#they just ventured out into the real world when they wanted to

[dreamings-free]

Hi! Do you have any theories as to why Louis and Oli keep going to the same bar and either don't mind or want to be seen?

my theory is that the man is on vacation with his best friend and having a great time. they kept coming back to that bar because they liked the vibe and the live bands playing there (and they were seen many other places too) the top louis wore yesterday is from a band that played at that bar every day in the past week so I guess they came back because they enjoyed their music..

[saetoru]

AGE IS NOTHING BUT A NUMBER — GETO SUGURU.

kinktober day two — overstimulation ; find masterlist here

synopsis. befriending nanako and mimiko has its perks—like fucking their father, for example. suguru might have aged over the years, but that doesn't mean he's lost his touch. don't believe him? that's okay—he can always just show you instead

length. 5.3k words (bro this fic was agonizing)

contents. minors do not interact, fem! reader, dilf! suguru, college au (reader is a student), age gaps (20+ difference), jealous suguru, teasing, cunnilingus, fingering, edging, nipple play, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie, pet names (baby, sweetheart, princess, angel)

notes. this took me so long bc i hate it so im posting it and running away to play genshin to slave away for primos

most people can tell their best friends everything. not you, though—you have a secret. a dirty, shameful, horrible little secret, in fact.

no one knows that every chance you get, every small little moment you can possibly squeeze in, you fuck your two best friends’ father—and it’s going to stay that way, unknown and forever hidden. suguru is young as far as parents go, just barely in his twenties when he’s found himself a single father of two, but that doesn’t mean he’s not too old for you. and it especially doesn’t mean that it’s not inappropriate to fuck the man that raised your two closest friends.

you meet nanako and mimiko during your freshman year of college—the rest is history. the first time you spend the night at their place, suguru (he insists you call him that on your first meeting) is overjoyed that his girls have someone as lovely as you.

who wouldn’t be? you’re smart, well-mannered, respectable, and incredibly studious. what a perfect role model for his girls—after all, every father’s worst nightmare is his sweet, precious daughters venturing off to the real world. men are dogs—suguru should know. they’re sleazy and prey on young women who are naive and unsuspecting, taking advantage of their hopefulness before completely destroying their innocence. suguru can’t bear the idea of his perfect little girls becoming victims of such sinister behavior—but that’s all quelled when he meets you.

but he never thought, not even for one second, that he’d become one of those men.

those older men who fuck girls half their age—the girls that are barely in their twenties and still don’t even really understand how taxes work. the girls that have just started to learn how to hold their alcohol and can only recently buy it legally. the girls who don’t realize how complicated adulthood can be, just barely spreading their wings and learning what it’s like to be free.

suguru has always found those men deplorable. they’re the awful, disgusting, untamed vermin of society—women must be protected from them at all costs.

but now? well….now he’s one of them—and he finds, even as disgusted with himself as he is from time to time, he has little regrets.

not when you’re sprawled under him, hands tracing over his bare chest, feeling the soft skin under your palms in wonder. suguru, though he’s not let himself go by any means, is past his prime—he still frequents the gym, and he has more time to go now that the girls are gone most of the day, but he’s not immune to the effects of aging.

his hair has more than a few strands of white sprinkled in now; nanako makes sure to remind him not to pull them out unless he wants more. he’s still managed to keep the abs he was once so proud of in his youth, but they’re still not as hard—layered over a slight belly that he can’t seem to get rid of no matter what he tries. his skin is a bit looser, and his eyes have slight wrinkles in the corners of them, but despite it all, suguru still looks as handsome as ever.

he’s aged well, still looks remarkably young for men his age, and still looks like that dashing young man he once was who stole hearts. in fact, he still hears about his looks, especially from nanako and mimiko’s friends—he’s always chuckled to himself and shook his head in amusement.

that’s your dad? god, he’s so hot.

what? he’s single? oh my gosh, do you need a mom?

i can’t believe he’s never been married—women in his generation don’t deserve him. i’ll take him off their hands.

wait, do you have pictures of him when he was younger?

oh my god, he’s so fine. are you sure he’s in his forties?

nanako and mimiko, bless their hearts, have always crinkled their noses at the…less than proper comments they’ve had to witness about their father. in fact, they’ve watched teachers practically throw themselves onto suguru at parent-teacher conferences. it’s bothersome—a little disturbing to hear their friends talk about all the things they’d let their dad, of all people, do to them.

but you? you don’t make unhinged comments. they appreciate that.

but if only they knew…

if only they knew that sometimes, like right now, when you’re spending the night, you don’t actually sleep—instead, you sneak off to their father’s room, lay on his mattress under his body, and feel his touch. you can feel him, hard and throbbing in his sweats as his clothed cock presses against your thigh—but he takes his time with you, and doesn’t do anything about the clear arousal pooling between your legs just yet. 

instead, he focuses on remembering your body—it’s been a while, after all. he hasn’t felt your hips, hasn’t tasted your skin, hasn’t heard your voice. 

“missed you,” suguru breathes, hovering over you as you hum, nipping at your skin as his nose brushes along your neck. your hand is playing with his hair, twisting long, black and white strands along your fingers. “haven’t seen you in a bit, angel.”

“i’ve had midterms,” you murmur.

suguru knows—nanako and mimiko have been studying for them themselves. he’s more than a little disappointed that you haven’t come over to study with them yet. but then, just the other night, mimiko mentions you’ve been spending your time with a boy at the library, sharing a table as you lean over his shoulder to look at his laptop. nanako giggles that you might have finally gotten yourself a boyfriend. mimiko hums and nods as she murmurs it’s about time.

suguru swallows down every bite of dinner with an aftertaste of bile that night.

a boy—a boy? you’ve been skipping coming over to study with the girls (and, by default, seeing him) just to study with some boy? what’s got your attention on the guy so badly? why would you break the routine you’ve had for the last few semesters for someone you just recently met? have you finally started to realize that this is a mistake? is suguru a mistake?

he thinks maybe not, now that you’re back in his bed—but he still has too many unanswered questions. 

“so i’ve heard,” he says lowly, “i’ve also heard there’s a certain boy on your radar.” he smiles bitterly, pulling away from your neck to stare at you with those dark, sharp eyes of his. “a much younger, and fitting match for you, i suppose.”

you roll your eyes, snorting.

“is that what nanako and mimiko have told you? honestly, those two,” you huff fondly, “i told them already. he’s just my partner for a presentation. we’re practicing.”

“oh?” suguru raises a brow—and then he shivers lightly when you lean up and kiss his jaw, eyes fluttering shut at your touch.

“yes,” you giggle, “no need to be jealous of someone half your age, you know.”

“that’s exactly why i’m jealous,” he breathes, leaning in to kiss you softly.

your lips taste like honey—probably sweeter, in fact. they drip with that decadent, saccharine taste of youth. he feels twenty again every time he kisses you, feels not a day older than his glory days.

“oh, you poor thing,” you grin, cupping his face as you scatter kisses along his cheeks and nose, thumb tracing the skin. fuck, is this what it feels like to be in love? it makes him feel so young, so free, and hopeful for the future. when was the last time he felt this way? “have you been losing sleep over my nonexistent college boyfriend?”

“well, kids your age fool around quite a bit,” he says in that father tone that he uses on nanako and mimiko, “what was i supposed to think?”

you’ve heard that tone so many times before; the one where he talks like he knows better, like he’s wiser, like he’s aware of something you’re not. 

girls, make sure you share your location with me—i need to find you in case anything happens. it’s for your own safety, end of discussion.

make sure you watch over your drinks, okay? men these days take every chance they get to spike them when you’re not looking. mimiko, i was your age once, too. i’ve seen this happen plenty.

don’t walk alone in the streets at night. call me. i’ll pick you up—no, nanako, it’s not lame. the streets are dangerous at night. there are creeps, you know.

don’t get into any boy’s cars, girls. you never know what’ll happen; one mistake is all it takes to ruin your life—hey, don’t roll your eyes at me. one day, you’ll understand i’m right.

“i’m not a kid,” you pout, and then, smugly this time, you wiggle your brows. “did’ya lose sleep over my imaginary boyfriend? you need plenty of sleep at your age, y’know.”

“no, you’re not a kid,” suguru agrees, “you’re a brat.” and then he’s back to pressing those hot, open-mouthed, hungry kisses along your jaw, humming in delight when you angle your head to give him better access. 

sometimes, it’s fun to get under suguru’s skin—it’s fun to break that carefully built, mature patience of his, pulling a twitch of his eye and a furrow of his brow from him. so, you grin widely as you murmur, “who knows? maybe he’d fuck better—more stamina, y’know?”

it’s supposed to just tease him, to make him glare at you unimpressed so you can giggle and kiss between his brows—but suguru stills at that, painfully stiff for a moment before he bites at your skin. hard. 

“oh yeah?” he hisses, his voice low and dangerous as he pulls away to glare down at you, “you think so? what, you think an old man like me can’t fuck you long enough?”

you don’t get a chance to reply—not before he pulls your pants down your waist to reveal your soaked panties, pulling a hum from him as he grins at the damp patch of fabric. his fingers circle over your clit for a moment, right over the cloth, making your breath hitch as you buck into his touch. 

“suguru—”

“look at that,” he chuckles, “wearing my favorite one, huh? can’t fuck you that bad if you try your best to impress me. isn’t that what you wanted? is that what you were thinking when you put these on before coming over? how precious,” he murmurs—he speaks so condescending, so knowingly, as if he’s read your mind just by looking at the red lace covering your dripping cunt. you cover your face in humiliation, but he grabs your wrists and pins them over your head, clicking his teeth in disapproval. 

part of you knows you should quit while you can—the other part? well…it wants to test the limits a bit longer. suguru has never been so easy to rile up, you want to indulge in it for just a bit longer if you can help it. 

“well,” you huff, “what’re you waiting for, then? don’t tell me the age has slowed you down—”

“you really don’t know when to quit, do you?” he says in a low snarl, “fine, you want me to hurry up? you got it, princess.”

it all happens before you can even register—one moment, you’re grinning at him with mischief in your eyes; the next second, he has you in nothing but your bra, bare in his bed as he pulls your legs apart and leans close to your pussy.

“you know the thing about guys your age,” he hums, toying with your clit lazily as you gasp with a twitch, “is that they really don’t know how to take care of anyone but themselves. guess they just don’t have enough experience to really figure it out.”

his lips latch onto your clit, sucking before he rolls his tongue over the sensitive bud as his fingers sink into your core, pushing past your folds and stretching you open. it’s slow—deliberately so, in fact. it makes your head spin, and your fingers curl into the bed sheets as you pant. 

“suguru, m-more—”

“don’t worry,” he coos, pulling away from you to grin up at your glossy eyes, “you’ll get plenty, baby. we’ll see if you’ve got the stamina. y’know, since you’re so young.”

his lips are back to wrap around your clit, fingers sinking and curling exactly where you’re most sensitive—suguru finds your sweet spots instantly the first time he has you sprawled under him. didn’t even take a moment of trial, just knew where to touch and kiss to have you unravel in his hold. that much still hasn’t changed—his fingertips press against the sensitive spot in the back of your walls, pulling pretty little whines from you as his tongue flicks over your clit. 

it’s always been a blessing that nanako and mimiko’s room is across the house—had they been closer, they might hear the mewl you let out as his fingers bully into you faster, unforgiving as they brush against your walls and build the ache up between your legs until it’s about to burst. 

“s-suguru, ‘m close, so, so close—”

“already?” he gasps, chuckling as he presses a kiss to your clit with a sly grin, “thought you had more in you than that, baby. so youthful—figured you’d last a bit longer.”

he’s mean about it—rubs it in your face some more that you’re so close so fast before he pulls his fingers away and doesn’t even give you the satisfaction of falling apart on his digits. it makes you sob, hips bucking up to chase the friction of his fingers, but he’s already gone, leaving your walls empty and fluttering around nothing.

“no,” your voice breaks, “n-no, so close, please. i want—”

“that’s what he would’ve done,” suguru hums, “pulled out before you even finished. that’s what guys your age always do—they don’t know how to make girls finish. you ever had that problem with me?”

“no,” you say quickly, shaking your head. you’re a pretty little thing, he thinks—pouty, wobbly lips and those glossy eyes as you sniffle. “no, you always make me cum—please, i wanna cum, sugu.”

“yeah?” he pouts with faux sympathy, “didn’t feel good, huh? feels better when i take care of you, doesn’t it?”

“uh huh,” you nod—you’re still panting through the aftershocks of having your orgasm ripped from you, chest rising and falling harsh enough that it fills him with pride he can pull such drastic reactions from you. no one knows your body like suguru—he’s too good at giving it what it wants for anyone else to compare. 

“think that boy—” he spits the last word like it’s poison on his tongue, “—can take care of you?”

“no,” you whimper, “no, he can’t. not like you, never like you.”

“that’s a good girl,” he nods approvingly, rubbing his slick-coated finger over your clit, toying with it teasingly as you writhe, whining for more. “you know something else about men your age? they don’t care to please a woman—don’t bother to appreciate them enough to make them feel good. you think that boy would be here—” he pauses to motion between your legs, where he’s currently situated, “—willingly? taste you willingly? let you cum on his tongue willingly?”

“i-i don’t…i never asked someone to—”

“did you ever ask me?” he interrupts, raising a brow at you, “you ever have to ask me? i just do it. wanna know why? because i know what i’m doing—know how to treat you right, how to give you what you need. isn’t that right?” 

“yes, yes—you always give me what i want—”

“what you need,” he corrects, “and you know what i think you need right now? this.”

his tongue licks a stripe along your entrances before you can say anything else, pulling a gasp out of you as your hands find his hair and tug—suguru groans at that, feels his pants get impossibly tighter as the aching erection he sports throbs between his legs at the way you pull at the strands so desperately, so needy. for him. only ever him. 

his tongue fucks into you, messy with the way he devours you, the slick arousal pooling from your cunt coating his lips, his cheeks, his chin. you moan—and really, it’s almost a squeal—when his fingers are sinking back into you, tongue flicking away at your clit mercilessly as he thrusts his digits in and out of your pussy. you’re close, painfully so, the pressure steadily building and building until you just can’t hold it back anymore. 

“sugu—’m c-cumming. god ‘s so good—feels good,” you babble, thighs closing around his head as his fingers curl into your sweet spot over and over again, not stopping for even a second as he helps you ride out your high. your walls spasm around his fingers, tight as they flutter around him and make him groan at the thought of being inside you. 

he watches, hungry and in awe, as your back arches off the mattress and your mouth parts, broken little wails of his name rolling off your tongue in a sweet melody. 

“i bet he’s never seen someone look like this,” suguru murmurs, watching the way the ecstasy takes over your features as your face falls slack from pleasure, “so pretty when falling apart. bet he’d never even get close to making you look so fucked from just his tongue.”

your orgasm ripples through you—it’s not new, the way he makes you feel so good, but it’s definitely nothing to get used to either. your body slumps back onto the mattress as you finish, panting harshly while he climbs up to hover over you once again. 

“that felt good?” he asks, nosing at your cheek as you nod breathlessly.

“yeah,” you breathe, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“hope you’re not tired out just yet,” he says smugly, eyeing the way sweat clings to your forehead and huffs of air exhale from your lungs with each labored breath, “because we’re nowhere near done, baby. not even close.”

just like that, your bra is unclasped and pulled off, freeing your tits for his mouth to latch onto a nipple, sucking and lightly grazing his teeth along the bud while his fingers tease at the other, pinching and rubbing over it with his thumb. you whine, eyes squeezing shut as your hand cups the back of his head and keeps him in place. 

“bet i could make you cum just from this,” he says with a laugh, “i don’t even need to fuck you.”

“please,” you dig your nails into his shoulder, moaning as he switches to wrap his lips around the other nipple, “please, sugu—n-need more.”

“be more specific,” he says lowly, looking up at you in amusement, “gonna need more than that, princess. you gotta help me out here—i’m afraid i don’t know what i’m doing.”

suguru is doing everything he can to drag this out—if you’d known one small comment would have him riled up like this…well, truthfully, you can’t say you wouldn’t have made it anyway. it’s exciting in its own right when he’s so determined to show you why you need him, why no one else but him is meant to see you like this, make you fall apart like this, have you sprawled under them like this. 

no one can know about you and suguru—not nanako and mimiko, not your other friends, not your family. you know what they’d say, how they’d feel. 

disgust—shame, even. he’s far too old for you, you know they’d say; he’s a red flag for getting with someone so young. no one can know that you come here, dead in the middle of the night when your friends are asleep, and fuck their father. not only that—lay with their father, talk about your hopes and dreams for the future with their father, giggle as you gossip with their father, fall in love with their father. 

something tells you the feeling is not unreciprocated—that suguru feels the same, that he loves holding you in his arms just as much as you love laying in them. maybe it wasn’t a joke, what you’d said. not to him, at least—maybe deep down, it stung; maybe he had something to prove. that boy might be closer to you in age, but he’ll never, ever treat you the way suguru does—no one will, for that matter. perhaps he has to show it so you really know. 

so you look him in the eye, pull him closer until his forehead is pressed against yours and you can press a delicate kiss to his lips before you murmur against them, “fuck me, suguru. please—need you.”

he groans at that, closes his eyes before his hips move to press the thick tip of his cock against your folds, dragging it along your entrance as he coats his head with your slick. it’s flushed a deep pink—it’s been neglected for so long that he shudders at the way it aches, at the way even the slightest friction along the sensitive tip pulls a soft gasp from him. 

for a moment, he wonders if he really will last long enough to fuck you properly—he might not, with the way your walls always squeeze around him, always have him ready to fuck his load into you just as soon as he’s inside you. the thought alone almost makes his cock twitch—but suguru is a man of patience, so he slowly pushes into you, inch by inch, looking down and watching as his girth disappears inside you. 

“look at that,” he coos, grinning wide as he looks back up at you, “took me so easily. ‘s cause when you do it right, it doesn’t take much, does it?”

“f-fuck—” your head presses back against the pillow, mouth hung open as you breathe heavily, trying to squirm and get even the slightest bit of friction from him as he stays painfully still. “move, suguru—please, c-can’t wait anymore. jus’ wanna feel you.”

“i know,” he chuckles, “patience is a virtue, sweetheart.”

despite it all, suguru is not feeling very patient anymore—it’s been long enough. his hips roll slowly at first, a shallow thrust of his hips that makes you both moan lowly before he all but pulls out and slams back in, hard. you can feel the burning stretch of his girth practically splitting you open, every thick vein dragging along your cunt and every brush of his tip against the back of your walls. it’s loud—the sound of skin slapping against skin, the sound of his deep groans and your breathless whines, the sound of the headboard hitting the wall as he fucks you into his mattress. 

