#getting scraps of it only when he proved useful

[panncakes]

“I thought love was war. I didn’t know it was supposed to... I didn’t know it was supposed to be peace.”

c. taylor jenkins reid

[chloe-petrichors]

seething, blooming // jace x reader

your father has always been something of an opportunist, but trying to marry you off to the blacks while he courts the greens? this is taking playing the game to a whole new level.

the rose discovers she is an instrument of war. —victor hugo.

fandom; house of the dragon pairing; jacaerys velaryon x f!tyrell!reader (no use of y/n) warnings; canon au (set after aegon takes the crown but before luke's death bc luke will never die in my eyes), altered timeline (jace and reader are in their 20s), arranged marriage, mention parental death/death in childbed (reader's mother), love at first sight vibes, jace is a flirtatious little shit with his betrothed, tooth rotting fluff, love confessions. word count; 6k+ notes; one day i might write for another man. but that day is not today. jace velaryon u have my heart. i'm not majorly pleased w this fic but it's given me enough trouble and it's as good as it's gonna get! this was longer originally, and was meant to be a bit more political at first hence the blurb/quote choice, but i haaated some of the scenes so ended up scrapping 'em. she's not as long as predicted as a result but still an ok length i think. some of the scenes i scrapped were tragically the smut ones, so have this fairly pg one-shot with the promise of the smut-shot sitting in my drafts coming ur way soon. fair warning that the scrapping of scenes has fudged with the pacing a bit but honestly i can't take this fic sitting in my drafts any longer so here u go!! i have a taglist now, mostly cos eldrith keeps telling me i have to tag her in everything, so lmk if you'd like to be added to it! requests; are open !

the rising sun paints highgarden in shades of pink and gold.

you stand upon your balcony, finger curled loosely over the pale marble as you stare distantly out over the rolling green fields and blooming gardens. the faint bubbling of the river mander in the distance adds to the peaceful morning, the early wash of sunlight coaxing the sleeping world into life. a cool breeze carries the sweet smell of roses and you take a steadying breath, eyes fluttering shut as you tilt your face up to the sun.

it's a morning that starts like many others. you’ve always risen from bed early, the slow blooming of morning stirring you from slumber more often than not. birds chirp and bees buzz and the river flows and you rise with it, like part of you calls to the breaking dawn.

if not for the thick sheaf of parchment discarded on your father’s desk, it could be a morning like any other. but the parchment is there, and this day will be like no other before it.

today, a dragon is expected at highgarden.

a targaryen has not stepped foot in the reach since before you were born. you don’t think even the princess rhaenyra – queen, now, according to some – had come this far on her marriage tour years ago. but your father has taken it upon himself to invite a prince to your home.

you love your father deeply, but in this you think he must be a fool. as lord paramount of the reach he is, in theory, the power of this kingdom. but anyone with a lick of sense knows that it’s the hightowers that the people look to; oldtown is home to the starry sept, the citadel and, perhaps more importantly, the dowager queen’s family line.

the tyrells have only been in power for a few generations, and people’s memories are long. too many know the truth of how house tyrell had been only a steward when the gardener kings had ruled before the conquest. and so too many see tyrell as a house grasping for power that should be beyond their fingers, and your father is apparently determined to prove them all right.

he’s been careful about his neutrality as war threatens to break out between the targaryen kin, brother and sister both claiming their right to the throne and the realm splitting down the middle. your father has not officially allied with either side, walking a careful tightrope to appease both. up until now you had assumed he sided more with the greens, but he’d sent your assumptions crumbling with only a few sheets of parchment.

your father has always been too ambitious for his own good.

gods, how you miss your mother. when she’d been alive, she’d tempered the worst of your father’s foolishness. she’d been a stark before she’d married, steadfast and sensible in the face of your father’s folly. she’d been a woman unlike any other you’ve known; ferocious and a little wild, but with a good heart and a warm smile for any she’d met.

she’d taught you how to be a lady, but so much more than that – she’d taught you to know your own mind. to know when to mind your tongue and when to speak, how to grow your roots so deep you will always stand tall, flourishing and growing like the most determined of flowers. she’d taught you a little of that northern ice, too, reminding you oft that for as much as you were a rose of highgarden you were equally a wolf of the north, and the wolf’s blood has always run thick in your veins. 

