the hallway, crimson eyes darting around in an attempt to find...somewhere private, assumingly.

You laughed, the sound echoing through the building. Out here, the music was duller, the bass more bearable. Your eyes were ringing from the noise inside and you registered a little too late what was happening when Sylus tried for a broom closet and pulled you inside without any forewarning.

“That’s not very romantic!”

He huffed a laugh. “Romantic is for when we get home and I can make love to you in my bed. Be glad we’re gonna be here for a while longer or else I would have ripped those clothes off of you already. This…will have to suffice.”

With but one swift motion, he hooked his index fingers under your tights and pants and pulled them down to your knees before you lifting you up and against the wall, forcing your legs apart to accommodate his body.

You bit your lower lip, your pussy pulsing with need.

“S-Sylus,” you choked out, “c-condom?”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head, kitten. I have some with me.”

Your breathing was heavy by the time he nestled with his belt and eventually, freed his erection. You understood now why he’d been so eager to drag you off now. He was hard. He was struggling to roll the condom over his length while refusing to let you down. But as soon as he managed…you did not receive a forewarning before he buried himself inside you to the hilt, growling against your neck.

“F-fuck, Sylus!”

His hand came up to press against your mouth, keeping you from making a sound. “Quiet, kitten. We don’t want anyone to hear us, now do we?”

“T-the music is t-too loud a-anyway…” you said, muffled because of his palm.

Sylus chuckled, his lips ghosting over your neck as he thrust up into you, hitting your sweet spots with every single stroke.

But instead of giving you a hickey like he normally did (and then watching your reflection in the mirror afterward, smug and amused as you tried to cover it up with make-up when you had to get back to work)…he bit down on your neck. Hard.

Whatever fangs he was using, they held onto dear life as if he’d superglued them on. They were pointy, painful…but not painful enough to seriously cause you any distress. If anything… fuck, this was so hot…

You moaned, throwing your head back to give him better access. At this point, you didn’t even care if he drew blood. Would he drink it? If he broke the skin and a few droplets sneaked their way past his lips?

Sylus fucked you like the filthy girl you were being, teasing and riling him up like that, and much to your luck, it had worked. He knew. Of course he knew. This man was always in control, and you would be lying if you claimed you did not love it.

“Sylus…” You repeated his name over and over again against his mouth as if it were a prayer that would bring you salvation. It would. Oh, it would…for with every single thrust, you felt yourself creeping closer and closer to an annihilating abyss of pleasure. If you hadn’t been pressed up against the wall, legs wrapped around his hips, your knees would long have given in.

“I’m…I’m gonna come…” you whispered out of breath.

Sylus released your neck, the wound pulsing with a dull pain as he licked over it with relish and then released your mouth to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. His strokes grew more frantic, more eager. And it drove you straight over the edge.

You came with a grunt, moaning into his mouth. Pleasure rippled through you as you squeezed around his cock repeatedly, triggering his own release.

Sylus’s heavy breathing turned into a carnal groan as he came, his length jerking against your slick walls gripping him tightly. He slumped against you once he came down from his high, cradling you in his arms.

“Sylus…”

“Yes, kitten?”

“Take me home?” There was no way you were going to return to the dance floor. Not after this. Oh god…

He chuckled. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

#sylus imagine #sylus x you #sylus x reader #sylus smut #sylus x mc #sylus #sylus lads #sylus lads imagine #sylus lads x you #sylus lads x reader #sylus lads smut #love and deepspace #love and deepspace imagine #lads imagine #lads

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totalswag · 10 months ago

Text

bar fun — DREW STARKEY

authors note thank you lovies for 700+ followers!! forever grateful for you guys and the support you give me. here's a little/not so little drew fic teheh.

summary going out in charleston with the cast after a long week of filming and enjoying your friday night with your friends.

requests open

warnings mentions of drinking, going to a bar, kissing, cussing, and drew being a sweet boyfriend.

"If you start to feel uncomfortable just let me know, baby" Drew whispered in your ear, placing his hand on your thigh and tapping it a few times as the car drew to a stop in front of the bar.