“god—fuck, suguru—th-there,” you mewl as he slams into you right where you need him. 

you’ve lost count of how many times suguru has fucked you like you’re his. in his bed at night, in his shower in the mornings, on the couch when you drop by when the girls aren’t home, in his car that one time he drove you home when it rained, in your apartment that one time he dropped off your laptop because you forgot it. there’s one common denominator—the way he makes you feel, not just from the way his cock ruts into you, but from the way his fingers tangle with yours, from the way his mouth finds your jaw to kiss, from the way his forehead presses into your shoulder with warmth. 

it’s exciting, maybe. at first, it’s scandalous and a little thrilling in its own right. by now, it’s something much more than that—you don’t think anyone could make you feel the way he does, fuck you like he does, even if they tried. even if they knew where to touch and where to kiss. even if they knew what you liked and what you didn’t. 

they couldn’t be suguru—would never be suguru. 

“there, huh?” he pants, moaning softly as he feels your walls flutter around him tightly, “i know. i know how to fuck this pussy—my pussy. you think some boy you hardly know would know? think he’d care to learn? think he’d even try?”

“no,” you gasp, shaking your head as your hips buck up to meet his sharp thrusts, “no. no one would make me feel this good. make me feel so good, sugu.”

“ngh—sh-shit,” he hisses at your words, cock almost swelling harder at the way you praise him, at the way your words are almost slurred with no real thought behind him. it’s a little pride-inducing, the way you’re still able to sing his praises without having to really think about it first. he can hear it, the way you’re lost in the drag of his cock, drunk in the haze of pleasure, unfocused on everything else besides the way he bullies his thick girth into your abused cunt.

it’s a mess, it’s filthy the way there’s a mix of pre cum and your slick at the base of his cock, along your inner thighs, coating your skin as the squelching sound of him nudging past your folds fills the room.

it’s good, the way he makes you feel—he can hear it in your voice as you wail his name.

“s-suguru—oh.”

“what, you gettin’ all fucked out on me? ‘m not even close yet, princess,” he hums, leaning down to kiss your neck as he sucks softly into your sweet spot. you throw your head back, rasping out a cry of his name again as his balls slap against your ass with a harsh roll of his hips. 

and then his hand makes its way between your bodies, thumb attaching itself to your clit before rubbing punishing circles into the bundle of nerves—you sob at that, back arching up as your chest presses against his, nipples hard as they brush along his skin.

“s-sugu—close, ‘m gonna cum a-again—so close,” you pant brokenly, every sentence cut off with a sharp gasp as he thrusts into you. 

you’re close—you can’t fight back the way the coil in your belly snaps as he teases your clit. it’s still sensitive from the last orgasm, every nerve still burning up from before as he gives you more, gives you too much, almost. you cum harder this time—your second high creeping up on you when you least expect it. 

it makes your eyes roll back, makes your thighs quiver, and tears stream down your cheeks as you chant his name over and over. suguru, ‘s so good. suguru, ‘m cumming. suguru, ‘s all for you.

every sentence makes his cock drill into you faster, sloppier in rhythm, maybe, but faster. needier. bordering on desperate. 

“f-fuck, baby,” he grunts, “squeezin’ me so tight—such a tight fuckin’ cunt. you think just anyone deserves this? think you can just walk around and let anyone fuck this? ‘s bullshit—ngh.”

you don’t answer—can’t answer, in fact. it’s all teary eyes and soft sniffles as you mewl with every thrust, voice breaking between every pretty little sound you make. he’s still fucking into you, still dragging his cock against those sensitive walls, still bumping against your clit with his navel, still nudging against your sweet spot with his thick, swollen tip. it’s almost too much—it is too much, making you writhe under his body as you try to form the words. 

“‘s t-too much, sugu—c-can’t anymore,” you try, “can’t.”

“what?” he gasps, furrowing his brows in mock confusion, “you’re tappin’ out on me already? but ‘m not even done yet, sweetheart. haven’t even finished yet—don’t tell me you’re already spent. how will you keep up with your little boyfriend’s stamina if you can’t even take an old man like me?”

“c-can’t take anyone but you,” you sob, “jus’ you—only you. promise.”

“yeah? you swear?”

“uh huh. jus’ you, sugu—don’ want anyone else. won’t fuck me the same.”

“atta girl,” he coos, chuckling as he leans down to kiss your jaw, trailing soft pecks until he meets your lips, “that’s what i thought. make sure you don’t forget, okay?”

“fuck, suguru—’m…g-gonna…”

“gonna what? cum? you’re cumming again?” you nod at that—he grins wide, pride settling into the crinkles of his eyes before his thumb rubs harsh circles into your swollen clit once more. he looks pretty like that—hair framing his face, the mix of black and white strands sticking to the damp skin of his forehead. his skin is flushed, abs flexing as he pants over you. sometimes you feel guilty that half of why you come over to visit nanako and mimiko is to fuck suguru—the guilt is quickly extinguished when you see him like this, bottom lip caught between his teeth as his arms barely hold him over you, eyes shut tight as he groans. 

“i-i’m—fuck, fuck, fuck,” you can’t form sentences anymore as you cum—again. not that you really could before that, but now all you can offer is croaked half-syllables and shaky sobs. your walls squeeze around him, tight as they hug around his throbbing cock. 

it takes one, two, three more sloppy rolls of his hips before he lets out at a low, “baby, fuck—’m gonna fill you up. want that? want me to cum in you? make you mine? always been mine, haven’t you?”

“yes, yes—yours, sugu. yours, yours, yours,” you babble, words slurred between breathy moans and broken sobs. “wanna be yours.”

you can feel him—feel the way his cock twitches in you, the way he grinds into you to ride out his high, the way sticky, hot ropes of cum fill your walls, the way he fucks his load deeper into you with every sloppy thrust of his hips. his arms quiver as he holds himself over you—just barely, though. you can hear the way his voice cracks as he gasps your name over and over, as he mutters lowly about how you’re his, how you’ll always only be his. 

“mine,” he grits, “you’re fuckin’ mine—see how you’re suckin’ me in? see how i fit in this pussy like it was made for me? ‘s cause you’re mine.”

his body slumps onto yours as he finishes, head pressed into the crook of your neck as he kisses the skin while you both catch your breaths. you whimper, still sensitive, as he pulls out of you, a soft chuckle falling past his lips as he pulls his head up to look at you and press a kiss to your cheek. 

“so,” he starts, eyes laced with amusement as he takes in the fucked out look on your face, the tears still drying your cheeks, the swollen flush of your bottom lip, “still think you need someone with more stamina? someone who’ll fuck you better—”

“god,” you groan, slapping his shoulder, “will you drop it already? you got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

“no,” he murmurs, pecking your lips, “still wanna hear it some more.”

“your ego needs a reality check,” you huff as you brush a strand of hair from his forehead, “think i’ve fed it plenty all night.”

“actually, i think you crushed it,” he pouts theatrically, “talking about some asshole who doesn’t care about you right in front of me. after i take such good care of you, too. the girls already think you should date him,” he adds the last part with a slightly bitter roll of his eyes, pulling a giggle out of you.

“they think i don’t know how to talk to men,” you snort, “imagine they knew i was talking to men old enough to be my father.”

“hey,” he clicks his teeth, falling onto the mattress beside you—he pulls you into his chest, letting your cheek rest on his bare skin. it’s so wrong—lying in bed with the father of your best friends. but somehow, suguru feels like the only thing you’ve ever done right. “age is nothing but a number, sweetheart.”

if i have to see the word cock one more time im going to eradicate all humans that have them

do not comment about a part 2 !!!!!!!!!!

[lasnevadaslaborunion]

It frightens and discourages me how pervasive "tribal" stereotypes and imagery are in the fantasy and adventure genres.

It's all over the place in classic literature. Crack open a Jules Verne novel and you're likely to find caricatures of brown people and cultures, even when the characters are sympathetic to the plight of the colonized peoples - incidentally, this is the biggest reason I can't recommend 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea to everyone, despite Captain Nemo being one of my favorite fictional characters of all time.

You can't escape it in modern cinema, either. You'll see white heroes venturing bravely into jungles and tombs to steal from natives who don't know how to use their resources "properly." You'll see them strung up in traps, riddled with sleeping darts, forced to flee and fight their way out. Hell, Pirates of the Caribbean, a remarkably inclusive franchise in many other ways, had an extended sequence of the white heroes escaping from a cannibal civilization in the second film.

And when fantasy RPGs want a humanoid enemy, the "bloodthirsty natives" are the first stock trope they jump to. World of Warcraft is one of the most egregious examples, with the trolls - blatant racist caricatures with faux-voodoo beliefs, cannibalistic diets, Jamaican accents, and a history of being killed in droves by (white) elves and humans - being raided and slaughtered in nearly every expansion.

It doesn't matter how vibrant and distinctive the real-world indigenous, Polynesian, Caribbean, and African cultures are. It doesn't matter how much potential these real civilizations offer for complex and sympathetic characterization. Anything that doesn't make sense to the white western mind is shoved under the same "savage" umbrella. They're different. They're strange. They're scary. They have to be escaped, subjugated, eliminated, ogled at from the safety of a museum.

Modern writers, directors, and developers don't even seem to realize how horrifying it is to present the indigenous inhabitants of a place as "obstacles" for non-native protagonists to overcome. "It's not racist," they say, "because these people aren't really people, you see." And if you dare to point out anything that hurts or offends you as a descendant of the bastardized culture, you're accused of being the real racist: "These aren't humans! They're monsters! Are you saying that these real societies are just like those disgusting monsters?"

No, they're not monsters. But you chose to design them as monsters, just as invaders have done for hundreds of years. Why would you do that? Why can you recognize any other caricature as evil and cruel, but not this?

This is how deep colonialism runs.

[katsu28]

oscar's a grouch (or is he?)

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

summary: to your knowledge, oscar piastri really doesn't like you. but a night out in monaco makes you realize that maybe you don't know oscar's feelings towards you quite as well as you think you do. (3.7k)

warnings: swearing, unwanted advances from a man (not oscar, don't worry), a smidge of landoscar if u squint really hard

a/n: idk about y'all but this summer break is killing me 😭 i just wanna see my boys on track again is that too much to ask. anyways here's some oscar bc he's been giving literal crumbs lately (except for casually mentioning his broken fucking rib)

You’re not even sure what you're celebrating tonight. 

All you know is Lando called you a few hours ago demanding you come to some club with him and a few of his other driver friends, and who were you to deny yourself a fun night out? Especially one where you can put all your drinks on Lando’s tab. (You’re not a gold digger—Lando refuses to let you pay for most things when you go out because he, and you quote, ‘makes a shit ton of money, so why not use it’.) 

Now you’re here, sipping the last of your third (fourth maybe?) drink of the night until there’s nothing but ice. 

The music blasting through the club is so loud you feel the bass thumping in your chest, and it only gets louder when you venture through the crowd in search of the group you came with.

Somehow you’d gotten separated, but it’s really not too hard to locate them. All you have to do is look for a very tall, very polite looking British man a head taller than everyone else, and then you’ve found George Russell.

He spots you too, beckoning you over into the VIP section with a cool nod of his head. All the other drivers are around too��Carlos winks at you over the rather brightly patterned mini umbrella in his drink, Max tips his glass at you as you make your way by. 

Charles and Oscar sit together on a sofa further into the section, seeming deep in conversation, but look up as you pass them. The Monegasque reaches up to give you a fist bump, and Oscar just blinks at you, taking a measured swig of his beer. You fight the urge to sigh at his standoffishness. 

Over the years, Lando’s friends have quickly become your friends too, but Oscar Piastri is an enigma you have yet to crack. You know he’s on the quieter side because Lando had warned you of it before you’d met Oscar for the first time, but you weren’t expecting completely and totally icy.

The Oscar that Lando always talks about excitedly is an entirely different person than the Oscar you’ve become familiar with. 

It seems like he can barely look you in the eye whenever you try to make small talk with him, and you don’t think you’ve ever been alone with him because he always finds a way to slip away before you can even try to make a genuine connection with him. 

What makes things even better (read: worse) is that despite all that, you’ve grown a small crush on Oscar. You’re not sure how, and you’re not sure why, but that doesn’t make your feelings any less real. You’ve accepted that this is just the way things will always be with him, you with a pesky crush and him not wanting anything to do with you. 

You find Lando quickly, bopping around to the beat of the song playing without a care in the world. He looks like he’s having the time of his life, and when he spots you, he positively beams, waving wildly at you. 

“Hey, you!” He exclaims. “How are you? I love you!” 

“I love you too!” You chuckle. “I was gonna get another drink, d’you want anything?” 

“What?” He yells, brows furrowing. “You’re gonna dye your hair pink?”

“Another drink, dummy! Do you want another drink?” You make sure he’s looking at you this time, over-enunciating your words, so he’ll understand them. He narrows his eyes at you in the dim lighting but gets the gist of your question, perking up at the possibility of yet another drink. 

“More vodka shots, baby! One for you, one for me! No, one for everyone!” He giggles, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

His movement is so enthusiastic he nearly tips the two of you over, stumbling on his feet clumsily. You’re quick to push him back into an upright position, grimacing with effort as you trudge over to the nearest sofa and deposit him onto the seat unceremoniously. 

“Oh, this is nice,” He sighs, stroking the leather dreamily. “I should—I should get one of these for my place. D’you think they’d let me take it home?” 

“I really don’t think so, Lan,” You reply, amused. “Stay here. Don’t leave this sofa.” 

Lando groans, tilting his head back against the cushions. “Okay, mum. God!” 

Right, so maybe he doesn’t need those extra shots after all. 

You shoot him one more stern look before leaving him behind and heading for the bar, quietly tasking Carlos with making sure Lando doesn’t do anything stupid while you’re gone. 

There’s an empty spot at the bar when you approach, and you slide in, fingers tapping on the countertop idly as you wait for the bartender to finish up other drinks. 

“Hey.” 

You glance to your left to see a man you don’t recognize, smiling at you.

“Hi.” You say back, pressing your lips into a polite smile. You’re hoping that’ll be the end of the conversation, because you’re not really in the mood to be talking to someone you don’t know when all you’re trying to do is order something. 

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing all alone in a club like this?” His eyes rake over you from head to toe as he says it, shamelessly checking you out with a glint in his eye that makes you feel dirty. 

You take a small, calculated step backward, and much to your dismay, he takes that as an invitation to inch forward. “I’m with a group of friends.” 

“Are they all as attractive as you?” He must think he’s being smooth, but it just makes you even more uncomfortable. 

“Pretty sure they’re not your type,” You reply flatly. “Unless you’re into dudes.” 

The man’s nostrils flare, like you’re accusing him of something absurd. “I’m not. I’ve only dated girls. Really hot girls.” 

“Uh…good for you? I don’t really—” 

“What’s your name? I bet it’s something sexy.” 

“Y’know, my friends are probably wondering where I am, so I’m just gonna—” 

“What’s the rush, sweetheart? I’m just trying to get to know you,” He drawls, stroking clammy fingers over the back of your hand. You yank it away, reaching up to adjust the strap of your top just so he wasn’t touching you anymore. Maybe a little bit harsh, but the vibe you’re getting from him isn’t good at all. 

“I have a boyfriend,” You reply stiffly. It’s a boldfaced lie, but you're hoping you sound convincing enough to get this guy off your case. He’s starting to make you nervous. 

He takes an overdramatic look at your surroundings before focusing back on you, shrugging. “I don’t see one.” 

As if the universe is presenting you with a way out, you spot Oscar walking by at that very second, and before you can think you're grabbing his hand, tugging him towards you. He comes willingly, but looks slightly confused as you tuck yourself close to him.

He’s definitely not your first choice, but right now you don't think you can afford to be picky. At least it's someone you know. 

You pop up on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his neck, lips almost pressed to his cheek as you whisper, “Please play along.”

His eyes flick between you and your unwanted conversation partner, and for a moment you think he might blow your cover, but he slides an arm around you after you turn back around, resting his hand on the small of your back. 

You force yourself to ignore the effect it has on you, instead opting to press a little more into his side. His torso is firm under your trembling hands, tense if anything, but the steady rise and fall of his level breathing provides comfort. 

“We got a problem here, mate?” Oscar’s voice sounds more serious than you've ever heard it, and when you look up at him, he looks downright scary.  He towers over both you and the guy you're desperately trying to get rid of, brow furrowed, jaw set. You’re glad that look has never been aimed at you.

The guy shifts nervously on his feet, but still holds his ground. Not a good idea, anyone with an ounce of common sense could see that. “No problems, just trying to have a friendly conversation.” 

“Doesn’t look very friendly to me. Looks like you’re bothering my girlfriend.” 

“Dunno what to tell you, mate. We were just chatting, weren’t we, sweetheart?” 

You wrinkle your nose in disgust, feeling safe enough to do so tucked under Oscar’s arm like you are right now. This guy might be a fucking creep, but he’s not stupid enough to go up against Oscar. “No.” 

He glowers at you, and you feel Oscar’s palm come around, curling around your waist protectively. “Seems like that’s settled then. I reckon you should leave now.” Oscar’s tone leaves absolutely no room for discussion.

Is it wrong that you find it hot? 

“Fine. Don’t need to waste my time on bitches anyways.” 

Oscar stiffens. He moves forward like he’s about to throw a punch, but you’re quicker, splaying your palm over his very sturdy chest to stop him before he does anything rash. You don’t think it’ll go over too well with McLaren higher ups if they learn that one of their drivers got into a fight at a club. 

“He’s not worth it, Osc,” You say softly. He looks down at you, sees the look in your eyes, and his posture relaxes just a little bit. You’re not sure how long the two of you hold each other’s gaze, but when you finally tear your eyes away from his, the guy is long gone. 

Only then do you step away from Oscar, straightening yourself out as much as you can given how things could’ve ended had he not been there to save your ass. He steps away too. With the guy no longer around, there’s no reason for you to be that close together. 

“You alright?” He mumbles, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly. Even in the dim lighting of the club, you can see how red his cheeks are. 

“Yeah. Fine. That guy was just really freaking me out.” 

“Are you sure? That you’re okay, I mean. ‘Cause yeah, that guy was a creep.” 

“Total creep,” You agree, bobbing your head. “But I’m sure. I’m, uh, I’m sorry for putting you on the spot like that. I don’t know what I would’ve done had you not been there, so…thank you. I know it was probably a little hard for you, but thanks anyways.” 

That last part was likely not necessary, but you’re a smidge tipsy right now. You’ll blame your loose lips on the alcohol. 

Oscar’s brow pinches in the middle, head tilting in confusion. “What?” 

“Pretending to be my boyfriend. Pretending to like me.” 

“Why would that be hard for me?” 

“Uh, I dunno, maybe ‘cause you don’t.” 

“You—wait, you think I don’t like you?” Oscar looks truly befuddled at your insinuation, and you frown, because from your side of things, it’s pretty damn clear. 