she’d called you her little winter rose; delicate and steely and a rare bloom, indeed. she had loved you so fiercely you’d flourished with her tender care, just as the patch of winter roses she’d brought from the glass gardens of winterfell had bloomed ‘neath her careful ministrations. a piece of the north she’d brought south with her, a tiny bit of her home that she’d cradled and cared for until the day you’d lost her to the birthing bed.

your little brother is nearing six, now, and many moons have passed since the sudden grief of your mother had overwhelmed you. but, in recent days you have ached with her loss more often, wondering what she would think of your father’s plans, what she would say to soothe your storm of anxiety. with your looming marriage you find yourself missing your mother acutely, the grief a reopened wound in your chest.

because you are a betrothed woman, now, to be married to a stranger, a prince who is sure to be fighting a war against his kin in the moons to come.

the velaryon prince arrives on dragon back as the sun reaches its peak in the sky.

he dismounts his winged steed in an empty stretch of land a distance from the keep itself, and your father greets him there with a host of staff to accompany him back to the entrance courtyard.

your brother leo bounces in place beside you where you stand with the rest of the household in the courtyard, fairly vibrating with energy at the prospect of seeing a real-life dragon. since the news of the prince’s arrival was announced a sennight ago, leo has done little else but babble about dragons and magic and targaryens. you wish you could share his excitement, his sheer uncomplicated joy, but this visit comes with too many conflicting emotions for you to enjoy it at all.

you’ve always known you would not marry for love. you are the eldest child and only daughter of the lord of the reach – love has never been a factor you could afford to consider. you would do your duty and marry for your house, to seal whatever alliance your father deemed important enough. you’d resigned yourself to this fate as a young girl when your mother had told you in slow, halting words the fear she had felt coming south to marry your father.

but you’d not expected to marry a total stranger. you’d thought your father would at least do you the courtesy of allowing you to meet a suitor before betrothing you to them, but in his feverish ambition to sit his blood on the iron throne he’d promised you to a man you’ve never laid eyes upon.

you don’t want to be queen.

frankly, you think yourself a touch unsuited for it. your father has many times bemoaned your wildness, the wolfs blood that drives you to stubborn recklessness. though you’ve mellowed a little with age and experience, you think you’re still a bit too prone to chaos to be queen of the seven kingdoms one day. never mind the complexities added by the fact that queen rhaenyra’s claim is so fiercely contested, and her half-brother is the one currently physically sitting the iron throne.

thinking about the mess you’re marrying into too much makes your head ache, and the blazing noon sun does little to ease it. leo beside you continues to whisper rapidly about everything he knows about dragons, which is actually quite a lot considering his young age. you think absently you might need to have a word with the maester’s again; leo has wrapped most of the household around his finger, and the elderly maester is prone to indulging your brother when he fixates on a new topic of interest instead of sticking to his lessons.

the sound of hooves on cobble stones startles you from your meandering thoughts, and you straighten your spine as your eyes take in the unfamiliar man riding into the courtyard beside your father while your brother finally falls silent.

he’s handsome, at least; a tumble of dark curls brushing his shoulders, a sharp jaw and a strong nose. though you like to think yourself more than superficial, it eases at least some of your worries to know the prince is attractive to you. your mother had done you the courtesy of explaining what was expected of you on your wedding night after your first moons blood, and in secret since you’d perused the library for books detailing more lustful acts in an effort to satiate your unending curiosity.

you’re worried enough about completing your wifely duties without having to worry about finding the man lying with you repulsive, and so you allow yourself a few moments of relief at his pretty face.

your father dismounts first, gesturing for you to step forward as the prince gets down from his own horse. leo moves forward with you, eyes wide and shining with something akin to hero worship as he gazes at jacaerys. you have a wry thought that perhaps he should marry him since he is so clearly already enamoured, but you brush that aside as your father and the prince approach.