Turning back with a modest smile on your face, you say, "I will, don't worry," before kissing his cheek.

He smiles. Such a beautiful smile.

Drew's willingness to make you feel at ease is one of the many things you appreciate about him. No matter where you are, he wants you to be comfortable rather than uncomfortable.

After a hard week of filming season four of Outer Banks, the cast decided to spend the evening at one of their favorite bars in Charleston and unwind. You're not a member of the cast, but you tag along whenever there’s an outing.

Downtown was incredibly busy tonight, so the cast will be spotted by many. The plan was to keep close together in case something happened. Security informed Chase that they would have security inside to keep an eye on everyone.

"I can't wait to have a drink," Carlacia groans as she steps out of the SUV and fixes her hair.

"I feel you on that one," Maddie agrees.

Drew pushed you in front of him as he walked through the crowded bar, grabbing your waist with both hands. He made sure to keep you near to him since he didn't want you to leave his sight or be pushed back at random.

Second outing with my very well known boyfriend and I’ma shit my pants.

The moment you walked inside the bar, everyone turned their heads. This is nothing new. When fans greeted them or spoke with excitement, everyone smiled and waved in response which made fans even more excited.

Once you guys got your drinks, you guys started talking about various topics. The guys were in their own little group and girls were in theirs.

You and the girls were talking about going on a week-long girls' getaway this summer. Carlacia brought it up first a few days ago; she always has great ideas.

"I think it would be a lot of fun, and we'll be laying by the beach," Carlacia says, moving her hands in ocean wave motions that make the rest of the girls giggle.

After talking about the girls trip, Madison breaks the silence asking you about going out with Drew in public.

"So, Y/N, how does it feel being in your second outing with Drew?" Madison asked as she swirled her straw in her drink.

“Ooo good question,” Carlacia nudges Madison’s arm softly.

"It's still nerve-racking, but I think the more we go out as a couple, the less nervous I'll be," you explain to your friends, then look in Drew's way; he's chuckling at something JD said.

Drew and you have been together for three months, and the relationship is still fresh. He’s everything you ever dreamed of. The first time you went out as a couple was last month in Los Angeles, to one of your favorite cafes. This is your second outing together.

"I mean, that's completely understandable, Mariah and I were in the same boat when we first started dating," Madison says with a reassuring smile.

“Plus, you two make each other very happy and we all see it,” Maddie nudges in with complete honesty in her voice.

Hearing other people mention how Drew and you make each other happy undoubtedly makes your heart flutter with joy.

"Aw thank you, we always tell each other that we're each others person and the timing of us meeting was perfect" you continue to say.

After forty minutes, you've had two beers and are enjoying your time with your boyfriend and friends. Everyone was having a wonderful time. Fans came over and took pictures with the cast and a few of them took some with you too.

Conversations regarding filming were brought up, but the cast simply said what they were expected to say because Maddie had informed everyone before arriving at the bar that she would not be announcing the release date for season four.

We all know how that went the first time.

Drew's tall body stood behind you, one hand around your waist and the other holding a drink; your back rested on his chest, drink in hand. Every now and again, you'd sway to the music and chuckle.

“How are you feeling?” he asks you softly, only for you to hear.

You raise your free hand to his neck, bringing him down so you can whisper in his ear, "feeling quite great, you?" The sensation of his breath on your skin sent shivers down your spine.

"That makes me feel better, and if you're feeling great, I'm feeling great," he chuckles in your neck before giving you soft kisses, which caused you to giggle in response, so he kept doing it.

The feeling of phones in your direction, capturing the sweet moment between you and Drew.

As Drew pulls away, a bunch of fans appear in front of him, beaming with joy. Everyone then hugs the girls and asks how they are doing. They even requested to give you a hug, which surprised you because this never happens. It felt nice.

"Y/N right?" A fan asks with a smile, putting out her phone to take a picture with you. She wanted to make sure she got your name right, so she asked in this way.