“I’m not, like, upset or hurt, or anything. You have a right to dislike whoever you want, I don’t care,” You shrug, craning your neck to look for the bartender. 

“It’s not true.” 

You hum absentmindedly, not really paying attention to his words. Where was that damn bartender? You need that drink, now. Oscar’s fingers wrap around your forearm loosely, but tight enough to grab your attention again. “What?” 

“I don’t…not like you.” 

“I said I don’t care, Oscar. You don’t have to try and make me feel better. It’s fine,” You assure him. You really wish he’d stop pushing the subject. “Just drop it, yeah? Thanks for the save, you can go back to the group now.” 

He regards you blankly for a long few seconds, then he opens his mouth, and just when you think he’s about to say something, it snaps shut. Then he pivots on his heel and starts to walk away. You roll your eyes, turning back to the bar. After all this, you definitely need another drink. Preferably a strong one. 

Maybe you’ll get those shots Lando wanted after all. 

The bartender finally spots you and you sigh in relief, glad and ready to finally get what you came for, but before you can get a word out, you’re being dragged away by the hand. 

You nearly scream, your mind jumping to the worst conclusion before your gaze lands on the same broad shoulders, the same head of brown hair that had just left you not seconds ago. It’s Oscar pulling you through the crowd, and even though you’re beyond relieved, you’re also confused and a little bit pissed off. 

“What’re you—hey! Oscar!” You have to shout over the pulsing music, but either he can’t hear you or he’s choosing to ignore you, because he doesn’t stop. 

He muscles through the crowd with surprising ease with you stumbling along behind him until you’re outside the club, in some sort of private patio area. There’s no one else out here and you’re glad for it, because you have half a mind to yell at him.

Oscar drops your hand, running his fingers through his hair, and when he looks up, you detect confliction in those big brown eyes of his. It almost derails your thought process, but you scowl. 

“What is your problem?” You snap, folding your arms over your chest angrily. 

“You think I don’t like you.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, pinching the bridge of your nose. “This again? Fucking hell, I told you to forget about it, Oscar. I meant that.” 

“No, I’m not gonna—you said it, so you obviously meant it. I wanna know why,” He insists. “Why do you think I don’t like you?” 

“Maybe because you haven’t exactly given me anything else to go off of? You always brush me off when I try to talk to you, and when I do get you to have a conversation with me, you can barely look me in the eye. And I swear, it’s like you find every excuse to not be around me.” 

You can’t resist the urge to allow a slightly bitter sounding laugh escape you because, fuck, no matter how many times you tell yourself that you don’t care what Oscar thinks of you, that you don’t give a crap about how it looks like he’s only this way with you, you do care. 

You care so much it makes you want to scream into the void. You shouldn’t care, but you do. 

“So you can say that it’s not true, you can tell me I’m wrong all you want, but I’m just telling it as I see it.” 

Oscar blinks at you again in that way he always does when you talk, the way that makes you want to smack him upside the head but also kiss him senseless too, just to see if he’d react differently. 

“I’m an idiot,” He says. You press your lips together. There won’t be any denying that fact from you. 

He groans, tipping his back towards the sky. “I’m an idiot. It’s not because I don’t like you. It’s—” He pauses, sighing. Crossing his arms, uncrossing them, weighing his options. “It’s because I do like you. A lot. I like you to the point where I don’t know how to act around you without the fear I might do or say something stupid, and then you’ll think I’m a dickhead.” 

“So you thought completely icing me out was…you not being a dickhead?” 

He wrinkles his nose, like he's just realized what his actions must’ve looked like to an outside party. “Oh. That’s not what I meant to….fuck, you must think I’m such a—”

“Dickhead?” You supply helpfully. He nods, shoulders slumping. 

You’re used to long stretches of silence with Oscar, but this one feels different. Now that you know he doesn’t totally hate your guts, the silence isn’t totally unbearable. He steps closer, watching you, gauging your reaction to his movements like you’re some sort of unpredictable creature. 

If anything, Oscar’s the unpredictable one. 

“So…” You start, tilting your head. “You like me?” 

Oscar exhales sharply, nodding. “Guess it might be a bit of a shocker, but I do.”  

“And you already know I like you.” 

“I’ve noticed, yeah,” He says, lips quirking up into a small smile. “What do we do now?”

“Maybe we take things slow. Get to know each other first, ‘cause I dunno if you’ve noticed, but one of us spent a lot of time ignoring the other,” You lilt, half joking. Oscar rolls his eyes playfully, but nods his agreement nonetheless. “I think for now, we should get back inside. I’ve got to make sure Lando hasn’t tried to steal the sofa from right out the section.” 

Oscar’s nose scrunches, head cocking to the side in bewilderment. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it another time.” 

“How about tomorrow over dinner?” He blurts, running a hand through his hair. It flops right back into place, one stray curl hanging over his forehead that he doesn’t seem to notice as he smiles hopefully at you. 

“I’d like that.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Duh.” 

His smile grows bigger, pushing up his cheeks so much it makes his eyes crinkle at the edges. You’ve never been the receiver of this smile before, and now that you are, you never want him to stop smiling at you like this. “Okay. Okay, cool. I’ll text you.” 

“Don’t you need my number for that?” 

“Oh, I’ve uh, I’ve got it already. I nabbed it from Lando’s phone a while ago. Just in case I gathered up the courage to message you. Which I didn’t, as you could probably tell,” He replied, letting out a breathy chuckle. “I wanted to though. I just—I didn’t know what to say.” 

“How’d you get into his phone?” 

He snorts this time, raising a brow at you. “His password’s 4444. Not exactly mission impossible.” 

You really need to have a talk with your friend about Internet safety one of these days. 

The aforementioned friend throws his hands up into the air when he spots you making your way back into the section as soon as you re-enter the club, bouncing over to you to wrap you in a giant hug. Lando mumbles something you can’t understand into your ear and giggles, then spots Oscar lingering behind you and positively screeches, reaching to pull him into the hug too. 

You don’t have time to get your arms out of where they’re trapped against your sides in Lando’s surprisingly vice-like grip before Oscar stumbles forward into your back at his friend’s harsh tug, cheek smushing against the top of your head. The muttered sorry he offers you does nothing to quell your rocket fast heartbeat at being this close to him for the first time.

“Look at us!” Lando hiccups, squeezing you both as tight as he can. Not an easy feat when you’re hugging two people at once. He bumps his forehead against yours gently to draw your attention back to him. (More like lightly headbutted, but you remain un-concussed so you won’t hold it against him.) “Hey, you’re in a papaya sandwich!” 

Oscar’s low chuckle vibrates through his chest and you feel it rumble through you too. You also feel his pinky curl around your own, thumb pressing against the inside of your wrist tenderly. 

It’s a subtle gesture, one that might not seem like much to anyone else, but you’ve gone from sort of acquaintances to something a little more than friends in the span of less than an hour.

Are you even friends now? You can’t even answer that. You like him and he likes you, but the only time you’ve ever spent together has been around other people. 

Still, only two points of contact—you’re not even holding hands and you think you might spontaneously combust. 

But you have to play it cool. 

The good thing about drunk Lando is that his attention span is close to zero, so he quickly grows bored of sandwiching you into a McLaren hug and wanders off again, most likely in search of another drink. You feel like it would be a good idea to stop him but you plop onto the nearest couch instead, letting your head tip against the back of it. 

To your surprise, Oscar motions for you to scooch over, slotting himself into the extra space you create. There’s a respectful distance left between yourselves, but then he leans towards you to be heard over the music.

“Your pulse was racing.” 

“Gee, I wonder why,” You muse. “Definitely not because of how I feel about you.” 

“Ha ha. You’re funny.” 

“See what you’ve been missing out on all this time?” You joke, head lolling to the side to grin at him. 

“I see it.” He’s looking at you unabashedly already, eyes drinking you in like he’s parched and you’re water. The intensity of his gaze sends a shiver down your spine, and god, you want to kiss him so bad right now. 

Instead you take a deep breath, fixing him to the spot with a pointed look. “Stop staring, or you’ll draw attention.” 

Oscar startles like he wasn’t aware he was staring that hard at you, mumbling out another apology before retreating back to his own bubble of space stiffly. 

You feel a tad guilty now. You didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but you and Oscar haven’t even begun to understand what you are to each other yet, and the last thing you want is the driver rumor mill to start spinning its wheels about your budding relationship before you even knew if there was going to be a relationship. It’s the kind of thing you want to keep under wraps until the two of you figure things out. 

Sighing lightly, you slide your hand along the empty space separating you, curling your pinky around his the same way he did earlier. Part of you expects he’ll shy away, so when he reciprocates the action, you’re pleasantly relieved. 

There’s still quite a bit of getting to know each other to be done, but you’re excited to see what this next chapter with Oscar holds.

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new fics :)

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere King Naga // Part 1

Thinking about living in the forest once you’ve transmigrated to another world. Instead of getting caught up in some romance plot or adventure you decide to just live in a little cottage. Where you catch and cook your own food, making some passive income when you do venture into the town. On your way back from one of these trips you happen upon a little bundle crying on the dirt path.

“Oh my, who forgot you little sunshine?”

You smile when their crying ceases when you lightly rock them, beginning to notice a few odd-looking patches on their cheek. Then when those tiny eyes finally open little slits look back up at you while their mouth with little budding incisors open to coo at you. All of it leads to you opening up the bundled wrappings around them to find a wiggly and stubby little snake’s tail. It is then you make the perilous decision to raise this little naga in secret. 

In this world, you could tell it wasn’t advanced enough to accept monsters or anything not human into the community. That you might be branded a monster as well just for caring for the creature. Nonetheless, you rationalize that this is perfect for your forest life–where you’re more likely to meet other monsters than humans. Thus your life with this little one begins and you thank his naga-biology that he grows up fast. 

“I caught a mouse! Are you proud of me!”

“Yup, I’m real proud! Now come on you need a bath.”

But not too fast. Life is good for a while while you tend to the house your little one—Nox ventures to the perimeter of the forest to play before returning to you. He is still a child. Things go on normally until he comes slithering to you with snot in his nose, tears in his eyes, and babbling through tears. Hugging and holding him you check for injuries and when you find none you try to convince him to talk to you.

“What’s wrong, Nox?”

“I-I-There’s a guy out there! A-a-and he keeps following me! Look!”

Hiding behind you and clutching your pants, following his finger to the underbrush of the forest around you harden your stance. Thinking about the knife in your pocket and your other hand holding onto Nox, keeping him behind you. Watching the leaves and branches rustle with movement you prepared yourself for a fight. 

“Are you this child’s guardian?”

It’s another Naga, standing tall on a tail adorned with patches of gold in his white tail. Hiding further in the brush you can tell there are black rings around the tip of their tail which seems to be coiled a lot closer. He’s lean but muscular and his golden eyes are glaring at you. 

“I am. Why?”

He hisses, “To think a human would take in a hatchling purely out of goodheartedness is ridiculous. I’m going to take this child home where he belongs.”

“Nooo!”

“He’s my kid and if you want to fight for him I will do that.”

With a final pat on Nox’s head, you tell him to stay near the house. You goad the naga man into a place near the forest saying you’d rather not do this in front of Nox before taking off running. You know he’s following as you hear him angrily hiss and slither through the wood. Bringing him to a desired spot you turn keeping your knife behind you as he launches his tail in your direction. Expecting it, you dodge finally revealing your knife and aiming it at his tail creating a gash that has him hissing. 

“Haaaa Insolent Human! How dare you!?”

Usually, with a knife like yours, you never would have broken the protection of the scales but taking care of Nox offered some invaluable insight. You tried to dodge again but failed as his tail coiled around you in the blink of an eye. Squeezing immediately it took you a moment to turn your knife around to stab at what scales you could. He grunted but seemingly had settled for the stab at the expense of strangling you. 

“I’m going to enjoy watching the life leave from you, human! Your kind makes me sick.”

The pressure was unbearable but your adrenaline was high and with the simple gesture of bringing you closer to spit in your face you took a leap of faith. Abandoning your knife for some wiggle room you launched forward clamping onto his neck your only weapon left—your teeth. 

That seemed to catch him off guard his tail unraveling enough to let the rest of your body go. Now allowed to pin him down, using your feet and hands to pin down his own as you continued to bite into his neck you didn’t stop until you heard him moan.

“Aaaa~! Wait no, please! You’ve got to let aah~!

In your peripheral, you could see his alabaster tail twirl and twist oddly. From your position, you couldn’t see his face but you could imagine what his expression was. Considering you could feel the connection of his hips bucking against your own. The final nail in the coffin other than his constant streams of wonton moans you could hear the familiar worried slither of your son coming through the wood. 

He was calling for you. Hopefully, so loud he would miss the Naga continuing to make the loud moans despite you standing over him and wiping your teeth of his blood. Finally, looking at him you could see the darkened tips of their ears and cheeks as they continued to oddly curl on themselves. You didn’t bother trying to stop him, not wanting to trigger another fight you just ran scooping Nox up and barricading you both in your home. Hopefully, by the time the Naga man comes to his senses, he will have accepted his loss by then and leave. 

Unbeknownst to you that Naga would spend all night shifting and rolling in their ground replaying the fight. All the while moaning and groaning, driving all the smartest predators far away. This would continue until daybreak when he finally stopped but the heat in his cheeks was far from gone.

“That–that human is perfect…a human…who would’ve guessed.”

After a day you venture out, Nox sticking close to you while you undo the locks of the door with a knife in hand. Looking out you hoped you’d find no one in the clearing near your home—that was not the case.

“Hello human!”

Slamming the door on his face, you replay the expression and the closeness that they were standing outside the door. If only to sate your curiosity you opened the door again. 

“Hi–”

Slam

“How are–”

Slam

“You?”

When he seems to stay in that same place the whole rest of the day, you eventually encourage Nox to keep his nose down and help you with your chores.  Ignoring the smiley Naga who was oddly no longer hostile.

“What are you doing? Hanging your human clothes? How cute can I help?

“Is this how humans catch their food? How human-like so clever I would’ve never thought a net would be how you do that!”

“You are such a good parent to your little one? Would you like to have some more?”

Once you're able to shoo the intrigued Nox away, you decide to hose this guy down for answers. Good thing he’s happy to provide them. He finally introduces himself as a King of Naga who was coming to pass judgment on a Naga child living with a human from the smaller snakes of the forest. You hold your complaints about his presumptuous assessment, to ask why he’s still here assuming the fight said that you were capable enough to raise Nox.

“Yes well, now I’m courting you!”

“Excuse me?”

“You not only bested me in battle, you also did the most submitting action and claiming that a Naga could do. You…bit me~”

“Even so…I’m not a Naga.”

“Well usually that’d matter but I am the King of all Naga once my neck has been bitten and claimed there can be no others that is until you die.”

“Can’t you just pretend I died in the battle?”

“Preposterous your my destined mate! No other will do!”

Thus your days are spent trying to explain to Nox why the Naga you fought with was hanging around so often. On top of that the King Naga whose real name was Shian, had begun to ramp up his advances. No longer happy to just wave at you behind trees or happily follow you with your chores. He gets closer, testing your boundaries and breaking them as he intends to instigate some kind of reciprocation.

He is a King, And he’ll get what he wants....eventually.

Part 2: Here

[peppertoastuniverse]

pep reads: fluffiest fluff edition

I've just been CONSUMING so many jjk fanfics... here are the softest fluffiest fic recommendations since I think we all need it right now. This list is in no particular order – there's so many talented writers out there! These ones just made me MELT extra hard. Mostly no smut, I just needed to be held.

gojo satoru

☆ only you by Kaiseriin [A03: mini series] [status: unknown] [Cursed speech!reader] Other than Gojo, not many people understand the sign language you use to communicate as a cursed speech user. When some students from Kyoto arrive, one tries to learn so he can get closer to you.

☆ summer skies, winter lies by miyaspudding [A03: long fic!][status: ongoing]

"how cruel was fate? how much had he sinned in his past life, for the woman he loved to belong to his best friend? how little did god love him?"

in which gojo satoru learns that emotions are not weaknesses but consolations; and geto suguru realizes that he's always been a little too late for everything. because the furthest distance is an inch away, and the furthest thing from truth is "just friends".

☆best of luck. by reinerispretty [A03: one shot! part of a mini series] [status: unknown] In which Gojo Satoru shows up unannounced, twice.

☆Ah, you were both equally idiotic by Hiroka [A03: mini series] [status: unknown]

4 times others realized something was going on between Gojo and you, and 0 times you both realized it.

[Oneshots from the Old Beats Cinematic Universe]

☆ For A God, Shopping Is a New Adventure by Bun_sun [AO3] [status: on going!] [Baker!reader]

“Would you like anything else?” “Actually, yeah.” He flashes you a grin that only promises trouble, pushing his sunglasses down with a way too exaggerated flirty expression. “Can I get your number too?” “Haha, really funny Gojo. Now, I have more clients so...” But he's already getting his phone out, as if he hasn't listened to a single word you've said. “...Oh, you're for real.” ~ ~ ~ ~ Reader owns a small cafe with their own baked goods. Gojo comes in one day, and absolutely falls in love with their pastries (and with them).

☆ I Want to Kiss You / キスしたい by arminsumi [A03][status: unknown]

You and Satoru falling in love despite a language barrier.

You've come to visit Japan to meet these two boys you met online. Though Satoru can't speak English and you can't speak Japanese, the two of you still fall in love. There's seems to be romantic tension between you and Suguru, too.

geto suguru

it's so hard to find suguru fics without him being used as a plot device for gojo

☆ gentle glow / deep thought by waffiez [AO3: one shot] [status: completed] "I thought about you, you know." Despite the softness of his voice, it cut through the otherwise silent atmosphere profoundly and made your heart skip a beat. "Is that so?" "It is." ☆☆☆ in which you awake to your best friend suguru asleep at the edge of your bed, having returned from a lengthy mission and only really wanting to see you.

☆ unnamed drabble by @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat [tumblr: drabble] [status: completed]

comfy fluff w sleepy needy sugu <33)

☆ Wash It Away by @shadowsandshapes [A03/tumblr: drabble][status: completed]

Sometimes you forget Geto is just a guy. But then he shows a sense of vulnerability that surprises you. After a particularly emotionally draining battle, you run him a warm bath and take care of his aches. ☆ Wisteria and Ciabatta by @hayakawalove [A03/tumblr: mini fic!][status: completed, chapter 2 has smut!]

Traveling merchant Suguru has led a relatively tame life thus far. Growing his flowers, baking his bread. One day, when he ventures out further than normal he comes across something more beautiful than all the flowers in the world. You. ☆ the paint doesn't move the way the light reflects by @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat [tumblr: long oneshot!] [status: completed]

bonus!

☆ Digest Your Feelings (DYF) – First Years! by @whalesforhands [A03/tumblr: part of a longer series of fics] [status: completed] new classmates, new life, new friends(?). a look into the life of the dyf au characters in their first year.