“i am most pleased to introduce my daughter, your grace, as well as my son and heir, leo,” your father says as they reach you, his satisfaction in his successful planning clear as he smiles smugly.

you dip into a perfect curtsey as leo bows a touch clumsily at your side. as heir it would traditionally be leo’s job to greet the prince, but when you send him a sidelong glance you see he is too busy making moon eyes at the darkhaired man to say anything, and so you take it upon yourself to speak.

“welcome to highgarden, my prince. we are honoured to host you,” you greet, finally meeting jacaerys’s eyes. they’re a warm amber shade, the noon sun turning them to liquid honey as he looks at you, and you feel your cheeks flush with the appreciation you can see in his gaze as he drinks you in. it seems he does not find you repulsive either, at least.

he sketches a quick bow, eyes never leaving yours, and you feel your heart start to race in your chest at his attention. “it is an honour to be here, my lady, and to finally make your acquaintance.” he smiles at you then, small and a little crooked but there, and your flush deepens. “i look forward to getting to know you better in the coming days.”

you swallow, hoping your budding attraction is not as obvious as you fear it is. your father is looking increasingly smug as he watches the interaction, though it seems to war with some paternal annoyance as jacaerys lightly flirts with you.

“and i you,” you return softly, a smile quirking on your lips.

“—can i meet your dragon?” leo bursts out, seemingly unable to contain himself any longer, and jacaerys blinks down at him in surprise as you resist the urge to press your palm to your face.

“leo,” you scold immediately as your father chortles at his heir’s enthusiasm for dragons. “the prince has had a long journey. you should give him a chance to settle in before demanding anything of him.”

“right you are, my dear.” your father waves to the household steward before turning to the prince. “alyn will show you to your rooms, your grace, so that you might freshen up, and then we have a feast prepared for this evening to welcome you to highgarden.”

jacaerys nods easily as the greeting crowd begins to disperse, the maester corralling leo to take him for his lessons with fond exasperation even as the boy loudly protests. you mean to go walk the gardens, and so you stay standing in place as the prince trails after your father and steward alyn.

he pauses beside you, though, a slight smile on his face as you look up at him questioningly. your eyes catch on the smattering of freckles on his face, and it takes a moment for you to process his words. “i look forward to speaking to you further at the feast, my lady.”

you smile back at him, cheeks flushing once again as his eyes linger on your mouth for a breathless moment. “i shall save you a dance, my prince,” you return a touch coyly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“only one dance?” he teases, eyebrow arching.

you hum, head tilting to the side in mock consideration as something like satisfaction gleams in jacaerys’s eyes. “i shall have to use the first dance to judge your dancing skills, your grace, before i risk promising you another.”

he laughs then, a little surprised but no doubt pleased as his eyes crinkle with his wide smile. “then i shall do my best to meet your standards, my lady.” he dips into a quick bow of farewell, then, as you finally take note of your father lingering on the steps to the keep with raised eyebrows.

“we shall see,” you return as you curtsey.

you allow yourself a moment to watch his retreating back, eyes dragging over the strong line of his shoulders before you internally shake yourself and head to the gardens, thoughts swimming with honey brown eyes and tanned, freckled skin and a slow dawning certainty that while this betrothal may be unexpected, you doubt it will leave you unsatisfied.

the feast is in full swing by the time the prince arrives at the hall.

the minstrels are playing a jaunty tune as couples twirl on the dance floor. you sit at the head table with leo and your father, watching with a careful eye as your brother cuts up his food. he’s only just mastered the art of eating his food without spilling half if it down his doublet, but as distracted as he is by the festivities and the prospect of seeing a dragon close up, you worry he’s at risk of making a mess of himself regardless.

so absorbed in your task you are, it takes a long moment for you to realise jacaerys has arrived. it’s only when your skin prickles with awareness that you look up from leo and catch sight of the prince winding his way across the floor to the head table, eyes fixed on you. your head tilts to the side slightly as you watch him move, graceful and controlled, through the crowd.

he’s in black and red again, just as he had been when he’d arrived. it seems your father had been right when he’d stated that jacaerys favours his mother’s house colours. you smooth your hand over the skirts of your dress, the deep wine-red of the material feeling less out of place now, before standing with your father to greet the prince.