"Yes, that is me. Would you like a picture? You inquire as you tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. That’s the first thing you asked because typically fans come up asking for pictures.

She quickly nods, smiling, then pulls her phone out. You take a couple pictures together and start a conversation.

While having a great talk, you discovered that her mom and your aunt are really close friends. She was even more thrilled to hear about it. A few of her friends joined the chat, and they were all quite nice to you.

Drew appeared behind you, causing the girls to glance up in surprise that Drew Starkey was actually standing in front of them. Drew grinned, waved, and hugged them.

“How are you girls doing? Being safe I assume?” He asks with honesty, wanting to make sure they’re making good choices.

They answered with the same response.

"Oh get this, Taylor," you add, pointing to her so Drew understands who you're talking about, "mom is best friends with my aunt," chuckling with delight. Drew's jaw fell in surprise.

Eventually, the group of girls returned to their original spot, allowing you to enjoy the remainder of the night. They were really respectful throughout the entire process.

You spent the remainder of the night close to Drew's embrace, drinking more with friends before returning to your apartments for a nice night's sleep.

my taglist!

@runningfrom2am @winterrrnight @chenslucy @brooklynscherry-z @johannelis2302nely @rosezza @solanathascientst

#drew starkey #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey imagines #drew starkey fanfic #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey blurb #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x oc #drew starkey x you #drew fic #drew being the best boyfriend ever!#outer banks fanfiction #outer banks #drew starkey/rafe cameron 🍒

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insidekatmind · 2 months ago

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Meet my sister P.2-Jude Bellingham

Part.1, Part.3, Part.4

plot: Federico Valverde wants to introduce his younger sister to Jude, his teammate. He hoped that something romantic would be born between them seeing that their characters were perfect together but things take a different turn

wearnings: +18,handjob

Jude returned home that evening with a strange feeling, a tension he couldn’t shake off. He had faced plenty of people in his life: opponents on the field, critics in the press, even stubborn teammates. But you? You were different. Not only had you dared to challenge him openly, but you had gotten under his skin in a way he couldn’t explain.

He let himself fall onto his couch, phone in hand. He tried to distract himself by scrolling through notifications and messages, but your face kept popping into his mind: the way your eyes sparkled with sarcasm, the provocative smile that seemed to say, "You’ll never have the upper hand with me.”

“Ridiculous,” he muttered to himself, but he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

With a resigned sigh, he opened Instagram and typed your name into the search bar. It didn’t take long to find you; your profile was verified and had millions of followers. Jude scrolled slowly, studying one photo after another.

There were pictures of you on red carpets, flawless in high-fashion gowns. Shots from ad campaigns, where your intense gaze and bold poses grabbed attention. Then, more personal images: you on a beach, the sun lighting up your skin; you in a recording studio with a satisfied smile; you laughing with a disarming naturalness.

His eyes stopped on one picture in particular: you were seated on a couch, wearing a red dress that hugged your curves perfectly. Your hair fell over your shoulders, and your smile was both sweet and mischievous.

Jude smirked, an arrogant grin reflecting his thoughts. “Sexy, no doubt about it,” he muttered to himself, leaning back into the couch. But then his smirk turned into a grimace. “But insufferable. Thinks she knows everything, always has to have the last word.”

Despite the irritation you caused him, he couldn’t look away. He kept scrolling, discovering more aspects of you that trapped him in a mix of attraction and annoyance.

“How does Federico put up with you?” he wondered, though a part of him knew that your personality was exactly what drew him in. You weren’t like the other women he knew. You didn’t try to please him or impress him. If anything, you did everything you could to challenge him.

“I don’t like you. You’re just a challenge,” he said out loud, almost as if trying to convince himself. But he knew there was something more. Maybe it was the way you never backed down, or maybe it was how your laughter managed to irritate and intrigue him at the same time.

Before he realized it, he had spent over half an hour on your profile. He abruptly shut his phone, almost annoyed at himself. “Ridiculous,” he muttered again, standing up and running a hand through his hair.