[darkshrimpemotions]

The thing is, Guillermo being too kind and pure of heart to eat humans was always a fucking lie. Like??? Obviously, I think. And the Cannon Capital arc isn't really a departure for his character, it's us seeing all his worst traits highlighted in an environment that makes them MUCH less fun and sympathetic.

Guillermo has always been an intensely stubborn, self-serving character prone to tunnel vision who was willing to turn over pretty much every corner of his soul if it served his goals. Even if he did sometimes feel bad about it or force himself not to think about it so he wouldn't feel bad, he still did it.

He's still the guy who befriended people with the express purpose of luring them in to be killed. For years. He's still the guy who offered one of his oldest friends up to be murdered at an orgy, and only changed his mind at the very last second. He's still the guy whose version of trying to have a normal human life for once involved lying to pretty much every human in his life--his bio family and his boyfriend--about every aspect of his life but his name. He's still the guy who dismembered the corpses of his victims--yes they're still his victims even if he didn't strike the killing blows himself--in the front yard each morning with a dreamy smile on his face as he talked about the heart wanting what it wants.

Sacrificing Nandor to serve his goals at Cannon Capital is really not that different than sacrificing Jeremy to serve his goals as Nandor's familiar, except that in this case he had a lot more time to think about it and still did it, not via silence or omission but via a direct act of betrayal to Nandor's face. Perhaps it's because he never had to suffer any real consequences for his betrayal of Jeremy that no lessons were learned?

It's also really telling that when you reset Guillermo to his base state via sleep hypnosis, it's the sweetest, most wide-eyed and innocent version of him and STILL the first thing he does is offer himself up to be a vampire's familiar, all in a bid to have enough power that he can't ever be bullied again.

It's understandable. It's reprehensible. It's really ugly in a way that's harder to laugh off when you attach that to an extremely timely, familiar (heh) real-world scenario such as a venture capital firm that makes their money through shady real-estate deals that absolutely gut local livelihoods. But the Guillermo we're seeing right now is just as tunnel-visioned and stubborn and selfish as the Guillermo we've always known. We just very understandably like him less for it when it's real-world monsters we've all seen ruin real lives instead of fantasy monsters that are silly and fun to watch.

But this isn't out of character or off course or a step back. Guillermo is deep in denial and clinging to the Cannon Capital job because he can't face what he's lost as of the end of season 5. He's replaced Nandor with a master that's worse in every way, he's still clinging to the house while pretending he's separating himself, he's still sleeping on the remains of the makeshift coffin Nandor bought for him. He tells himself he is facing it and moving on, but I hope this time we all know that's a lie.

And I'm here for it when it all falls down around his ears, and he finally has to face himself. I'm really excited for it, actually!

[rxmxa]

uranus through the houses + the future <3

I saw this video the other day of this girl (colette bernard) who became a millionaire selling claw clips designed to look like teeth (her audience was dentists) but then she expanded when they were a hit so she has like cute claw clips designs for a dozen of professions. BUT all i remember thinking that stuff like this is so pluto in aquarius coded and we’re going to keep seeing people become successful more and more through their specific interests and hobbies.

she was truly self made and her passion for art changed her ENTIRE life (even though people told her it was a dumb idea). Pluto is gonna be in Aquarius for a long ass time and we know the significance it has on social changes, the collective, the government, community etc etc. This is a time for innovation and transformation, and with Uranus’s energy on your side, you can truly step into a future where you lead the charge in creating something new and lasting ⚡️

the point is your weirdness, your out of the box ideas, the shit you think is straight up weird or maybe mee maw and pee paw call “useless” IS GONNA COME IN FUCKING HANDY!!! people are changing their entire lives everyday online and/or by finding their niche. so whatever “weird” idea or hobby you have, keep investing in it !! im not saying bc it will bring u money instantly (although thats always a plus) but bc it will bring you OPPORTUNITIES.

we all have our own claw clip tooth idea and we can look at uranus to show us the forward thinking/ innovative energy that can help us during pluto in Aquarius :) 💙🦋✨✨🪩✨✨💙💙

uranus in the 1st house: moving forward by embracing your quirks and letting the world see the real you. dont ever ever ever try to dull yourself down. the right people will find you. dont shy away from shaking things up with how you present yourself or how you lead others. the visionary is YOU and during pluto in aqua you can inspire others to embrace their authenticity the way you do. in a way YOU are the “unique idea” so take full ownership. Dont be afraid to experiment with your style and image, especially in the moments where you are feeling the urge to try something different! Step into leadership roles that call to you! Volunteer for projects that require someone open-minded or that align with innovative (like new companies, organizations or small owned businesses that are producing/ delivering new kinds of products or services).

uranus in the 2nd house: think of unique ways to invest your money (ik theres a lot of debate with crypto) but anything thats outside the box could be a worthy venture. think about you can use tech to help you streamline your finances or organize your budget! just be open to trying new financial systems. this placement gives me the energy of investing something that others might see as SUPER random or specific but then it takes off years later. this is not me telling u to put ur savings in electric scooter stocks or something but to just be OPEN to sustainable investments that catch your attention that can help u and even ur community!! this also reminds me of tech inventors or investing in tech or USING technology as a way to help you determine the kinds of values you want to have and/or what you actually wanna stand up for.

uranus in the 3rd house: moving forward by shaking up how you show up in your online communities, or your social media presence. have you ever been interested in starting a podcasts or blogging more? (like those conversations you have with your friends about your interests or hobbies can go far or even commentary on the way media looks like and is being used now. Invest in learning new methods of communication you have been interested in (like buying that new camera or learning how to code or finally starting that youtube channel). Use your platform to reach more people!! This also reminds me of someone who disrupts the status quo with innovation in education like maybe writing new curriculum thats more aligned to our modern generation or any other platforms/ media that are up and coming and useful to students??

uranus in the 4th house: focusing on moving forward with your ideal home environment in mind. visualize it and focus on the ways you can start putting in into action! dont be afraid to start over and re-design! think about the ways you want your environment to be emotionally and physically stable for you and what its gonna look like (eco-living? smart homes? communal living?) this placement reminds me of those people that buy mansions or plots of lands with a group of friends and put their money together to help grow and live together! Don't beat yourself up if your idea of home or family doesnt fit the cookie cutter image (which is honestly going away now slowly and will def shift with pluto in aqua). YOU get to decide what home and family is and you can inspire others to do the same. Your idea of family has to align with your desire for freedom and emotional growth.

uranus in the 5th house: going all out in the ways you experiment with your art and creativity. You could be great at creating "futuristic" type of art haha (or investing in art forms that arent super popular or well known rn but you're ahead of the game and they could be popular in the future). Be bold in all areas that have to do with the 5h (think outside the box with how you express yourself artistically and romantically). Pluto in aqua will support you in u turning your creative work and forms of self expression into something that inspires people and gauges strong emotions from them! that claw clip idea was def giving uranus in the 5h energy. She was HAPPY creating it, it was a hobby first (5h) and then people told her it was useless or strange and she kept going anyway and she got to profit it from it, especially through social media (the 5h-11h axis). trust me when I say there is something out there for everybody. EVERYBODY.

uranus in the 6th house: pluto in aqua will urge you to break free from outdated systems and explore new ways to stay productive and healthy!! The traditional 9-5 might not appeal to you and thats okay because it doesnt to a lot of people and they have created their own way. Think about the tech-driven approaches you want to explore in your daily life (apps, the media you use, how you use tech in regards to your health). Think about how tech can help your productivity and your health!! This reminds me of my coworker who bought like this ultraface ring (I think thats what its called) but she loves it and its super high tech and fancy and shit and it monitors a lot of her health and its motivated her in her routines! The way we motivate ourselves looks different! You can move forward by exploring the most flexible options for you.

uranus in the 7th house: you can move forward by redefining what partnership + relationships actually mean to you. now more than ever its time to focus on partnerships where there is a sense of independence and equality. ESPECIALLY bc pluto in aqua is going to redefine and TRANSFORM (pluto) what community and friendships and relationships (aqua) look like in the first place. so be ahead of the game by surrounding yourself and nuturing your relationships with people that are not scared to break away from the norm and actually want to work together and are built to support mutual growth and freedom. dont stress trying to confine yourself to keep someone who is not open minded enough for you! find your person/ people.

part 2 coming soon!! 🪩✨🦋

[sleepyjuice]

protective jj protextiive jj protecitice jj ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

yup yup yup say no more ‼️

one thing about jj is that when he loved someone, he was also fully committed to protecting them at all costs. his circle was small, so when he cared about someone, he would do everything in his power to keep them safe.

but with you, he fully knew he would die before letting anything happen to you. and it sure was a task having a beautiful girlfriend, because to strangers eyes, you were just a pretty face and a pretty body, and that was just a blessing and a curse to jj.

keggers always brought out the creeps, and jj’s blood pressure was always just a bit high every time the two of you went. he would still enjoy himself, but he didn’t miss the way guys would stare at you, eyeing your body as if you were just anyones to have. you weren’t naive about it, you knew people stared, but as long as no one tried to touch you or talk to you, you didn’t let it bother you.

but of course, you didn’t live in a perfect world so trouble was bound to find you every now and then. you had a few drinks and you were feeling good. you had spent the day with jj and this was a great way to end the night together.

“yo jj, I can’t get this keg to tap, can you help me real quick?” john b approached you and jj, gently squeezing the blonde boy’s shoulder.

“yeah I got you,” jj answered, turning to you once he spoke, “c’mon, let’s go baby.” he nudged your waist, nodding towards the direction of where john b had ventured back off to.

you shook your head, “nah it’s okay, kie’s gonna be here any minute and I told her I would wait for her here. you go, I’ll be okay.” you assured him with a smile, not missing the hesitation clear on his face. he didn’t want to leave you alone, but he also didn’t want to make you feel like you couldn’t be independent and handle yourself alone for a minute.

he inhaled sharply before responding, “alright, alright, yeah. I’ll be right back.” he told you, giving you a quick kiss before going off to help john b. you took another sip from your cup, pulling out your phone to check if kiara had texted you.

“no way a pretty girl like you is here by herself.” a man’s voice startled you as you looked up from your phone, a touron, presumably had wasted no time invading your space as soon as you were alone, great.

“yeah, no, I’m not. but I’m not interested. so thanks but no thanks.” you told the man, looking back at your phone, hoping that for once, a man could have the ability to read the room.

“jesus, entitled aren’t you? can’t even let me say more than one sentence to you before being a bitch?” the man snapped, his ego obviously bruised. you did feel a little nervous now, uncomfortable with how quick his demeanor had shifted. instead of responding, you turned to walk away but were stopped when his hand grabbed your shoulder harshly, yanking you around to face him again.

he had opened his mouth to speak again but was interrupted by a fist to his jaw, and you jumped back in surprise at the sudden violence unfolding before you. you weren’t shocked to see that it was jj who had punched him and you set your cup down as jj kept going at him, reaching from behind your boyfriend to grab onto the fabric of his tank top, trying to pull him off of the guy.

“you think you can just touch girls, bro? when her back is turned to you?” he spat, tensing when he felt someone touch his shirt, glancing back for a moment to see that it was you.

“jj stop, stop, it’s not worth it, please.” you pleaded with him to stop, grateful that he had stepped in to help, but it wasn’t worth him getting potentially hurt over or in trouble.

“you’re a fragile ass bitch, dude. fuckin- apologize to my girl and then fuck off. I’m so serious right now.” jj eventually stopped his punches, but kept a grip on the guys shirt as he forced him to face you. he was indeed a bitch, because he barely muttered out a little ‘I’m sorry’ before stumbling back and hurrying away from the two of you.

“jesus, I leave ya alone for not even two minutes and these douchebags think they can try some shit,” jj rubbed at his now bleeding knuckles before pulling you into his chest, his hands rubbing at your sides, “you okay, pretty girl? you’re not hurt are ya?” you shook your head in response, relaxing into his touch. you hated when he had to resort to violence, but you did understand it in this situation. you were just proud of him for not losing control this time.

“I’m okay, thank you for saving me. that was lowkey hot as fuck.”

(not me getting carried away ummmm oops thank you anon <3)

[love-toxin]

MR O’HARA HAS ME ACTING FERAL BOTH OF MY LIPS HAS BEEN DROOLING SINCE I WATCHED ATSV OPENING NIGHT… I NEED HIM TO DESTROY ME

RIGHT??? LIKE--LIKE--

(cws: across the spiderverse spoilers, gn pronouns, smut, rough sex, mating press, size kink, biting/venom, belly bulges, mindbreak(?), breeding mention, a bit of forbidden love trope)

Like....imagine, if you will, becoming an assistant for the Spider-society after your dimension is destroyed. It's mostly because Miguel took pity on you since you're not a spider-person, you had nothing to do with the unravelling of your world, and/or you were meant to gain your spider-powers but an anomaly in your dimension prevented it. Since there's no place for you in another multiverse, he keeps you on his team both to give you asylum and to keep an eye on you just in case you prove to be an anomaly yourself....but it becomes pretty clear pretty early on that you're not really a threat. Not for violence, at least.

You're just a sweet thing that gets doted on by nearly everyone in the society--you're either a refreshing break from the endless spiderman variants running around or you remind the spiders of their Mary Janes, their Gwen Stacies, their Gayatri Singhs, and being a civilian to boot makes you the perfect candidate to have your things carried for you and be given web-slinging rides around the facility even though you're supposed to be the assistant here.

But even so, even though you're treated so lightly, Miguel really likes you and even--gasp--enjoys your company. It can be hard to tell with him, but the most perceptive of the spiders notice that Miguel keeps you in his good graces always. When he's stressed or in a bad mood, he collects himself before he speaks to you. He never snaps at you, and on the very rare times you get caught in his crosshairs, he apologizes quietly and gently and reiterates that whatever it was about, it wasn't your fault. He gives you so much wiggle room for error to the point that his companions sometimes complain outright that he's such a hardass, but he never berates you when you make a mistake, and without fail Miguel will come up with some reason for it; "That's because they don't screw up as often as you do" or "At least I can trust them to do their job", or he'll just tell whoever's bitching to leave you out of it and he'll dismiss you to discuss the matter privately.

Surprisingly, those incidents don't bother him nearly as much as when the inner circle starts getting closer to you. He feels this deep need to pull you away when Gwen offers to take you on a trip through the dimensions (although that's just plain dangerous), but it also bubbles up when Hobie hangs around and encourages you to join his band, and when Jess asks you questions about your life and is eager to hear about any potential romances you might be getting yourself into--there's a lot of single spider-people out there, and you're not tied to any dimension, so you've got plenty of options!

God, Miguel hates when Jess brings that up. You don't need to go anywhere, your place is here. You can stay here safely, which is something he can't promise in any of those other dimensions the spiders come from. But that's not the real reason, he realizes that when he feels that tingle at the sight of you holding Mayday and playing with her, having been given the task of impromptu babysitter for Peter when he has to rush off and do damage control somewhere.

It's you. He likes having you around, and it's not about letting you venture off into other dimensions, he just doesn't want you to leave him. That's why he loves it when you reply to those people, when you tell them "Oh, but I couldn't leave Mr. O'Hara! He'd lose his head without me." or "I really like this job, actually. I wanna keep working under Mr. Miguel." and especially "Miguel saved my life, I owe him all I can give. I could never leave him all alone." because it just reaffirms that desire for him to keep you as close to his side as possible. When he replays those videos of himself and his daughter, the pain is dulled for a while as he sees your eyes in hers, and envisions a future where you create a new family with him--one that he can properly protect this time.

It's that fantasy that emboldens him to lay hands on you, your body so puny and small in comparison to his massive frame, so fragile as he holds your hips in both hands and waits for you to tell him this isn't really what you want. He's waiting for it, anticipating it, even reminding you that you have the option when you look up at him shell-shocked. He promises that your answer won't affect your position here. It falls on deaf ears, however, because you desperately want to kiss him but you just don't think you can reach.

It's so adorable to see you try. Up on your tiptoes, clutching at his suit, straining to try and reach him where he's at--all it takes is an arm around your waist and he's got you off your feet and in the air, perfectly situated to press your pretty mouth to his own and awaken his instincts that have laid dormant all these long years. The stress of keeping each and every dimension following its intended canon has nearly broken him, it might have done so already if not for your unexpected appearance in his life. It's riled him up so much he doesn't think twice about taking you back to his place, nor gives him second thoughts when you help him peel that tight suit off and he tears through your clothes just as easily--maybe it really doesn't matter. His world is gone and so is yours, but you're both still here and you're begging him for another kiss, for more attention. How sweet could you possibly be? Pleading for something you'll always have and not realizing it's the least you deserve, perfect as you are?

Miguel just can't help himself anymore, he's too far gone and you’re too angelic for him to let down when you want him so badly. You don't seem to mind the rough treatment as he pushes you down either, no, you thrive on his aggressiveness and even encourage it to come out as he clambers over you. That pretty smile and those giggles as he shoves your thighs apart and spits, his venom sending electrifying tingles up and down your spine as he fingers the makeshift lube inside you. He's so bulky you can't even get your legs all the way around him when he lowers himself, forced to let your heels scrabble down his lower back as you struggle to find some kind of purchase on him--to just grab something and let it keep you steady as he slides in and rocks you into oblivion. The toxins loosen you up too, thank god, or else you'd be seriously struggling to take him in when he's practically twice your size. And he doesn't want to force it in, he just wants to ease you into the process before he allows himself to batter your poor body with thrusts that shake the whole bed--it's a little bit of payback for flaunting your pretty self around his office without ever telling him how you actually feel about him. Now you know exactly what you've been missing.

Drooling, hair sticking to your skin, sweat dripping down your chest, body gripping him like a vice yet endlessly slick....you're a total mess and he couldn't be more satisfied. You don't even try to keep yourself together, but that's all that he wants--he wants you to lose yourself in the way he makes you feel so you won't ever want to leave. The taboo is there; you're not from his dimension, he shouldn't be planning any kind of future with someone who doesn't belong in his world. But it makes it all more thrilling in the moment even if he can reason his way around it, it makes his every thrust gain power until he's breaking your willpower down enough to have your eyes rolling back in your head, hips jumping weakly as you try to participate. You don't even know how good you make him feel without lifting a finger.

Gliding through you as if you couldn't be more willing to take him, his position is clear just from a glance down at your stomach--the bulge is obvious, and as sickening as it could be your whines as you brush your fingertips over it sing his praises without a coherent word. You're so wet and stupid and needy on his cock, clearly he should've done this a long time ago when you were so much worse at hiding your pining looks at him from across the room. If he knew it would culminate into this, he would've saved the assistant crap and turned you into his stress relief toy that very first day. If he had, you might've already had a family by now....knowing him, at least.