you all exchange pleasantries quickly as the noise in the hall dims, people realising the prince has arrived. your father ushers jacaerys into the empty seat between you and your father as he raises his goblet to the hall before speaking in his booming voice.

you don’t pay attention to your father’s speech, too aware of the warmth radiating from jacaerys who stands only inches from you to focus. you risk a glance at him from the corner of your eyes only to find his dark honey eyes fixed on you, and you cannot help but smile to yourself even as you flush, turning your eyes back to the crowd.

rousing applause and cheers draw you back to the moment, and you catch yourself in time to raise your wine in toast with your father. you go to sit back down as the crowd returns to its revelries, but the soft brush of a hand on your arm halts your movement. you turn expectingly to the prince, a soft smile on your lips.

“yes, your grace?”

“would you do me the honour of a dance, my lady?”

your lips quirk into a sly smile even as you bob your head in a nod. “i suppose i did promise you one, did i not?”

“that you did, my lady, and i have thought of nothing else since.” dark honey eyes sparkle with mirth as he offers you his hand, and with a quiet giggle you take it and allow him to lead you to the dance floor.

you feel the heat of his hand on your waist like a brand even through the layers of your dress, and it makes your breath catch in your throat. you inhale deeply in an effort to steady yourself as you rest your palm on his strong shoulder, and are immediately overwhelmed by the woodsy scent of him as he claps your hand in his and begins to dance.

you start the dance in comfortable silence, both of you taking a few moments to get a feel for the other and settle into the steps, and when you feel comfortable enough you speak.

“how are you finding highgarden, prince jacaerys?”

“jace, please,” he entreats, and elaborates only when you blink at him in confusion. “my friends and family call me jace, not jacaerys. we are to be married, my lady. it would please me a great deal for my future wife to refer to me as such.”

you nod in acceptance, butterflies erupting in your stomach at his eager expression. “jace it is, then,” you say, and try not to feel the way your heart flutters at his radiant smile in response. “although you have not answered my question. how are you finding highgarden?”

he hums, twirling you as the dance requires and then pulling you closer before responding. “your father has been very hospitable, and it is certainly beautiful here. the grounds especially, though i’m afraid i’ve not had the opportunity to see much of them as yet.”

“a shame we shall have to rectify, i think.” you offer him a small smile as you press just an inch closer, finding yourself wanting to be nearer him. “perhaps i could show you the gardens on the morrow?”

“yes,” he agrees a touch too quickly, and you giggle as his cheeks turn pink. “that is to say— i should like that very much, my lady. very much indeed.”

you lapse into silence once more as the dance reaches its crescendo, and you find yourself reluctant to leave the comfort of his hands as the music pauses while the minstrels ready their next song.

jace seems to share the sentiment, it seems, as his eyes linger on your entwined hands for a long moment before returning to your face. “have i met your standards enough for another dance, then?”

you take a moment to pretend to consider it, eyes narrowing slightly as you hum. he shuffles on his feet as he waits for your response, and you find the nervous motion far too endearing.

“i suppose so,” you concede after a moment, grinning at his smugly pleased smile as he tugs you closer.

“and what about the dance after that?” he asks lightly, something cheeky in his eyes as the music starts up again and he sweeps you along the floor.

“you should not press your luck, jace,” you say imperiously, although the effect is rather ruined by the silly smile on your face as he laughs with you.

jacaerys smirks. “my lady, since meeting you, i have felt nothing but a lucky man.”

you smother a snort, shaking your head at his unrepentant expression. “you are incorrigible.” it comes out a touch exasperated and yet far too fond.