But as he headed to his bedroom, your face kept resurfacing in his mind. Jude didn’t want to admit it, but he already knew this wouldn’t be the last time he searched your name on Instagram. And that realization irritated him more than anything else.

He had just laid on the bed, his hands behind his head, trying to shake off the annoyance. But that annoyance had a very specific name: yours. He was convinced that it was enough to ignore you to stop thinking about you, but it did not work. The more he tried to drive you out of his mind, the more your sarcastic smile and intense eyes came to haunt him.

After a few minutes, he snorted frustrated, grabbed his phone and almost without thinking, went back to your Instagram profile. It was an impulsive gesture, one he knew he should not have done, but it was too late.

While scrolling through your photos once more, he found one that struck him more than the others. You were sitting on a balcony, with a breathtaking view behind you, but he didn’t notice anything around you. All his attention was on you. You wore a black dress with a dizzying slit that let your smooth skin glimpse. Your legs were crossed with natural grace, and your gaze, directed into the room, seemed to challenge anyone not to yield to your charm.

Jude stared at the picture for a few seconds, feeling his breath getting heavier. He felt his cock harden. Your body was amazing, she had already noticed that, but there was something more. Your attitude, that combination of sensuality and pride, was an open challenge. It seemed you were saying, "I know you want me, but you won’t have me easily."

«Damn...» he muttered to himself, feeling a wave of heat passing through him. He ran his hand through his hair, trying to regain control, but it was useless. His mind was filled with dirty thoughts about you, and that character which irritated him and fascinated him at the same time.

He dropped backwards on the bed, phone still in hand. With his right hand he threw his cock out of his boxer shorts and began to saw himself while his gaze returned to your picture, while a grimace was drawn on his face. «You think you are untamable, don’t you?» he said in a low voice, almost as if you were there to hear it.

The image of you gave him a shiver down his spine. He felt tense, stiff, as if the thought of you had taken over his body. He was used to having control over everything: in the field, in his personal life, with women. But you were another story.

He started to stroke his cock faster as he thought you were bent like a slut in front of him while you took his dick.

«I would tame you in a second,» he muttered, almost with anger.

But he knew that the real problem was not to tame you physically, but to tame your character. Because even though he thought you were incredibly hot, your strong temper and sarcasm drove him crazy. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to challenge you or win you over.

Jobe kept looking at your picture and continued to cut himself quickly, then came with a moan.

He closed his eyes for a moment trying to catch his breath

When he opened his eyes again, Jude closed the click phone and threw it on the bedside table. But your smile kept tormenting him. He couldn’t get you out of his head, and that irritated him more than anything. Because, deep down, he knew you’d find a way to sneak into his thoughts once again.

«I hate her»

---

The next morning, Jude arrived at the training ground still irritated with himself. He hadn’t slept well, tormented by thoughts of you. Every time he closed his eyes, your face resurfaced, along with the memory of that photo. He tried to shake off the tension, but it wasn’t easy, especially knowing that Vinicius and Kylian would be eager to ask how it went.

As he tied his cleats in the locker room, Vinicius walked in with his usual sly grin. Kylian followed closely behind, just as curious. They exchanged a knowing glance before approaching Jude.

"So, Bellingham," Vinicius started, slapping him on the back. "Federico told us you met his sister yesterday."

Jude let out a sigh, pretending indifference. "Yeah, so what?"

Kylian chuckled, leaning against the locker next to him. "So, tell us. How was it? Federico seemed so excited about the introduction."

Jude stood up, adjusting his training shirt. "Not much to say. She’s... irritating."

Vinicius raised an eyebrow, amused. "Irritating? Really? So, you didn’t like her?"

"It’s not about liking her," Jude replied, annoyed. "It’s that she has an unbearable personality. Always ready with a comeback, always provoking. She thinks she’s funny, but really..."

"But really, she made you lose your mind, huh?" Vinicius interrupted, a sly grin forming on his face.