It's still just as sweet to lick your tears up now, though. You're already drunk on his cock, it doesn't make much more difference for him to sink his fangs into your throat and pump you full of more venom straight from the source, the shock sending you straight into orgasm and dragging it out for so long he fears you might just pass out from the pleasure. It's like he's juicing up a plump little fruit until it's so ripe it could burst. And as if your own ecstasy wasn't enough, you really lose it when Miguel has you pinned and flooding that sore, fluttering little hole with so much seed it burns. Jets of pearly-white cum squirting down your thighs, painting you like a canvas without him even pulling out, because you just can't take him at his peak and you know it. You just have to whine and squirm beneath him as he fills you up, his hot breath puffing over your cheeks as he keeps you barely still enough not to wiggle away. With a shift of your hips you nearly slip off right up to the tip, his cum sloshing about and making everything too slick--but a hand slides up your neck and grips the crown of your head, his biceps flexing as he slowly pushes you back down with vermillion eyes piercing through your heated flesh. Lower, deeper, until he's seated himself up in your guts again and holds you there to milk those last few shots out of him, keep him nice and warm with those precious walls uncontrollably spasming around him. Doesn't stop you from pulling his head down closer, though, and whispering your praises while begging in whimpers in equal measure, urging him not to stop now. You're not ready to let him go.

How convenient is that? Miguel won't ever let you go, and he's known that deep in his chest since the moment you arrived--it couldn't make him any more satisfied to know that you feel the exact same way.

[hanasnx]

" I'LL HAUNT THE WORLD INSIDE YOU " — anakin skywalker.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: dedicated to @silxani bcos her fanart got me that good and i wanted to give her a gift. WARNINGS: fem reader | size difference | sexual content | established relationship | sloppy make-out | nipple stimulation | dry humping.

6'7!ANAKIN SKYWALKER lovingly slides his gloved hand up your bare leg, pebbling your sensitive skin in its wake as you're introduced to the cold leather. It's easy to forget his prosthetic lies inside when it's so gentle in its pursuit, starting from the tips of your toes—which it affectionately toyed with—before venturing to greener pastures. Your shorts had ridden up, and those playful fingers take a stroll under the shallow hem to trace the line where your thigh and hips meet. In anticipation, and instinct, you raise them to him, which he visibly notes with a prick of his scarred brow and a twitch of the corner of his lips. In the general's terms, you had made him proud.

Lying on your back, your compromising position does not present a challenge, instead he finds it inviting, having been sitting on his haunches between your legs. He takes advantage of your hips offered to him, and rounds his palm to your backside where he can drag you to his core. Hooking your thighs over his, you're permanently raised, angled to suit his needs as he curls his large body over you in a canopy of his broad and muscled back. He splays his hand onto the ground next to your waist, and you can feel his body heat radiating from him. Curly brown hair fanning out around his head in halo as he leans over you. There are no words to exchange, showing you just how easy you keel over for him with his eyes, holding your gaze as you wait for him to act. It proves you want it, and you bite down on your bottom lip as you feel his callused fingers toy with the exposed skin of your hip. The digits are warm—real. They send a mad mess of tingles throughout your nervous system, settling into your deep center.

Blunt nails drag upwards, scraping your waist as they push your shirt further. Your toes curl involuntarily, and you squeeze your eyes shut, severing the unwavering eye contact he's so insistent on having. Vision shrouded in darkness, you focus on the sensations. How heavy your thighs feel on his, the ache in the spread of your legs struggling to fit his width between them, and his traveling touch taking what it wants from cupping your chest to toying with the sensitive crest that comes to a perked point from the stimulation. He rolls it cruelly between his thumb and index. Eventually, soft plump lips brush yours, until you obediently part yours. He wastes no time reintroducing his tongue to you, slipping it in as you whimper from the lack of acclimation.

His abdomen against your slit flexes as he holds himself over you and deepening the kiss, plunging his tongue in. If you didn't know him better, you'd mistake it for impatience, but you've learned that Anakin doesn't like shallow kisses. It's sloppy and hungry, humming through his nose in contentment as you let him campaign your mouth like a battlefield. If it wasn't Anakin, it wouldn't be pleasurable, but his excitement only builds yours, lying pliantly as he swirls his tongue around yours. If he could reach the back of your throat, you're sure he'd shove it down there just to explore—if not to make you gag on purpose.

He presses into your body, and you keen softly through your sighing nose at the contact of your clit against his leather robing. Out of pure need, you rut against him as best you can, and he affords you some room to do so. His fingers tweak your nipple in their grip, and he swallows the squeak you emit. It adds fervor to your hips, dry humping him as well as you can with the limited leverage you're afforded when your feet still hover in the air from the position.

You chase that high, rubbing your little clit using his body until he helps it along. Generously replacing that large hand on your tailbone, and touch feels like fire on your skin. It's desperate, the way you're lifting your hips to him, and it's rewarded by his strength pushing you into it. With an arm, he coordinates with your body language, helping you along as you hump his abs with a greater pressure. The folds of his clothes catch on your clit in a most pleasant way, and sharp moans spill from you while he swallows them up. Your hole pulses from being empty, but you can't stop now, you don't stop until you make a sticky, sappy mess in your shorts.

[dadsbongos]

my wife is cool, understanding, and goes with the flow

5.7 k words / warnings - fem reader (+referred to as mother/wife), chilchuck's emotional turmoil (he's so in love and so incapable of verbalizing it)