“yes,” the prince agrees readily, a sly twinkle in his eyes. “but i think you rather enjoy it.”

your startled laugh is loud, though thankfully not so loud as to be heard over the minstrels. “perhaps.”

after that, the night is lost to flirtatious banter and dance after dance in your betrothed’s arms as a seed of affection is planted deep in your heart. and when you wake in the morning after dreaming of nothing but jace’s lips and eyes and words, you can think only one thought;

gods, i am in so much trouble.

time passes in a slow trickle of syrupy summer heat.

as the days go by, you find yourself spending more and more time in jace’s company. you’re always chaperoned, of course, a household guard following at a respectful distance wherever the two of you choose to roam. you find the whole thing a touch ridiculous; jace is to be your husband. it’s hardly like spending time together alone would be a significant scandal in light of your impending marriage, but your father insists there will be no doubts about your honour before the marriage actually takes place and so ser dickon is assigned as your reluctant shadow.

the date of the wedding itself remains unset as you and jace start to know one another. your father wishes for the marriage to wait until the war is done – a last-ditch chance to keep his options open, perhaps. Or, if you are feeling generous, a way to try and keep you safe from the greens when war inevitably rages. jace’s mother wishes the marriage to happen as soon as can be arranged – a way to try and ensure further heirs with the uncertainty of war looming, you assume.

you find yourself hoping the queen’s will wins the day as time creeps on. jace becomes ever dearer to you the more you learn about him, and soon you think of your impending marriage with nothing but hope and warm desire.

because oh, how you want him. from the first moment you’d laid eyes upon him you’d been attracted to him, but the more you get to know him, the more your heart opens to him – the more you ache for him. for his mouth on yours, his fingertips on your skin, his voice in your ear. if you were a less reckless woman, a little less shameless, you’d be embarrassed of how easily you think of him in your moments apart.

but late at night when the candles burn low and you are alone in your bed, there is no shame to be found, only the wildness of your wolfs blood and liquid heat as your hand drifts between your legs and you find completion with your betrothed’s name on your lips.

beyond the desire, though, is a slow blooming affection. it feels like every time you learn something new about him or share a new experience together, another petal of tenderness unfurls in your chest. when your father had first told you about your betrothal, you’d not dared to hope for more than civility with your husband-to-be, but now you find yourself harbouring deep fondness on top of steadily burning desire, and you look to your future as his wife with little else but excitement.

you’re not sure if jace feels the same. you don’t doubt he desires you; his flirtation and the weight of his gaze on your form is too frequent a thing for you to think otherwise. but desire is not the same as affection, and though you hope desperately that the way he always seeks your presence whenever he steps into a room means what you want it to mean, you can’t be sure.

after a week passes, you both start to chafe at the relentless presence of ser dickon. it feels like every time you so much as think about inching closer to jacaerys, ser dickon is there with his stern glare of disapproval. and so, when one morning jace suggests taking you to meet his dragon, alone, you are quick to agree.

you leave your guard long behind at jace’s instruction; he doesn’t want vermax crowded with strangers, he explains, but you personally think he seems a little too gleeful at the idea of being alone with you for that to be sole reason behind his insistence ser dickon stays far away. you don’t say anything since you’re equally pleased to finally be spending some time with your betrothed without feeling others curious eyes on you.

your excitement starts to waver, however, as you and jace get closer to his dragon. you’ve only seen vermax from a distance before this, and though it perhaps shouldn’t the size of him startles you. he’s just so large and fierce looking, the sharp spines on his back catching your eye. the beast yawns as you slow to a stop, jace sending you a quick smile before he continues on to greet his dragon with fondness, and the glimpse into vermax’s open maw – gods, there as so many teeth – has your palms starting to sweat.

jace stands beside his dragon, murmuring soothing words in high valyrian that you don’t understand as his hand smooths along his snout. your heart races in your chest, nerves making your hands shake when faced with this great beast. you curse your reckless curiosity, your northern stubbornness that makes it impossible for you to refuse a challenge. you have no idea how jace can look so at ease, the line of his shoulders relaxed and the slightest smile on his face as he talks to his winged steed, but there he stands.