"Stop it," Jude warned, shooting him a cold look. "She didn’t make me lose anything. She’s just another girl with a huge ego."

Kylian burst into laughter. "Yeah, sure. That’s why you’re talking about her, right? You know, Jude, when someone doesn’t really bother us, we don’t mention them at all."

Jude clenched his jaw, trying to keep his cool. "I’m not talking about her. You’re the ones who keep bringing it up."

Vinicius sat down next to him, watching him with an amused expression. "You know, Jude, I’ve seen his sister a couple of times. And I gotta say, Federico’s right: she’s a bombshell. Beautiful, talented... and with a character that doesn’t go unnoticed. Maybe that’s what bothers you."

Jude turned to him, narrowing his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I mean maybe you’re not used to a girl who doesn’t fall at your feet," Vinicius replied with a smirk. "Admit it, she stood her ground, and that pisses you off."

Kylian nodded, adding, "And let’s be real, someone like her isn’t exactly easy to ignore."

Jude sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You’re making a mountain out of nothing. I’m not interested."

"Right, sure," Vinicius countered, laughing. "We’ll see how long it takes for you to come up with an excuse to see her again."

Jude stood up, heading towards the field with a neutral expression. "It’s not going to happen."

But as he walked, their laughter and words continued to echo in his mind. No matter how much he wanted to deny it, he knew there was something about you that intrigued him. And that irritated him more than any provocation.

---

The night at the club had just begun, and the atmosphere was electric. Federico, Jude, Kylian, and other teammates had gathered there to unwind after an intense week. The dance floor was crowded, colorful lights flashed in every corner, and the music vibrated in the air, making everyone's heart beat to the rhythm. As always, Jude was the center of attention, surrounded by girls trying to catch his eye, but he seemed distant, as if something was distracting him. Maybe it was the thought of you, or maybe it was the irritation he still felt toward you, but he couldn't focus on anything else.

Vinicius and Kylian were more relaxed, chatting and laughing, while Federico was enjoying himself with some friends. But the atmosphere changed abruptly when the door to the club opened, revealing a figure walking in with confidence, turning everyone’s head. It was you, of course. Your entrance was theatrical, your radiant smile, and the energy you exuded from your presence seemed to be the only thing capturing everyone’s attention.

Vinicius and Kylian's eyes lit up. "Look who's here," Kylian said, impressed by your entrance. "You can't miss her."

Vinicius nodded, watching you with admiration. "It's impossible not to stare. Beautiful, confident... and that personality that makes her even more intriguing."

Meanwhile, Jude, who had been trying to ignore you until that moment, let out a visible sigh, feeling that annoying pang of irritation grow inside him. You were moving on the dance floor with natural sensuality, effortlessly, as if the music was a part of you. Every step, every movement, drew attention, and the girls around Jude seemed to forget about him, all focused on you. Jude, however, couldn't stop watching you, despite his irritation.

"Do you like her?" Vinicius asked with a smile, noticing Jude’s fixed gaze on you.

Jude shrugged, trying to seem indifferent. "No," he replied curtly. "It annoys me how she stands out like that."

"Though you can’t take your eyes off her, right?" Kylian teased, with his usual knowing grin. "Are you sure you don’t like her?"

"I don’t like her," Jude repeated, but his voice betrayed a slight uncertainty.

Meanwhile, you continued to dance, unaware of their comments. Your energy was contagious to everyone, but it seemed like it wasn’t sitting well with Jude. Every movement you made made him more tense, and every glance he threw at you made him feel strangely uneasy. He couldn’t understand what it was, but there was something about you that irritated him and at the same time attracted him, a contrast he couldn’t settle.

Vinicius and Kylian kept making appreciative comments, laughing between themselves, while Jude distanced himself from the conversation, trying to deflect the attention. But the truth was, he couldn’t stop thinking about you, and the fact that he was so irritated by you made him even more annoyed.

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novaursa · 2 months ago

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Between Pride and Fire

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

- Paring: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

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

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: the fire

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason merely hums, his expression unreadable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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