summary - general strings of yours and chilchuck's marriage. good to bad to making up.

~~~

“You know,” you whisper, “If you ignore how nightmarish they were to raise, then they’re kinda perfect kids.”

Chilchuck snorts, letting you hang off his arm as you stand in the doorway to your living room.

Meijack and Flertom are strewn across the couch in opposite directions, Flertom’s feet dangling off an armrest and Meijack’s in her sister’s face. Thankfully, Flertom is not awake to notice the violation of personal space. Puckpatti is curled on the floor before the couch, long auburn hair flayed out and draped over her arms, which she uses as a makeshift pillow.

The front door is wide open, gentle pittering rain having lulled the girls to sleep. Puckpatti had been the one to suggest a ‘slumber party’ in the common space as it rained, even likening the cool air and atmospheric petrichor to camping to incite Meijack. As far as you know, however, none of the girls have been camping, so you’re mystified how that reasoning actually worked.

“Mei and Fler are so big now,” he muses, “Mei thinks she’s ready for the adult world now.”

“As if,” you lay your cheek on his shoulder, silently wishing he’d take the opportunity to kiss your temple. He does not, “We were barely ready when we had them. How’s a nine-year-old prepared for that?”

“That’s what I’m asking.”

Meijack, as if sensing her parents’ lighthearted jabs, rolls over with a grumble and hum, flinging a foot into Flertom’s nose. The younger twin’s face wrinkles in protest, head jerking in the opposite direction -- you and Chilchuck freeze, anticipating a shrill cry, until Flertom relaxes again. The sigh of relief is short, though.

Abruptly, Chilchuck goes rigid, jolting you off him, “Why is Patti on the floor? Like a dog?”

“How am I supposed to know what goes on in that kid’s brain?”

Chilchuck shakes his head and steps over the young girl to shut your front door. Squeaky hinges pull a whine from Patti herself, drowsily rubbing her eyes and calling, “Papa, don’t shut it!”

“What? You want a troll to get in?” he asks sarcastically.

“No,” Puckpatti answers in earnest.

“That’s why Papa wants the door shut,” you kneel by your youngest daughter, brushing back her bangs just to watch her eyebrows scrunch cutely, “So no nasty trolls can get inside…” then you remember your husband’s complaint, “Patti, baby, do you wanna sleep in a chair? Or a bed? The ground doesn’t look very nice to rest on.”

“Yeah, Mama’s right. The ground’s gonna mess up your back,” Chilchuck joins you, ready to scoop up your daughter when she shakes her head.

“Wanna stay by Mei and Fler…” she pouts.

“Okay, but let me set out some more blankets, alright?” you kiss her on the forehead once, then twice when she beams and nods.

Chilchuck is already standing to retrieve spare blankets from your closet, he’s back before you can impede the hallway. He stops you from venturing further by propping a leg in front of you, “Don’t worry about it, I got everything.”

“She’ll need a real pillow, too, honey.”

“Yeah,” he taps at your ankles with his foot until you’re relenting, turning back towards the living room, “I said I got it.”

“Thank goodness for my big, strong man, huh?”

“I am the breadwinner,” he teases, granting you a kiss on the cheek before dropping to lay the blankets out as a makeshift mattress for Puckpatti.

“Self-imposed!” you rasp, stage-swatting at his back, “I could get a job, too!”

“Do you want to?” you want to smack the smug grin off his lips, specifically with your own. In a kiss. For a long while.

“...no.”

He laughs at your sudden shyness. Tempered down only to avoid waking your daughters, “There you go.”

“Boo,” you pull Chilchuck to a stand by the back of his shirt. You pull, and pull, and pull, and you don’t stop until he’s tumbling on top of you into your shared bed, with your door haphazardly kicked shut, “You’re mean to me.”

“I’m mean?!” he whisper-shouts, instantly more affectionate in how he wraps his arms around you and buries his face into your neck, “You choked me, yanking on my shirt like that.”

“You’re alive, aren’t you?”

“Barely,” he abruptly goes limp, “I’m half dead.”

“Half dead isn’t a thing, Chil,” you giggle, trying halfheartedly to shove him off.

“It is, I’m half dead,” he insists, “There’s only one way to revive me.”

“Uh-huh… and that is?”

“A kiss,” Chilchuck lifts his head to look you in the eyes, suggestively bumping his eyebrows, “A sloppy one.”

“No!” you gasp, dramatically.

“Loud and wet,” he nods in even measures, clicking his tongue, “Only way, I guess. Really tough for you.”

“I don’t know about that,” you wiggle out an arm from beneath his body to poke his cheek, “You seem fine now. Very lively and talkative!”

“Means I’m dying faster. It’s the final burst of energy before I shit my pants and die.”

“Ew!” your shout is smothered beneath Chilchuck’s hand, his laughter rumbling your body, forehead digging into your collarbones.

Between choked chuckles Chilchuck manages out a meek, “sorry, sorry!” he gasps for breath and releases your mouth, “That was gross.”

“Yeah, now get off me. You’re nasty.”

“See? You’re mean to me, one mention of shit and I’m just an expendable stud.”

As soon as Chilchuck rolls off you and onto his back, you’re crowding onto him, pawing at his chest and kissing his cheek, “You are a stud.”

“Can I get a kiss for that, at least?”

“I just kissed you, greedy.”

His deadpan stare inspires a bizarre longing in your thumping chest, you stretch to grant his wish. Chilchuck’s hands cup your cheek, holding you close to prolong the kiss as long as you’ll allow. Such restless and selfish want is reserved for behind closed doors, which you wish you could understand, but you don’t.

You’re preoccupied with the dread of death. Half-foots are blessed to live past fifty. Sure, you and Chilchuck are merely scratching at twenty, but life is too short for him to be shy about these things.

“I wish you’d be more open and lovey.”

“Hm?” he hums against your lips, pulling away to stare at you strangely, “Why?”

“‘Why?’” you mock, “I’m your wife! That’s why.”

Instinctually, Chilchuck goes to wave off the answer as a joke and roll his eyes, but then something barks. Both of you pause, heads turning slowly towards the now gaping door to find a shaggy white puppy standing in the dim space. Swiftly, its tail wags, and it barks again before charging towards your bed.

Your screech at the dash rouses Chilchuck from his shock. Clumsily shuffling so he’s in front of you, taking the brunt of the dog’s pounce.

“Since when do we have a dog?!” Chilchuck looks over his shoulder at you, as if you’d know.

“As if I know!” you parrot your thoughts, breath slowing to a calm when the small dog cuddles your husband’s arms, “Kinda cute though, right?”

“He broke in!” Chilchuck accuses, lifting a shoulder to prevent you petting it -- his plan fails miserably and you’re easily scratching behind the dog’s ears, “He could have ticks! He could’ve bit the girls on his way back here!”

“No,” you whine, resting your chin on Chilchuck’s shoulder, “He has a friendly face, he’d never do that!”

“And you know that how…?”

“Aw, Chil, honey, have a heart! He was probably scared of the rain and snuck inside to get away from it!” you reach under the dog’s head to now scritch his chin, “Which is our fault for leaving the door open, isn’t it?” you’re already a lost cause to logic, repeating back to the puppy, “Isn’t it? Yes, it is! Yes, it is! He understands me! He’s so smart, Chil, we have to keep him.”

His silent glowering makes you wilt over his back.

You retreat from the dog to hug your husband from behind, “C’mon, have a heart!”

Irritation pulses through Chilchuck at the turn of tonight’s events. Everything before this dumb dog felt natural, smooth, and familiar. Until you said that.

One thing that makes his heart rate spike. Even though, at twenty, it means very little to him.

‘I wish you’d be more open and lovey.��

He knows this means more.

“Okay, okay,” he eases, snatching a chaste smooch from you before combing a hand down the dog’s soft fur, “I’ll work on it.”

You two never had a dog, though.

Puckpatti is allergic -- you never would’ve gotten a dog since it’d cause your daughter so much distress.

What’s in his arms isn’t a dog, but it isn’t a mimic.

What’s in his arms isn’t a dog because this isn’t real.

.

.

.

Chilchuck’s eyes drift open, a dusty ceiling stares down at him. Slowly, a crushing weight is relieved from his stomach.

Blonde and black hair mingle in his peripherals, then Laios is leaning over him obnoxiously, speaking to the other two while looking at the half-foot, “Does Chil sleep with his eyes open?”

“No,” Chilchuck takes initiative, shoving Laios away by the chin and sitting up with a yawn. His back cracks unpleasantly, and eye crust pokes into his fluttering lids. Rubbing the gross clots away, Chilchuck settles his elbows onto his knees before resting that way -- leaning into his hands even after his eyes have been cleared out.

For a moment, he silently mourns the fading images of his dream; already having forgotten the beginning. No matter how desperately he clings to the story, it escapes, leaking out his ears until all there is left to mourn is the fact he’s awake.

All he knows is that dream ended differently than it should have. Hopefully the ending this time was better than real life, not that it matters. He wouldn’t remember, nor would it change the fact that in reality you two are not together.

“Chilchuck? Are you okay?” Marcille sounds hesitant. Worried.

The last thing he needs is her fretting and prying into what his Nightmare could’ve been about, so instead he lamely says, “Tired.”

“Oh, okay,” she sounds entirely unconvinced. He’s surprised when she doesn’t push.

He’s further surprised when Laios does, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

…

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Chil’,” you croon, hands curling around the man’s waist as he silently uncorks a bottle of cheap wine. He makes sure not to jostle you off as he moves the dark glass to his lips, even cupping your overlapping hands with one of his own to steady you, “You should talk to me about these things!”

“It was fine, we went in -- got what we needed -- got out. I’m back and alive.”

‘Alive’ strikes you, it sticks in the back of your head as soon as he says it. Your arms tighten around his slim waist, the slots of his ribs dig into your forearms and it makes your chest tighten. Swirling thoughts colliding and dragging each other deeper and deeper into your darker concerns: Chilchuck starving himself to maintain an unhealthy weight, Chilchuck burning calories in a revival, Chilchuck having to drink himself under just to fall asleep.

“Would you tell me if you died?”

“Why would you want to know that?” he laughs, yet you’re frowning into his back.

You bite your lip until raw iron spills onto your tongue, gnawing it with the anxiety of how to soften this question. How marshmallowy can you make your tone to avoid lecturing while also not patronizing him? Eventually, you settle on just spitting it out,

“Would you even remember it?” he hums, confused, “You drink a lot, Chil’.”

He squeezes your hands, setting down his wine to turn in your hold, now cupping your cheeks -- flush with upset and ready to dampen with tears, “I don’t get blackout on jobs, you know?”

“But,” you don’t want to pester him, to drive him away from home even during his off time, “Chil’, honey, you’re… with your weight, alcohol could- well- !”

“I know,” he interrupts your stammering, drawing a thumb across the apples of your face tenderly. Though his posture is rigid, and his next statement confirms your suspicion that he just wants to stop talking about this, “I appreciate you looking out for me, but really, don’t think so much about it. Work’s not worth talking about at home. And my drinking is totally recreational, I want to enjoy myself and unwind, is that so bad?”

“No,” you heave with defeat, now planting your forehead against his shoulder. Clenching his shirt in a bunch, you squeeze and squeeze and squeeze hoping it’ll squash out any thoughts of continuing to nag his drinking. It’ll end the same way it always does.

Chilchuck is fine because work is fine and his drinking is fine and his diet is fine because Chilchuck is perfectly perpetually fine.

You’re just a worrywart wife. Your kids are grown, having flown the coop, and you’re going mad in loneliness. You should think less. You should learn to be fine like your husband.

…

“Woah, no way! They want to meet me?”

“Uh-huh,” Chilchuck’s eyes trail after you as you rush from one end of the room to the other, clicking jewelry clasps and snapping buttons into place as you go, “It’s nothing to dress up over,” when you seem to ignore him, he only gets louder, “We’re gonna be late, you know?”

Let me dress up! is what you want to snap at him, but you don’t. Instead, you let those comments join the many others from him that rattle around in the back of your mind like rocks.

“I want to make a good impression,” you finally utter, “It isn’t like you tell me anything about work, I’m excited to meet your friends! Besides, if you wanted me to be more prepared then you should’ve said something earlier.”

“I get it,” and in a bid to be polite, but just coming out tumbling into the rock pile is, “If you had work friends, I’d wanna meet them, too.”

The obvious dig is that you don’t get out. Now that the girls are older and independently caring for themselves, you could more easily find work… the problem lies in how you don’t really want to. You’d be too scared of Chilchuck returning home to an empty house, whenever it is that he does come home.

The hidden dig is that he’s fibbing, he would never want to meet your friends like you want to meet his.

Nevertheless, you tuck a white hyacinth cob into your hair and head for the spot Chilchuck claims his group frequents for after-work drinks. Before tonight, it never really occurred to you that Chilchuck might be grabbing drinks with other people. Not that such an idea alone is what bothers you, rather that he’s out so often and for so long potentially enjoying himself while you’re stuck at home sick over whether he’s alive.

Upon arrival, a pair of tallmen greet you both. Smiles light up their faces, cheeks balling with glee, when their eyes spot you. It should probably be embarrassing how quickly such an insignificant act can get you excited. You wave and they wave back.

“Gonna introduce the lovely lady?” the slightly taller one, black haired with stubble stretching down his neck, prompts.

“We should get to the table first,” Chilchuck reaches for the door, holding it open for you.

(if you were presenting Chilchuck to your friends then you’d repeat yourself introducing him ad infinitum with shining pride, but you add that thought to your rock collection)

“This is my wife,” Chilchuck pulls out your chair for you, waiting until you’re sat before adding your name and sitting beside you, “Hope she’s everything you all hoped for.”

You choose to ignore that. Preferring to strike conversation with his friends until,

“You know,” the blonde woman at the head of the table leans forward, you’ve been rudely trying to avoid looking at her. But how can you blame yourself when she stares at your husband with such a sultry, lidded gaze, “I think you were exaggerating how spacey she is, Chilchuck. Adorable thing’s been keyed into our conversation the whole time.”

Chilchuck grumbles into his rapidly emptying mug of ale, then locking eyes with the blonde woman, “You don’t live with her.”

“Hey!” you sound bratty and grating with the whine, but your spirit feels worse, “Is that what you tell them about me?”

“And clumsy,” the gnome directly across from you chirps.

“But!” the black-haired one from earlier interrupts, apparently sensing your drowning mood, “You’re a good mom! Great, even!”

“Oh,” the compliment does very little to satiate you, given what’s been said against you (you don’t stop to consider that Chilchuck mentions those things because he finds them charming). You look over to your husband, “I’m a good mom?”

Chilchuck is drunkenly chortling over something you hadn’t heard the blonde woman say.

But at least you’re a good mom.

Something plops against the hand buried in your lap. A scattered white hyacinth. Embarrassed suddenly by how much effort you put into your outfit, you sweep the flower off your leg and stare at the table -- praying to avoid more glimpses of the blonde at the head of the table.

Nobody seems to notice your veil of silence, not even Chilchuck to tease you proving his point about spacing out.

On the trek home, you trail behind Chilchuck to test if he’ll notice. At some point, you’re three full paces behind him, and you theorize that the weight of all your freshly added brain-rocks is slowing you down. Again, he holds the door to your shared home open, but does not ask the cause for your sour mood.

Assuming he’s even noticed, anyway.

Given the way he leaves the next morning for another job with little more than a kiss to your forehead, you assume he didn’t. Venomously, you wonder if he would notice the blonde in a bad mood.

That same morning, not knowing how long he’ll be away this time, you pack up and head for Flertom’s house with Puckpatti.

(a flickering hope tries to toss the rocks through your ears, assuring that Chilchuck will come for you as soon as he’s seen you missing)

…

Four years later, Chilchuck does finally come for you.

“Hey, Mama?” Flertom creeps around the corner to the kitchen, hands wrinkled in the skirt of her dress nervously, “You have a visitor…”

Looking up from your book, you roll the handle of your coffee mug in your palm, making the bottom scrape against your daughter’s tablecloth, “Who’d visit me?”

“Dad.”

That makes you hesitate before slipping your book closed around your thumb, “Your father’s here?”

“He’s at the door,” she nods, voice lowering as if he’d hear her across the house, “There’s an elf lady with him!”

“Oh, you’re- !” you purse your lips, sighing through your nose, and nod. Rising to a stand, you replace your thumb with a proper bookmark before skirting around Flertom and through the hall. Curses coagulate in your throat, and you suffer them silently, holding them until they melt back into your chest, not wanting to swear out your ex in front of his daughter.

With more force than perhaps necessary, you pull the door open and annoyedly flick your eyes from Chilchuck to the blonde elf woman behind him.

“What? Came to show off?”

Chilchuck flushes red, shaking his head and tilting a preciously wrapped bouquet towards you, “No! No, we’re not together.”

Elf Lady lets out a quiet gasp before refusing sharply, “Not together at all! He’s here for you!”

“I figure he’s here for me,” you’re much more bitter than you thought you’d be, although to be fair whenever you imagined Chilchuck coming to see you he was never with another woman, “If you’re not together, why are you here?”

She frowns at your tone, Chilchuck sticking an arm out in front of her, “She’s my coworker. And friend. She pushed me to come see you,” he steps forward, waving the flowers under your nose, “Can we talk?”

“About what, Chilchuck?”

His eyes widen at the use of his formal name, plastic wrap crinkling loudly as he squeezes the flowers. Then his gaze drops to his feet, “I didn’t realize we were so unfamiliar.”

“I haven’t heard from you in four years.”

“You haven’t heard from me?” he grins sideways, an agitated twitch in his left eye, “Do you hear yourself?”

You open your mouth to retort, only to then catch the sight of Chilchuck’s ‘friend’ lingering -- staring -- not even three feet back. Glaring at her, you begin to slide the door shut, “I think we’re done here. You show up at our daughter’s house, unannounced, with some pretty, blonde filly and expect us to chat like old friends? You’re just as insensitive as always, Chilchuck!”

As you go to slam the door, Chilchuck shoves his foot in the way, hissing at the resounding ache all through his instep and ankle. Breathless from the sudden pain, he worms the bouquet through the slim gap -- a few stray powder blue hyacinth petals fluttering to the floor at the pressure. Just above the plush flowers is the sorrowful sight of Chilchuck’s wet lashes and batting eyes.

“Come on,” he huffs, not even taking a huff of relief when you let the door open wider. Tensely, Chilchuck wraps his other hand around the bouquet as well, “It’s not like that, you know me better, don’t you? I just need to talk to you,” the wrap squeals again as he squeezes tighter, “I just want you to tell me where I went wrong.”

He’s playing to your big headedness, vying that he’s alone in the wrong. You know him better, most definitely, you know that as soon as you two sit down he’ll bring up the way in which you left. You deserve that much, don’t you? If you could change anything (given that what you can pick from is what was actually your fault), it would be the manner in how you left. You would’ve waited until he was home to tell him to his face.

(except that’s a lie, if you had waited then you would’ve let him sucker you with soft apologies and unfulfilling promises to change)

This is the most vulnerable you’ve seen him in years.

“She’s not coming into my home.”

Chilchuck nods, lips stretching fondly, “You’re so jealous.”

“She’s tall, and blonde! And pretty. And- !”

He cuts you off, tone just as soft as it was seconds ago, “And I’m not giving her flowers, am I?”

“Apology flowers,” you mutter, though sweeping the bouquet from his arms into yours. Skimming one of the soft petals under your thumb before gliding from one bob to the other and touching there, too. Turning toward the burning feeling of eyes on your back, you find Flertom’s blown out stare meeting yours.

Flertom holds both hands out silently, brows raised. Pushing in neither way, only offering to hold -- whether she holds you or the flowers is your decision. You choose the flowers. She giggles and waves you off, whispering to the flowers about what a lovely, empty vase she has just for them!

“We shouldn’t talk here,” you step out from Flertom’s home, “I don’t want to include our daughter in our troubles.”

“What a good mom,” he teases, waving off the elf as he steps down from Flertom’s porch, holding out a hand to assist you down as well. The remark has a new defiance bubbling beneath your skin.

“I can walk myself,” you bypass his offer.

“I know you can, but let me be nice.”

“You had lots of opportunities to be nice.”

A retort is trapped on the back of his tongue. Ultimately, he swallows it, and says nothing except to suggest a bar nearby, “That could be a good spot,” at your judgmental stare, he sputters, “For talking!”

“Right.”

Chilchuck has a favored tavern in Kahka Brud, the one where you told him you were pregnant with Puckpatti. He, very selflessly and pumped full of blind joy, bought a round for the patrons. It's not a particularly popular or nice place, there’s a lingering smell of mildew and the usual customers are lonely old men (basically: Chilchuck). And the door still creaks when he holds it open for you.

And the tables are just as wobbly when you sit there. Chilchuck tries in vain to mask the tipping by forcing it to one side by pressing his elbows down.

“So, what was she doing there?”

“She kept bugging me about my personal life, so,” he sighs, unsure how to explain himself without sounding out of his mind, “In short, I promised she could meet my family.”

“Pretty against your usual tough front.”

“Not tough,” he folds his arms now, hands on either bicep, still trying to keep the uneven table steady, “I just don’t think they have to know my business.”

“You realize how stupid you sound, right?”

“Oi,” a deep voice approaches from the other side of the bar, a man unfamiliar to both you and Chilchuck stands behind the counter, “We don’t serve kids here.”

Chilchuck groans, pointing at his ears without looking back at the man, then his eyes catch the way you’re prepared to hop down from your seat. He shakes his head, “Don’t move for this dumbass. If he can’t tell a tall-man kid from adult half-foots, he’s a fucking idiot.”

“I guess, but what if he just kicks you out for being a dick?” you glance at the bartender warily, trying to sense if he’s gearing up to throw you and Chilchuck out by force.

“I’m not worried about him,” Chilchuck leans forward, almost as if he can assert control over the situation by a meager height difference, “I’m here to talk to you.”

You’re unsure how to respond to that. It’s something you’ve always wanted to hear from him, but now that you have it feels unsatisfying. After four years of your sudden disappearance from his life, he’s finally given chase.

“Do you have any idea why I left?”

“Roughly,” he admits, voice quiet, eyes redirected to the table in shame, “I wasn’t there for you, right?”

“That’s a bit simplified. When you were on crawls, it felt like you being away for work felt the same as when you were home.”

“I wasn’t there for you,” he restates, nodding slowly, “So, that was it?”

His lack of tension hurts you more than you’re willing to admit. Enough that you temporarily forget that you wanted to make him feel the distance between you both.

“Chil…”

You revert to his first name.

“It’s okay, you can say it. That was it. You had enough.”

It goes unacknowledged, and that hurts all over again. It hurts so bad, you start to get angry that he even maintains such an effect on your heart.

“I didn’t want- it wasn’t- I’m…” you groan loudly, eyes clenching shut to avoid him, “That’s the problem, Chil,” his silence prods you on, “You think of me leaving as… as a ‘that’s it’ moment. Do you know how hard that was on me?”

“Leaving was hard on you? I came home to nothing that day! I thought you were just upset, maybe a little depressed, I didn’t think you were planning to leave me! I never thought you’d leave.”

“I told you. I told you why I was upset.”

“When?”

“I told you all the time!” before he can open his stupid mouth, you’re yelling again, “And if you knew I was so sad, then why didn’t you ask?! Did it never occur to you that I might need support? That I wanted my husband to talk to me about how I felt? That he should talk to me about how he feels?”

“I’m no good with emotional shit, you know that. When I’m upset I just feel uncomfortable spilling that onto others, I didn’t want to intrude.”

“We were married! Spouses are supposed to intrude!”

His shoulders droop, face falling like you said something genuinely devastating (but that can’t be, right? why would he be so upset about something he gave such little thought to?), “Were?”

“I was gone for four years before you came to see me, Chil,” you lay your head in your hands, “Four years before you looked for me.”

“I thought you didn’t want to see me again,” he whispers, “I asked Fler about you.”

“She never told me that.”

“I told her not to.”

Redundantly, you say, “I didn’t know that.”

“I thought you hated me,” Chilchuck draws a slow breath, it fills his whole chest before he lets it all out, “And for the first couple of months after Fler told me you were safe, I hated you, too. I was so mad that you didn’t even leave a note. I couldn’t eat or sleep, I was just… confused, and angry. I couldn’t work,” he swallows hesitation, “And the worst part was… I couldn’t talk about it because nobody knew you. Re-explaining it to people would just piss me off all over again.”

“Your old coworkers met me. And we grew up with Dandan.”

“I didn’t want to talk to Dandan,” he huffs petulantly, “I wanted to talk to my wife.”

So many feelings are bottled between you both; shaken up to a fizzy, bubbling mess about to explode from one of you. You fear it may be you. You almost crave for it to be him, though. You hate him. You miss him. You love him.

And you’re lying through your teeth, still, because you don’t hate him at all.

“Being with you, I felt so lonely.”

“I never took it seriously when you said I should open up more. I thought that because we were married that was enough and you’d be content to just be there,” he purses his lips, “I was wrong. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” you reach across the table and pull one of his hands off his arm, lacing his fingers with yours, “I should’ve left a note. I’m sorry. You must’ve been worried sick.”

“I thought some bastards took you. Ran up and down the coast accusing everyone I could see of kidnapping,” he chuckles, although the ragged beat in his voice clues to you that the incident was not as lighthearted as he’s making it seem, “But when I found out the truth, I just thought you didn’t want to be found.”

“Because you wouldn’t want to be found, right?”

“Right.”

“But- !”

“You’re not me,” he squeezes your hand tight, you can feel the full warm softness of his palm without those gloves he pulls on for work, “You’re way different. You run away to prove points,” a bratty hey! follows, “You know yourself really well, and you’re good at being open. I’ve never been like that. I never knew how, it makes me uncomfortable. But you’re my,” he swallows, “You were my wife, I should’ve been comfortable being emotional with you. You shouldn’t have been in a position where me being home was the same as me being gone for days on end.”

“Thanks, Chil,” you smooth a thumb from his knuckle and along his index finger. You glance back up to his face. A sick nostalgia, or perhaps revived affections, rage up from your gut and overdriving your heartbeat. He’s more handsome than you remember.

He shrugs, studying your conjoined hands. As if it’s the last time he’ll see them like this.

It might be.

“What now?” you ask.

“Dunno,” he replies.

Is it pathetic if you ask to get back together? (YES)

“Want to meet my new coworkers?” he blurts, a vicious red overtaking his face.

This is a step. Where exactly, you’re completely in the dark, but it certainly is a step somewhere new.

“You’re seriously not with that elf, right?”

“Of course, not! What kind of person tries reuniting with their wife while bringing a new girlfriend along?”

“You really want that answer?”

“Oh, fuck you,” he snides, getting down from his chair and holding out a hand to help you down. This time, you take it, and leave his palm in yours as you both exit the bar, “By the way, my old boss is a king now.”

“What?” you gasp, spare hand flying down to smooth out your outfit, “Tell me we’re not going yet! I can look nicer than this!”

“You look pretty like this,” his eyes scrawl over your frame, “Not that it matters, right?”

“Why not?” you frown, “I should at least try to look my best in front of a king.”

“He’s just some guy,” he double-backs suddenly, shaking his head sternly, “I don’t even think he’s attracted to people, I think he’s into monsters. You shouldn’t waste your time.”

Oh!

You smile at your husband widely, “You’re jealous!”

“Not even a little. Why would I be?”

“Exactly,” you pull him into your side by your hand in his, “Why would you be?”

Is it pathetic for him to beg to renew your vows?

Yes.

Does he still plan to?

Yes.

…

“You have a wife?”

“Is that so surprising?” Chilchuck can’t help but preen at the shock, carding a hand through his hair like some pompous dork trying to act too cool for the attention, “Yeah, I’m a taken man.”

Clara, a blonde tallman he usually laughs at rather than with, pesters for more information, “What’s she like?”

Her curiosity makes his skin itch, so he shrugs and tries throwing out answers as fast as they come, “Kind of a space case, and clumsy. But it’s cute…” he scoffs when his party coos and ‘aww’s like he’s some kid talking about a crush rather than a grown man his wife, “She’s really caring, too, it made her a good mom,” Chilchuck clears his throat, if only to smother the sight of his broad grin with his hand, “She’s great.”

“We should meet her,” his black-haired cleric suggests suddenly, “She probably wants to know what group has her husband away from home so often. Hopefully she doesn’t hate us, huh?”

“No,” Chilchuck lowers his hand, still feeling a gentle giddy lap over him like sunlight at the thought of you, “She’s pretty understanding.”

~~~

+ and btw and fyi: i think it’d be cool if the dream was actually terrible and only appeared pleasant cuz laios saved chil, like how marcille remembered having a nice dream after being saves. like if the real dream was coming home from a long job to discover his family horribly murdered <3

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Monster x Reader [Werewolf]

In Romanian mythology, Pricolici is an evil spirit believed to be born after the death of wicked humans, able to transform into certain animals such as ferocious dogs and wolves. The etymology is unknown, although it's suspected to be of Dacian origin, thus going as far back in time as the 1st century BC. An ancient creature has set its predatory eyes on you.

Winner of the Folklore Monster Poll celebrating Romanian history!

TW: obsessive behavior, violence, death

[Horror Masterlist] [More Headcanons]

He can tell it's a dream. Nonetheless, it always feels unbearably real. He can smell the incense, hear the hurried trample of feet underneath him. He wants to open his mouth and demand they stop. No words ever come out, the throat is dry and flattened by heavy despair. It's a dream, after all. The priests march on, and the spears are lifted. For a moment, he's blinded by their powerful, sharp glisten. As he gazes at the sacred circle, it occurs to him just how uncomfortable the shackles are. He becomes somewhat distracted by this irritating friction, so much he doesn't register the instructions given by the mysterious men. 

Centuries later, he would stumble upon an old history book by Herodotus that detailed his misfortune:

"The Getae are the bravest of the Thracians and the most just. They believe they are immortal, forever living, in the following sense: they think they do not die and that the one who dies joins Zalmoxis, a divine being. Every four years, they send a messenger to Zalmoxis, who is chosen by chance. They ask him to tell Zalmoxis what they want on that occasion. The mission is performed in the following way: men standing there for that purpose hold three spears; other people take the one who is sent to Zalmoxis by his hands and feet and fling him in the air on the spears. If he dies pierced, they think that the divinity is going to help them; if he does not die, it is he who is accused and they declare that he is a bad person. And, after he has been charged, they send another one. The messenger is told the requests while he is still alive."

The foreign hands tighten around his limbs and he takes a deep breath in, ready for the plunge. Truth be told, he's not too anxious. The first time was terrifying, but one becomes accustomed to death if it repeats itself, night after night as the years pass and millennia settle over it, like a thick blanket of ash and bone and dust. He doesn't remember the pain anymore, only the bitterness. The wrath. He had no business playing God's messenger. He hadn't wished to be choking on his own blood, rippling violently at the corners of his mouth as his eyes dart over the excited masses. There are claps and cheers, and hope, and peace. Just not for him. 

No matter, if they long so dearly after eternity, he'll become their very proof. A tangible undead, a creature of eternity. Let them gaze at their ardent desire as it claws their bowels out for the birds to feed on. Let them sing praise before their God as their soft throats detangle under his fangs. Before he knows it, the corpses lay mangled at his feet and he notices his horrid reflection swaying in the puddles of fresh blood. 

He has become a beast. 

And just like that, the nightmare ends. It always ends here. He pats the sweat off his forehead with the monotonous vigor of habit. It's already noon and the narrow street flocks with curious tourists and natives on their stroll. Every now and then he will venture into the city, just to get a glimpse of the world. He twists the knob and opens a window, enjoying the breeze that cools his skin. His tired eyes wander around with no purpose. 

That's when he sees you. Your wide, carefree smile as you converse with your friend. You're drawing circles along the edge of your coffee cup, propped over the table, entranced by your discussion. Your gentle laugh rings unexpectedly loud against his ears. He finds himself frozen in place, unable to contract a single muscle. 

"Oh, this trail is supposed to have some really nice sights." Your friend is shuffling through unfolded maps, spread out onto the small café table. "We should leave pretty early though, otherwise it'll get dark before the return."

You groan at the idea. Your friend responds with a chuckle. 