“you can come closer now.” he turns to you, brown eyes shining with excitement and, yes, a hint of challenge.

he expects you to back out, you think, and that realisation has you straightening your spine and pressing your lips together. you twist your fingers in your skirts to hide the way they tremble as you step cautiously forward, eyes darting from jace to vermax and back. when you’re within touching distance of the velaryon prince, he reaches for your hand. the shock of his bare skin against yours arrests you for a moment, the slide of calloused fingers around your wrist startling in how easily it sparks desire in you.

you’re so distracted by the feel of him that you don’t realise until it’s too late that jace has tugged you closer, guiding your hand until it’s pressed to vermax’s scales, and then you’re too busy being surprised by how soft they feel to be annoyed that he’s so easily coaxed you into this position.

you still as the dragon rumbles, swallowing thickly as your fingers twitch against green scales. he blinks lazily at you, an alien intellect gleaming there as he seems to consider you for a long moment, and as you blink back at him some of the fear in your chest shakes loose.

because this is not just some beast, you realise. this is fire and blood and magic made flesh. there is life and intelligence in vermax’s eyes, not one you recognise but one you immediately respect. being this close to the dragon is a heady rush of awe and adrenaline; the knowledge that vermax could so easily harm you at any moment but is choosing not to because he trusts his rider. it’s staggering and wonderful and beside you jace is beaming, eyes shining with happiness at seeing you greet his draconic companion, and you are helplessly, hopelessly, wholly overwhelmed by your affection, your desire, by jace.

you kiss him.

it’s barely a kiss, more a breathless press of your mouth against his, and he startles at the sensation even as his arm loops around your waist. you break apart for the barest moment, nose sliding against his as you tilt your head, and jacaerys sighs out your name with heavy relief before he captures your mouth once more.

you’ve been kissed before, so you know the mechanics of it, but it’s never been like this. his lips move smoothly against yours as his hand flexes on your waist, drawing you closer until your chest is pressed against his. your hand tangles in his hair, fingers twisting in the soft curls and he moans with it, hand dragging up your back to cradle the back of your head tenderly as his tongue sweeps over your lips.

the gentle pressure of it has you gasping and he takes the opportunity immediately, tongue sliding against yours as heat pools in your core. your thoughts tumble wildly, incoherent as you can think of nothing but of how desperately you want more. the taste – the smell – the feel of him is drowning everything out that isn’t jace and you cannot resist it, do not even want to.

you want to kiss him forever, want his hand in your hair and his tongue in your mouth for always. you think he might even let you with how relentless he is, barely giving you a moments pause to catch your breath before consuming you in another desperate kiss.

you finally part only when vermax grumbles, cheeks blazing with heat as you step out of jace’s arms. jace murmurs lowly to his dragon in valyrian, and he nudges his great snout against jace’s shoulder in response before stepping away and curling down into the long grass to sleep. you take the moment to properly catch your breath again, hand pressing to your heaving chest in an effort to soothe your racing heart.

when you peek up at jace from beneath your lashes, you flush deeply at the sight of him. his curls are a mess, his lips swollen and cheeks pink beneath his tan. he looks almost debauched, and it sends a rush of desire through you. you suddenly can think of nothing other than him looking like this only flusher and skin glistening with sweat and in your bed.

the thought startles you into dropping your gaze to your feet, and you shuffle uncertainly. you feel – unsettled. you don’t think there’s anything wrong with sharing a kiss with your betrothed, and yet something like guilt curdles in your stomach as you worry at your bottom lip. you had kissed him. for all that he’d kissed you back, you worry that now he will think differently of you. think worse of you.

a knuckle tucks under your chin, then, lifting your face so that you meet jace’s eyes. you feel small and strangely vulnerable in the aftermath of your kiss, like you have somehow shown him something you never intended to, and the urge to shy away remains. but you are not a winter rose for nothing and so you tuck the doubt away as jace runs his thumb soothingly along the line of your jaw.

“i have been thinking of doing that since the moment you first smiled at me,” he confesses, a hint of shyness in the quirk of his lips even as he stares steadily into your eyes.

“oh.” you blink at him once in surprise, the uneasiness in you finally settling at the fondness in his gaze. “oh. that’s— good.” you curse yourself for your lack of wit in this moment as jace snickers.  “i-i mean, i’m glad that it was not… unwelcome.”

your betrothed looks at you with deep affection, then, cupping your cheek and ducking down to press a fleeting, butterfly-soft kiss to your mouth before reluctantly parting from you. “it was most welcome, my lady. most welcome, indeed.” his eyes sparkle with mirth. “i find myself looking forward to the next time you greet vermax, if this is the kind of response such a thing garners.”