"Remember, our tour guide joked about werewolves roaming the outskirts. Do you want to be eaten?" She inquires with a cheeky grin. 

"You know I have a thing for monsters." You answer with a wink. 

The jokes carry on until the bill arrives, and you eventually stand up and merrily make your way down the street. For a brief moment you feel a cold shiver running down your spine, so you peek back inquisitively. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

Ah. By the time his focus returns, the sun is setting, reflecting its crimson rays over the old cobblestone. You've been gone for a while, so he must've been staring into the nothingness for good hours. He clears his throat, mildly embarrassed by his absent-mindedness. He isn't hungry, so he has trouble explaining his sudden captivation with a random human.

Even more bizarre is the consequence of the accidental encounter. The following nights are devoid of the usual torment. Has he ever had a peaceful slumber before? He can't recall. And yet here he is, vacantly eyeing the ceiling without the labored breath or cold shivers, faintly reminiscing about your amused expression. He frowns slightly at the realization that his recollection seems to contain less details compared to yesterday. Your face is smudged by the intense light of the noon, titled at an angle that allows no shadows to discern the features. What will he do when it's entirely gone? A faceless memory, anchored in the depths of his heart as a reminder of what could've been. Is there some universal law that dictates only misery remains unforgotten, or is he just exceptionally unlucky? Infuriating. 

The overwhelming sensation creeps upon him again. A primordial vengefulness that hasn't yet released him from its cold, bony fingers. For once, can't he be granted fairness? His jaw clenches and he marches out of the room. 

Tonight shall be a feast.

The lights are still on in the little tavern inn, and through the small windows he can make out the lively movement of the people inside. He glances at the waning moon one final time. The world may change, and the years may pass, but one thing has never left him throughout the centuries. Always bearing the same pallid, melancholic countenance, his taciturn companion rises, indifferent to the Universe. 

His back arches outwards, the bones tear and twist, the joints dislocate and the skin is giving way to coarse, thick fur. His eyes now carry an amber glow as they rest on the modest building. Without further hesitation, he pounces on the door and it folds like cardboard under his inhuman strength. The room goes quiet and all heads turn to him. He recognizes that look. A fleeting second of fear and curiosity, before true panic settles in. But they rarely have the time to scream. Just as the vocal chords contract and vibrate, their chests are trashed and limbs are tattered. Splattered visceral remains and blood coat the ground under his feral attack.

You squeeze your eyes closed and force your hands over your mouth to ensure your stillness to the massacre. You were just returning from the bathroom when you heard the wails and the wet sounds of mutilated flesh. You'd ducked behind the wall and hid under an end table. What the hell is that creature? You initially thought a wild wolf had somehow made its way into the tavern, but no animal can be this large. There is a backdoor, but on the other side of this hall. You'd have to sprint across the archway that leads into the main room. Then again, if it's this busy ripping the others apart...

No need to ponder your options much. Silence falls behind you, which means the creature must have finished its horrid sport early. His snout picks up a particular scent and he tenses up, expectantly. Could it be? 

The wooden parquet tiles creak under the weight of foreign footsteps; a human approaching you. You look up from under the table. Has someone dealt with the beast? Although you immediately regret revealing yourself. You freeze in your spot, hands propped on the ground, like prey awaiting execution. 

The man is unnaturally tall, having to crouch under the ceiling, with wild black hair and rough features. His chiseled face is painted red, and his clothing is torn apart and soaked in blood. His large hands end in sharp claws, and amid his ruffled locks you can distinguish animal ears. 

There you are.

Well, quite the irony to meet you here of all times and places. From this distance, you look even prettier. He bends over slightly to examine the details that have faded since the first encounter. A surreal experience, really. Seeing you kneel right in front of him and not as a figment of his imagination. He extends his fingers over your face and presses his nails in, leaving a vague trail of swollen, red skin. What a frail being you are.

"Your friend is alive, by the way." His deep, dissonant voice pierces the silence.

"O-oh." You gasp. You were so anxious you barely understood the meaning of his words.

"You may check on her if you so desire, however..." 

He considers it. Normally, even after allowing his anger to seep into cadavers and ruins, all he's left with is disgust and emptiness. Yet your presence seems to fill him with unfamiliar comfort. If one is drowning, is it truly selfish to hold onto the first thing that keeps them afloat? The only people who'd condemn such beggar are the ones that have never been underwater. They don't know what it's like to have your lungs tighten and collapse under the heavy pressure, waving your arms towards a surface that's never reached. 

"...You'll be coming with me afterwards."

You can only stare.

"Don't worry, I won't kill you." He attempts to simulate a smile. "I suppose I'm not too convincing like this", he jokes as he gestures towards his body, "But you have my word I'll never harm you."

"Why, though?" You manage to stutter, frowning in confusion. 

He's taken aback by your inquiry. Perhaps his statement is indeed more threatening than anything else. On the other hand, he hasn't conversed with humans in...longer than he can remember. What might pose as convincing in this case? Drawing out a rose and confessing his undying love among the bodies he murdered feels rather ridiculous. Suddenly, a passage he's once read comes to mind. At the time, it depressed him greatly. Now it feels like the only fitting reasoning.

"Do you believe in destiny? That even the powers of time can be altered for a single purpose? That the luckiest man who walks on this earth is the one who finds… true love?"

"Isn't that from Stoker's Dracula? How is it-" 

You pause and search his eyes. Golden trenches of loneliness and gloom. Your heart is heavy and your mouth curls into a grimace the longer you stare into these pools swirling with agony. 

"I understand." Is all you can mutter as you stand up. 

Have you had a choice to begin with? Not even the frothing waves of a storming ocean can come between a dying man and his only raft. 

[justauthoring]

the trees told me about you.

the trees whisper to you and gojo thinks that makes you special.

a/n: i just started watching frieren and i NEEDED something fantasy okay???? also, i love him <3

pairing: prince!gojo satoru x f!elf!reader

The trees whisper to you.

Whisper words that ghost past your ears and leave your eyes sparkling with warmth, staring at the twinkling green leafs that bristle in the wind. 

No one else can hear them, except for you. 

Some think you're mad, others just don’t like you cause you’re different – either way, you’ve long ago learned not to care.

Because the trees speak to you, tell you secrets of the world and bring you the love you’ve never felt elsewhere. They don’t judge you because you look different, and they make you feel included – loved.

So even though you’re glared at and cruel words are whispered behind your back;

She’s not right. Spending her days talking to trees…

They say her parents abandoned her when she was young… you don’t have to wonder why.

What a lonely life… but no one wants to talk to a girl who thinks trees speak.

You’ve learned that there’s no point worrying and no point in trying to change their minds. 

A life of solitude is one you’ve accepted for yourself. And besides, you don’t feel all that alone in the first, shrouded by trees, protected from the small, the feeling of the dirt and grass and earth beneath your fingers as you smile and laugh and talk.

Yeah, you don’t feel alone at all.

At least, until you meet him.

-

“You know they all think you’re insane, right?”

A moment ago, you’d been positive you’d been alone. You hadn’t heard him walk up, the crunch of his footsteps along the forest floor or even the rustling of his clothing; so when you hear his voice, so much louder, harsher, sharper than the voices that whisper in your ears, it makes you jump.

You’re startled, incredibly so. You lose your footing beneath you, your bum hitting the ground harshly as you turn your head to face the voice, worrying just who it was that had snuck up on you.

It’s a boy. Roughly your age, or at least you assume so. He’s tall. Even though you’re on the ground, you know he’d tower over you. He’s got bright white hair that shifts to a purple hue when the sun hits him just right. And his eyes are a striking blue that rivals even the sky and unlike anything you’ve ever seen.

You’d lived in your small village all your life and you’re positive you’ve never seen this boy before.

“Who… who are you?” Your words come out shakier than you want but then again, you’re not all that accustomed to speaking to others. Most of your time is spent listening… and even you know there’s a difference between listening to trees and real people. You’ve never had someone speak so directly to you before – most of the time, they opt for whispering behind your back even though both you and them are aware you can hear them.

Still, you force yourself to speak; “what are you doing here?”

He’s grinning. Ear to ear. And it’s wide and it’s bright and there’s a twinkle in his eyes that seems some sort of mischievous, yet, the smile feels real and genuine and almost… kind(?).

Then, he’s crouching, moving so he’s more level to you and his head tilts to the right. “Gojo Satoru,” he introduces, saying his name with pride. “And I am going for a light stroll in the woods.”

Gojo Satoru…

Gojo…

That’s… that’s last the name of the king—

Your eyes widen, instantly shifting to meet his gaze while he continues to just smile at you, bright and happy, hands clasped in front of him without a care in the world. You take in his clothes properly then, the detailing and the quality of the fabric, hemmed with laces – clothes you’ve never even had half enough coin to buy.

Clothes you’d never be able to buy.

You’d heard the King had a son but you’d never seen him or any drawings of him either.

A boy that looks like this though? Looks like he could be the King’s son.

“I ventured through the village beforehand,” he gestures over his shoulder. “You are not well-liked.” 

You blink out of your daze, frowning at his words.

Shifting, you move so you’re sitting straighter, straightening out your blouse as you glare at him. “That’s rather rude.”

He shrugs, still grinning. “You didn’t deny it though.”

And you frown because you know he’s right.

“Okay, so, what’s the King’s son doing taking a stroll in the woods well outside of the castle grounds?”  

He pauses, raising a brow; “so you did recognize me…” He hums lightly, pointing at you. 

You nod; “yes, I did.”

You’re well aware that your lack of respect for the King’s son could get you arrested, or worse. But, you don't care all that much. You figure that Gojo would’ve done something by now if he was really bothered by it, and… well, he’s the one who snuck up on you in the first place.

Laughing lightly, Gojo shrugs; “couldn’t stand being there anymore.”

You raise a brow; “the castle?”

He nods. “It’s so… stuffy! Gods, no one knows how to have any fun in there! And I'm constantly getting reprimanded for trying to liven the place up a little.” His words are dramatic, doubled by his actions as he wildly waves his hands around, rolling his eyes as he sulks. “You’d think royalty, with all the money we have, would know how to make things at least a little exciting… but no! They’re dreadfully boring.”

He finishes his rambling with a loud huff, and a second passes before you burst out in laughter.

Gojo blinks at you, once, twice, stunned before he’s grinning once more.

“That’s funny?” He asks, watching you amusedly.

Clutching at your stomach, you shake your head; “sorry,” you gasp. “I just never expected the King’s son to be so… un-princely?”

Chuckling, Gojo’s eyes trail your figure as you continue to laugh; “no?”

“No,” you snort, calming yourself down. Then, a second later, you glance at him; “so you ran away?”

“For now,” he agrees. “And you?”

You blink; “what about me?”

“What are you doing here?”

Your smile fades. “Well… you heard.”

“So, you really do talk to trees?”

You pause, bewildered. “You believe me?”

“Why would you lie?”

And it’s the first time you’ve heard someone say that to you… because, yes, why would you lie? Why would you make all this up?

And yet he’s the first one who believes you.

“I’ve never seen someone like you before you, you know,” he shuffles closer and your breath halts, eyeing him as he leans in. “I thought you all died out.”

Subconsciously, your fingers move to touch the tip of your pointy ears that’s hidden by your hair. “We did,” you whisper, “it’s just me.”

Resting his head on his crossed arms, Gojo fidgets in the spot. “That’s unfortunate.”

You hum, not sure how else to respond. It was unfortunate and sad, but no one else had ever seemed to think so. At least not anyone in your village. Scorned and judged because of your smaller stature and your pointy ears… you were a freak amongst humans in your village and they constantly liked to remind you of the fact.

“You think the trees talk to you because you’re different?”

Wide eyed, you turn to Gojo. “What?”

“I don’t hear them,” he frowns, and he strains his ear, cupping it for emphasis as if that’ll help. “And I’m royalty. They should talk to me… but they don’t. I bet it’s because you’re an elf. Makes you extra special then.”

Lips parting, you glance around, taking in the trees, hearing the whispers that have softened, before turning back to his blue eyes. “More special than the prince?”

He smirks; “I guess,” he obliges, chuckling. “Just this once.”

You smile. A real, genuine smile.

“You shouldn’t hide them, either.”

“Hm?”

“Your ears,” he explains, reaching forward. You barely have time to react before he’s brushing back your hair, the tips of his fingers brushing against the skin of your ears as he tucks the hair behind, revealing your insecurity to his eyes. He doesn’t look away, and panicked, you watch him, overwhelmed by how close he suddenly is, breath stuck in the back of your throat.

But he doesn’t look disgusted or freaked out.

He looks… amazed.

“You shouldn’t hide them,” his gaze shifts back to yours, grinning again but this time it’s softer, more demure. “They’re what make you you.”

“They make me look strange. Different,” you mumble to yourself, lowering your gaze as you attempt to pull your hair back out from behind your ear.

Gojo grabs your wrist, small in his own grasp, halting your movements.

You turn to him with parted lips.

“No,” he whispers and it’s the softest he’s sounded, but yet, it’s still so confident. Like he doesn’t doubt a single word he says. “No, they make you special.”

You stare back at him, stunned. But you don’t pull away and you don’t move. You like it, having him this close. This boy who you've just met. This boy who is the King’s son. The prince. Next in line for the throne.

This boy who’s made you feel more normal than you ever have your entire life.

But then he’s pulling away, despite the disappointment that burns through you, standing up straight as you crane your head up to look at him. He’s grinning, ear to ear again, as he takes small steps back.

“I should go,” he explains, laughing. “My father is probably throwing a fit. But, come back tomorrow okay?”

You raise a brow, tilting your head in wonder.

He just laughs.

“I plan to run away again.” 

Is all he says and then he’s turning, offering you a short wave before disappearing through the thick of the trees, leaving you to yourself and the whispers.

You stare at the place he left, undeniably grinning from ear to ear yourself now.

“Yes,” you nod to the whispers. “I think I like him too.”

[velocesainz]

Oscar Piastri

friends to lovers(I wanted to ask if you don't mind adding that when they're going to have sex reader is insecure of her body)

Bathrobe: You're literally perfect

Mesh top: Why do you care so much

Shirt: Your moans are my favourite sound

Tank top: I can't get enough of you

Tunic: Jealous? So what if I am jealous

Cufflinks: Jealousy

Leg warmer: Degradation

Tie: Choking

Mirror sex

A/n: Thank you for the order! Enjoy!

Friend no more

F1 Masterlist | Main masterlist |

Summary: Oscar and reader are best friends and garner feeling for each other. Reader thinking it’s a lost cause after being accidentally friend-zoned by Oscar tries to move on but Oscar has other plans

Pairing: Oscar piastri x reader

Warnings: smut, slight angst

Order receipt:

Bathrobe: You’re literally perfect

Mesh top: Why do you care so much

Shirt: Your moans are my favourite sound

Tank top: I can’t get enough of you

Tunic: Jealous? So what if I am jealous

Cufflink: Jealousy

Leg warmer: Degradation

Tie: Choking

Bucket hat: Mirror sex

Face mask: Insecure reader

Reader pov:

I sat at our apartment waiting for my best friend to arrive so we can get ready to go together to a party that Oscar decided to drag me to

One thing about me is that I care deeply for the people I love and will to anything for them, even it means sacrificing a perfectly good lazy saturday evening that I could've spent watching tv shows and binge eating chips.

I love Oscar, much more than a friend and I have a suspicion that he feels the same judging by the way he cares for and looks at me . His mom herself told me she was sure that he liked me but you never know, I'm waiting for him to make the first move just to be sure

Me and him have been friends ever since we were in diapers. Our parents were best friends and so we followed the same. I followed Oscar around in the gap year I had taken before uni and we grew impossibly closer.

I was still working on my degree in aerodynamics hoping to join Oscar in his ventures in formula 1.

My train of thought was cut off by the doorbell ringing pulling me back into the real world

I quickly opened the door and let Oscar in

"So what are you planning on wearing?" Oscar questioned as he started picking out what he was going to wear

"I don't really know, maybe a pair of jeans and a shirt?" I responded still contemplating outfit choices

"Oh come on that's so boring, let loose, wear some dresses for a change" He told me and took me by surprise

I guess he was right, maybe he was going to confess and that's why he's making me dress nice.

I put on a short satin black dress feeling sort of exposed and insecure and quickly did my make up and curled my hair

"Ok I'm ready to go!" I called out to Oscar

I froze when I saw him, he looked so goddamn hot. He was in a simple pair of blue jeans a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up

I swear I was going to melt right then and there

"Y-you look absolutely gorgeous" He sputtered

"Getting a compliment for you? I must look really hot then huh" I replied sarcastically

"Let's not get too ahead of ourselves now. Let's get going or we will be late, not that we're not late already"

It was in Oscar's nature to be late to whatever or wherever he goes to do but he's been slowly working on it.

We both sat in his Mclaren and drove to the club where the party was

Upon reaching there we were met with a crowd. I had not met Oscar's friends in formula 1 as of yet so I was nervous as well as excited to meet them today.

Lando approached and brought us in

"So who is this beautiful woman you have with you today Oscar?" Lando questioned

"This is my childhood best friend y/n. We grew up together" Oscar replied breaking my heart

"Are you sure she's not your girlfriend mate?"

"I don't like her like that" With that my heart shattered into tiny pieces. I thought he liked me back.

I guess I was wrong this whole time. I was only his best friend, nothing more.

After we reached the table I quickly made my way away from Oscar to sit at the opposite side

I saw Oscar flirting with a really pretty looking model making me dig an even deeper hole in self hatred and insecurity.

I decided to speak to Lando who seemed interested in me. I mean I had to get over Oscar in one way or another.

As we were talking we slowly started flirting and touching each other softly

Oscar pov:

As soon as we reached the table y/n went and sat at the opposite end of the table which was very odd, she loved sitting next to me.

She was then approached by Lando which made my heart sink. I have liked her for years but I never had the guts to tell her and at this point I don't think she likes me anyways.

Observing th two of them I saw them flirting with each other and lightly touching each other all I could see was red.

I don't know what came over me but I walked over to them and grabbed y/n's hand dragging her out of there

"Hey what gives?" she shouted at me

I ignored her protests and threw her into the car and drive straight to our apartment

As soon as we got home I dragged her inside

"What the fuck is wrong with you? I was having a really nice conversation with Lando until you rudely came and interrupted us" she exclaimed

"You both were getting too flirty and close to him. If I hadn't stopped it you would've ended up in his bed" I tried to explain

"So what Oscar? Why do you care so much?" she snarled out

"I care because you're my best friend and i don't want to see you getting hurt" I replied

"It was literally as if you were jealous of me and Lando being close" she said

Hearing Lando's name made me clench my fists.

"Jealous? So what if I am jealous" I replied my eyes getting darker

"W-what-" I cut her off with a passionate kiss

She broke the kiss quickly

"I'm just your best friend Oscar, go back to those hot models. I'm not as pretty and hot as they are"

This made me angry. How could she think of herself like that? To me and a lot of other guys she was the most beautiful woman ever.

"You’re literally perfect darling. I'll show you just how pretty you are darling" I whispered huskily into her ear and dragged her to my room while kissing her.

Reader pov:

Oscar took us to his bedroom and pushed me onto the plush bed

He took off my clothes one by one admiring my body but being the insecure person I am I tried covering myself

“Don’t do that. You’re literally perfect. Stop shying away and hiding from me” he told me and placed me in such a way that I could see myself in the mirror

“Watch yourself while I fuck you bitch. See how pretty of a slut you look for me”

With that he lined himself up and thrusted into me bottoming out immediately

I let out the loudest moan I ever had and as he continued to thrust into me I moaned non stop he felt so good

“Mhph your moans are my favourite sound. Keep moaning whore”

He then switched positions from doggy to missionary and thrusted into me again

He put his hands around my throat lightly choking me causing me to let out a moan

“Oh you like that little slut? You like when I choke you like that?” He asked

All I could do was nod in response

We both were approaching our highs and his thrusts turned sloppy

“Where do you want me whore”

“In my mouth please” I pleaded

He pulled and pumped himself to the edge while circling my clit which also brought me to the edge

Thick strings of hot cum entered my mouth and I swallowed it completely savouring the taste

“You’re so perfect for me baby. Never leave me” with that he hugged me and we both fell into a deep slumber

A/n: hello lovelies hope you guys liked this, it’s kind of a long one. As always make sure to send any feedback. Kissies ✨

[catsteeth]

Sugar & Violence

Podrick Payne x reader 

+:✿ Chapter 1 ✿:+ : Lucky Boy

chapter 2

Summary: You’re a Mormont being held hostage by House Lannister.  You are acting now as the Handmaiden for Margery Tyrell, whom you’ve grown quite close with. But it seems that a squire has caught your attention as you have caught his. 

CW: afab reader, slow burn, mention violence, blood, mention of harassment, mention of NSFW themes.

A/N: I am not giving up on the leashed dog series yall I promise I have just been PINING for pod the rod recently… and tbh we need a little sweetness with everything happening in the other series okay. He is a rom com boy trapped in a medieval fantasy war and I feel so bad for him.

Word Count: 3348 

It had been many days now being held by the Lannisters. You’d no real duties on Bear Island as it was such a small house. Your Aunt was a fierce leader and needed no guidance. You had chosen to venture off of Bear Island to celebrate your coming of age. You decided to travel all over the realm, you wished to see the world and experience all of it. However at a tavern near Kings Landing a man decided to grab at you. You hated it when men did that, so you took your cup of ale and smashed the whole cup into his nose. 

It broke of course, and of course, like a child he wept. If a man had done such to another man no one would have batted an eye. But because it was a gold cloak you “assaulted”, and because you were you, a Mormont. An enemy house, you were arrested and brought to the Lannisters. They thought of killing you but instead decided to make use of you.  

And they did make good use of you. With you there, Bear Island would be swayed away from ever siding with Stannis against them with you in your custody. Not only that but you were trained in healing, and not nearly as hardened looking as the other women of Bear Island. You were made Handmaiden for Margery Tyrell while she was inhabiting the city. 

Margery had done her part in helping you fit in. She showed you how to style your hair, how to pick a dress that suited your figure, how to manipulate the men around you, keeping you out of any more unnecessary trouble. When she dressed you up, no one would be able to tell you could swing a sword just as well as any Kingsgaurd or sellsword could. 

You see Margery had to pretend in front of everyone else, but with you, you weren’t loyal to the Lannisters and she knew this. Besides you two had bonded after many nights drinking wine late at night in her bedchambers. Like two little girls who had stolen their fathers ale. You’d spend the nights talking of your lives and your wishes. 

Margery was the same again and again, to be the queen. And yours was always the same, to live life and experience all you could.

You and she also talked of men. You’d had experience, and so had she. Not many women would admit it but you two were close enough that you felt you could. 

You and she attended many festive celebrations with one another, and to anyone else it would seem you were enjoying your time there. That was good, you did not want to attract any attention. 

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚

Your station as a handmaiden made it easy to overhear and eavesdrop on many high born conversations. One that caught your attention the most was that Janos Slynt, the commander of the gold cloaks, the man who arrested you, was going to be dismissed from his duty.

You weren’t above pettiness. You wanted to hear him be dismissed with your own ears. You found a small room within the castle. Tyrion was hosting a small dinner with Slynt. This was going to be the dinner where he was going to be dismissed. You pressed your back against the wall beside the door listening in. The majority of the dinner was mindless small talk, until

“Damn it boy!” Slynt said loudly. 

The shout was so loud you couldn’t help but turn and peer into the room, catching a glimpse of the man who arrested you, Lord Tyrion Lannister, and a squire. You saw that the squire had spilt wine all over the hand of Slynt. It made you smile, holding in amusement. 

“My apologies my Lord.” The shorter brown haired squire said. 

“You can pour your own wine.” Tyrion said in defense of the squire.

You looked back to Slynt and saw that you had been seen, Slynt raised a brow at you. 

“You girl! You the Mormont?" Slynt said loudly, 

‘Fuck’ you thought to yourself. Knowing you’d been caught. 

“Indeed, My Lord.” You said, putting on a meek and sweet demeanor.

“Come in here,” Slynt commanded. 

“What are you doing here, My Lady?” Tyrion questioned you gently.

“Looking for my Lady Tyrell, I seem to have lost my way, My Lord.” You said bowing your head. A convincing enough lie.

“I was responsible for your arrest, do you remember that, girl.” His face was confident and irritating.

“I do, Ser.” You said still attempting to keep a sweet and calm demeanor.  

“I thought she was to be punished?” Slynt said to Tyrion.

“She is HandMaiden to Lady Margery Tyrell, and as I am told, a very skilled healer. She has proven to be quite useful.” Lord Tyrion said with a smile looking at you, you smiled back. 

“A girl assaults a member of the gold cloaks and is given a position in your Kingdom?” 

“A decision made by the King. If you wish to disagree with his decision-” 

“Course not.” Slynt interrupted,  “Wine,” he commanded, holding up his empty cup. 

The same squire began to walk towards the man with the pitcher of wine. 

“Not you, boy, the bear girl.” Slynt said looking at you, the irritation boiled inside of you. But you did your best to keep your cool.

You took the pitcher from the squires hands, you looked at him for a moment, his worried expression changed into a smile. It was a smile of total innocence you thought to yourself. 

You took the pitcher and walked your way towards the table, as you began to pour wine into his cup he started to speak again. 

“Tell me girl, are you enjoying the city?” His tone was one of an interrogator.

“Yes, My Lord.” You said pouring, with a cherubic smile. 

“You don’t look like the women of Bear Island.” He said biting his lip, it made you feel ill.

“Indeed, My Lord.” Agree blindly, that’s what Margery taught you anyway

“Women there are beasts,” He said to Tyrion.

“Like you I assume?” Tyrion teased him, it made you smile.

“No, no, like her aunt Maege.” He said and your smile dwindled, but you kept it on. 

You didn’t respond this time, biting your tongue, you felt the anger in you rising but said nothing. You wanted to pour the wine on his balding head, but still, did nothing.

“Tell me is it true, is it true she fucked a bear?” 

“Lord Slyn-” Tyrion began

“What do you wish for me to say, my Lord?” You felt your temper slipping from between your fingertips. Your smile now gone. 

“Do you think I wish for you to lie girl?” Slynt’s tone was harsh,

You stared at him for a moment, your smile snapping back into place. 

“Whatever you’d command, my Lord.”

“Enough.” Tyrion tried to stop it.

“You’d do anything I commanded?” 

“I said enough. Lady Mormont, you may see to your lady.” Tyrion commanded, saving you from whatever was to come next.

You smiled and curtseyed as you walked back to place the pitcher back on the table. With your back turned to the men your face dropped and you made eye contact with the same squire. He looked at you with pity in his eyes. You couldn’t stand it. You spit into the pitcher and smiled at the squire, he tried hard to hold back his amusement, only giving it away with a smirk as he looked down at his feet. 

As you walked out of the room you made sure not to make the same mistake as before. You hid better, committed to hearing this man be removed from his position. And you did, and it was just as satisfying as you thought it would be. Especially when he was escorted by his own gold cloaks out of the tower, kicking and whining like a child.

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚

During the Battle of Blackwater you attended to many mens wounds. 

It had taken most of the night, you were not concerned with the war that waged outside the castle walls. If they won, nothing changed for you. If they lost, you’d either be set free, or once again, nothing would change. Most likely it would be the latter.

You among a few other ladies attended to wounds and dying men while the Maester did as much as he could for those who were far gone. 

Things had slowed down, beds were nearly full, but then knights rushed in holding Lord Tyrion. His face had been cut deeply. The cut had crossed his entire face. You could tell at first glance that it would scar, but he would live. It would have been extremely painful but thankfully he was unconscious. 

They were all shouting at the Maester. To halt what he was doing and to attend to their lord. As he did a tall man, Bronn, the man who replaced Slynt. Dragged a shorter man with short dark hair towards the Maester.

“Lads hand is cut deep, needs help.” Bronn said

“I can’t attend to every cut and scrape when there's a dying lord in my presence.” The old Maester said, quite dramatically you thought. Tyrion was badly wounded but he would live. “Mormont, girl, you attend to the lad!” He shouted to you.

“Is she any good?” Bronn said, the other shorter man looked at you with what looked like embarrassment, “This lad saved that Lord's life.” You huffed at his comment, it annoyed you how he didn’t ask you but the Maester.

“If I’d a cock they’d call me a Maester.” You said walking closer to him til you were inches apart, it made him take a gasp of air puffing up his chest, and his lips formed a line. “Show me,” You said, much softer this time. He relaxed a bit and as you presented your hand, palm facing him. He placed his hand in yours. “Not so bad,” you said as you examined it. 

“Hear that Podrick, not bad-” Bronn said to the shorter man. 

“Not so bad. It is still bad.” You noticed his expression change to a more worried one. You, for some reason, felt the need to let your cold and hardened attitude slip for a moment. “But you won’t lose it. I’ll clean it, stitch it, and bandage it.” You placed your other hand over his, trying to comfort him. “Sit.” 

He nodded and did so, laying his hand on the table. You began to clean it. Your eyes snapped from his wound to his face as he winced. “Is it true?” he looked at you and his eyes made your stomach feel like there were butterflies in it, so you looked back to his wound as you tended to it, “You saved him? Lord Tyrion?” 

“I- I helped him, My Lady.” He said, stammering. Though you weren’t looking at him you could tell his eyes were on your face.

“You’re quite brave, Ser.” You said as you finished cleaning his wound.

“Thank you, My Lady, but I’m not-” 

“He’s no Ser, that lads a squire.” Bronn interrupted, “I tell you what though Lass, you want a knight I’ll be happy to oblige.” He said stepping closer to you, your eyes returned to your work on the squires hand.

“Men like you amuse me, Ser. They believe they are still young, handsome, and desirable. No matter what they look like.” You said attempting to fain genuine amusement as if he’d told a joke.

As Bronn attempted to begin a retort, you heard a small laugh leave the unconscious Lord’s lips, still not fully conscious.

“See? I am a good healer.” You said as everyone looked at Tyrion's subtle laugh as you continued to work. 

The squire looked back at you with a slight grin, as if he were trying to hide his amusement.

“Much braver for a squire to do such a thing.” You said softly just so he’d hear it. 

He smiled at you in response, He was pretty you thought. Men on Bear Island were fearsome, rigid, and gruff. This one wasn’t, the opposite in fact. He’d had a natural goodness about him, a sweetness. 

That's when you realized he was the same squire from the dinner between Ser Slynt and Lord Tyrion. 

“I know you.” You said with narrow eyes and furrowed brows, finally realizing. 

“Yes, my Lady.” His smile and innocent response made you smile involuntarily, you tried to hide it to no avail. You were flattered that he’d even remembered you. The feeling of flattery didn’t come naturally to you at all either.  

“This part is going to hurt.” You said pulling the curved needle through his flesh, he winced and hissed. Your eyes went towards him, normally you never cared. A man should learn to handle pain, you always thought. But you hated to see him in any discomfort. “Bring him wine.” You called out to Bronn. Your words towards Bronn were no near as gentle and sweet sounding as they were towards Podrick. 

He began to drink it, only sipping a little at first, but you pushed the cup up making him down more. “You’ll want to be numb to this.” You explained. 

As he continued to drink you continued with your work. By the end of it you bandaged his hand, “Finished,” You said standing up, and he followed your actions. 

“I can’t thank you enough, my lady.” He said clearly a little drunk from the wine. 

“Alright,” Bronn said grabbing Podrick by the back of his neck and dragged him out of the chamber. You could hear Bronn outside say “You can fuck the she-bear later.” followed by some distant protesting by Podrick.

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚

A day had passed since the battle. You were in your chambers with Margery. You’d told her about all the handsome knights you’d seen that night. 

She’d teased you about how lucky you were to have gotten your hands on so many. You had begun to describe the squire you’d met. How strange it was to have met a man so pleasant in such an awful place. 

As the two of you laughed there was a knock at your door. Margery took it upon herself to answer it. 

“Lady Tyrell, apologies for the interruption. I came to thank Lady Mormont.” You heard his voice and knew who it was immediately. 

“Ah! I take it you were a knight she tended to during the battle?” Margery asked him, you wanted to laugh, but held it in.

“A squire, my Lady.” He said, his tone was somewhat sullen. As if he were embarrassed to say it.

“A squire…” Margery said with her signature smile as she turned to look at you, raising her eyebrows, then turning back to him “Well I shall leave you to express your gratitude.” She said as she left.

You stood from your chair and stepped forward.

“Lady Mormont?” He said walking towards you, as he did he pulled out a small but beautiful delicate yellow flower. It had only recently bloomed. 

“A flower?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. On Bear Island people hardly said the word thank you much less showed appreciation through gifts, especially not such sweet ones as this.

“I don’t have much, my lady. But I- I wanted to show my gratitude.” He said with his token innocent wide eyed look. You took the flower and smiled slightly, which made him smile back.

“It was my duty, you don’t need to give me flowers for it.” He looked down, as if he was disappointed in himself. You smelt the flower, to show your hidden appreciation of the gesture. “Show me your hand.” You held your hands out, he hesitated not expecting you to command such a thing, but he did it as you asked. “Hurting at all?” You asked softly examining the cut.

“No, my lady.” His voice was gentle as always.

“It’s healing well.” You said running your finger tip along the length of the stitches, the sensation made him take his hand away, rubbing it against the side of his pants. 

He grunted a little and cleared his throat, “All your doing, my Lady.” 

You looked at him with a smirk, “How long have you been squiring for Lord Tyrion?” 

“For a short time,” 

“Well, you’ll need to learn to pour wine. You spill wine on every Lord in Westeros, sooner or later you’ll spill it on the wrong one.” You said walking towards a table, you grabbed a glass and a pitcher of wine.

“Pour me wine.” You said handing him a pitcher of wine.

You stepped closer towards him, making his swallow hard. But he took the pitcher nonetheless.

“hold the pitcher like this-“ You said moving his hands position with your own, “from the handle, and the bottom” You looked up into his eyes, noticing he was looking right at you “Keep your eyes on the glass.” You said, snapping him out of whatever trance he was in and going back to the task at hand. 

“Like this?” He asked, his voice somewhat more confident.

“Mhmm.” The hum of your voice too close to him made him close his eyes for just a moment. He finished filling your cup, without spilling a drop, “Very good.” As you said it he and you looked at one another, his eyes were wide once again.

“What were you doing there, my lady?” He asked, with a genuine curiosity. “You said you were looking for your Lady, and forgive me for suspecting otherwise-” 

“Eavesdropping.” You interrupted “I had heard they were sending Slynt away, and I wanted to hear it myself.” 

“How did you hear of that?” 

“Again, eavesdropping.” You smirked

“A-and what are you doing here, in Westeros? You were arrested?” 

“It seems you were also eavesdropping.” You teased him.

“Uh well we were in the same room-” You ignored him,

“I left Bear Island to travel, during my travels a Gold cloak tried to force himself on me, so I defended myself.” You said in a matter of fact, you’d no regrets, and no pain towards the matter. However his big brown eyes looked saddened for you, pity, you couldn’t stand pity, “It’s alright, really.” You said trying to reassure him.

“Do you miss your home?” He asked, sweetly.

“I do,” You responded softly, strange how this man was able to gentle your harsh demeanor.

“What was it like?” When he asked it you were thrown off, no one had asked you anything about your home in a genuine way. No one had any interest in it beyond the same constant boring insults.

“Cold. Not just the temperature, the people. But it was beautiful there. Green, rivers, waterfalls.” You smiled softly thinking of it, and found yourself wondering about him, “What of you? You miss your home?” 

“I didn’t have much of one, my Lady.” He lowered his head,

“How’d you get here?” Your eyes narrowed wanting to know more of him. Genuinely. 

“I was the squire for a Ser Lorimer of the Westerlands army. One night he was drunk, and he stole a ham, he shared it with me. We were caught, and he was sentenced to hang for his crime but I was spared for my name.” 

“Lucky boy.” You said with a smirk. One that made his stomach flip. 

“You are different, with the men at the tables. You’re sweet and… simple- but you're not that.” He said, stammering, trying his best not to offend you. 

Your smirk faded, “Men want sweet and simple. Men don’t beat things that are sweet and simple.” 

“You’ve been beaten?” He asked as if it were a horrific discovery. 

“Most girls have.” You said calmly in contrast 

“I-I am sorry, My Lady.” 

“That’s alright. "

“No, it’s not.” 

“No, it’s not.” You smiled softly at him. “You’re a good man, for a southern man. Or just for a man.” 

“Thank you, my lady.” He said with a slight grin. 

“You don’t have to call me that. (Y/N), will do.” 

“(Y/N)” he smiled to himself “(Y/N) Mormont… it is a pretty name.” His grin grew

“You never told me yours.” 

“Ser Bronn told you-“

“But you never told me.” You interrupted. 

“Podrick Payne, my- (Y/N)” He stumbled remembering to call you by your name. 

“Well, goodnight then, my Podrick.” You said teasingly with a smirk. 

Hearing you say those words, “my” followed by his name made a heat rush his face, a visible one. He licked his lips and bowed his head as he responded “Goodnight, (Y/N)” He said as he left you. 

You smelt the flower once more before Margery barged in, 

“A squire?” 

NOTE:  There is a serious drought of Podrick Payne fan fiction series on this app so I had to.  And yes… as always my babygirls, we will be fucking. JUST HOLD ON…  I don’t know dick about Slynt so his dialogue is probably off so i apologize if you love him or smth lmao.  TAG LIST: This is a new series so if you want to be included comment or message me!