“jace!” you narrow your eyes at him in pretend annoyance, even as you smother a giggle with your fingers. “you should not expect me to indulge in such desires again, then, if you persist in being so smug about it.”

his laugh warms you as the two of you fall into easy banter, leaving vermax to his rest and returning to the ever-watchful ser dickon, and all the while all you can think of is how much you cannot wait to kiss him again.

as the air cools with the dying light of day, you lead jace to the gardens.

in the week since your first kiss, jace has oft tugged you into shadowy corners for more kisses any chance he’s had. his desire for you is matched only by your own for him, and as your confidence in your mutual attraction has grown, you have been equally as likely to pull him into a dark alcove to trade sweet words and sweet kisses in secret.

it’s thrilling and exciting and wonderful, but as the week passes you find a growing doubt whispering in the back of your mind.

while you cannot doubt jace desires you, not when he is so relentless in chasing after your smiling mouth, neither of you breathe a word of any feeling between you beyond attraction. perhaps it is reckless of you, foolhardy to fall for him so quickly – but then you are your parent’s daughter, all wolfs blood and deep roots, and you know no other way of being than this.

so you take him to the gardens as the moon rises in the sky, sneak past the night guards and out into the fresh air. you guide him through the blooming flowers and swaying trees, stopping along the while when the fancy takes one of you to stop and examine an interesting bloom or inhale a sweet scent. at least three times he stops you to slot his mouth against yours, to swallow your breathless giggling with feverish kisses, and each time he does it takes longer and longer for you to disentangle yourselves from each other.

eventually, with swollen lips and mussed hair, the two of you reach the winter roses. your effervescent mood becomes sombre as the moon shines on the blue flowers, turning the petals almost silver, and jace seems to recognise the change in atmosphere, a seriousness overtaking him as he watches you approach the flowers.

“my mother planted the first of these roses,” you tell jace as you kneel at the edge of the flowerbed, uncaring of the risk of dirt on your dress as you brush fingers over the pale blue petals tenderly. “winter roses, they are, from the north. from winterfell. she was born a stark, you see, and when she was betrothed to my father the only thing she asked was to be able to bring a few blooms from the glass gardens. she used to call me her little winter rose when i was a child, and she would bring me here and show me how to tend to them.”

jace kneels beside you, glancing at the side of your face before turning to look curiously at the blue flowers. “they’re beautiful,” he tells you sincerely.

“i’ve always thought so, too,” you agree almost absently, stroking the petals in an effort to calm your racing heart. “everyone told my mother she’d never be able to get them to grow so far south. they’re very rare, you see, and need very particular conditions.” your lips quirk up into a fond smile. “but my mother, for all that she became a tyrell, was always a stark at heart. stubborn, you know. and now look at them, thriving.”

you gesture out at the carefully tended rows of roses. “nobody else comes here, now, other than the gardeners and me. i think… i think my father finds it too hard, being here. it makes him miss her too much. so i come here when i need to be alone. or when i wish to be reminded of her. it's the one place in the world where i feel i can be wholly myself, without any pretence or worry.”

jace’s gaze is fixed on you, now, eyes almost black in the faint moonlight as understanding dawns on him. “thank you for bringing me here.”

you nod once, climbing back to your feet, and jace follows you. he watches you so intently, like he’s afraid that you might disappear if he dares to look away. you feel a little like you might, feel tenuous and vulnerable and a breath away from cracking your chest open.

“i’ve never brought anyone else here,” you confess quietly, flexing your fingers with nerves as jace’s lips part in surprise. “i wished… i wished to share this with you. to share who i am, myself, with you, i suppose.” you laugh a little self-deprecatingly. “however pretentious that sounds.”

“it doesn’t,” jace denies immediately. you sense he wants to say more, but he seems to understand that you’re building to saying something yourself, and so he stays quiet, expression earnest and open and fond as he gazes down at you.

“i know it’s perhaps too soon – we have only known each other a few weeks. but i… when i first found out we were betrothed, i was so scared. i worried you would be some arrogant princeling, and i dared not hope for anything more than civility between us. i’ve always known i would not marry for love, but i did not ever consider i would marry a man i had never met.”

you pause for long enough to suck in a breath, feeling a little like the floodgates have opened and you simply can’t stop speaking, can’t stop the feeling pouring freely from you. “and then i met you, and you were so unlike anything i’d expected. i know we still have so much more to learn about each other, and i know that things are— complicated, with the war, and that our marriage may be a ways off yet, but still— i find myself feeling for you, and i cannot hide it anymore. i don’t wish to hide it from you anymore.”

you let the open affection in his face buoy you as you steel yourself, pressing your shoulders back in a mimicry of confidence. “i wanted to show you this part of me, this place, because i….” you hesitate for a breathless moment, biting your lip, before gathering every scrap of courage you possess and diving in headfirst. “i am falling in love with you, jacaerys.”

you inhale the sweet scent of the pale blue petals deeply, let the familiar scent soothe you as jace stares at you with wide eyes. the winter roses are something that, until now, have been so uniquely yours. as you’d told jace, none other than you and the gardeners comes to this corner of the gardens now. the staff that tend so carefully to the flowers know to leave you well enough alone if they stumble across you, skirts splayed on the ground and fingers diligently caring for the roses. you’ve never even brought your sweet little brother, though you can admit that’s for practicality as much as anything else – his childish energy is a bit too boisterous for these delicate blooms.

bringing jace here, bringing him here to confess the deepening affection you harbour for him, feels raw. feels like you’re tearing your heart out of your chest and offering it up to him for perusal, hands bloody and soul bare. feels like saying ‘this is all that i am and all that i have been and all i will ever be and i hope, i hope, i hope it’s enough.’

jace finally, finally speaks, sighs your name, soft and sweet and tender, and hope blooms in your chest.

“oh, my sweet lady,” he murmurs, crowding into your space as he cups your cheek, and the smell of woodsmoke and dragon and jace floods your senses. “i am falling so unbelievably in love with you. only, it does not feel so much like falling as it is like choosing it, like walking into love with you with my eyes wide open and seeing nothing but you.”

it's almost unbearable, the blazing heat of his gaze as he presses his forehead against yours, and it makes you tremble as your hands clutch as his elbows in an effort to ground yourself to this moment, to him. “our betrothal was decided for us without care or consideration for our own desires,” he says, lips brushing against your own with every whispered word. “i know that as well as you, but i need you to know that if i had the choice i would choose this. i would choose you, your stubborn heart, your fierce spirit, your gracious soul.”

his hand slides from your cheek to your hair, holds you so tenderly like you are something precious, and it steals your breath from your lungs as you revel in his unbridled affection. “i care not when we marry, if we marry, in truth, because in my heart you are already mine just as i am already yours.”

he kisses you, then, a desperate and greedy thing, as if he can no longer restrain himself from devouring you whole. and you are just as needy, hands fisting in his doublet as you press yourself against him and somehow finding yourself wishing to be closer still. the world narrows down to him and him only; his mouth, his hands, his hair. you can think of nothing else, and do not wish to, because in this moment you are wholly yourself and he is wholly himself and it’s enough, it’s wonderful and delicate and it’s enough.

and, there beneath the moonlight and amongst the winter roses, deep and enduring affection, the kind of love the bards sing songs about, takes root.

taglist; @eldrith

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

48 / 1.1k / shark mermen Ghost and Soap + lionfish mermaid reader, courtesy of @porcelainpot :)

...

The moment you and Soap lock eyes, you push yourself up off the soft sea floor. Tendrils of sand, gold in the sun, trail after your tailfin all the way back into the tangle of reef coral you’ve claimed as your home.

Soap laughs behind you.

Why is he so obsessed with this? This stupid game he plays. Ghost—who rolls over near the sunny patch where you were just lazing together—doesn’t care when you’re around. You don’t bother him; he doesn’t bother you. But Soap won’t leave you alone. He all but ignores the clear warning signs all over your body—the auburn striping your tail; your bright, fanlike fins; the enormous fuckoff venom-coated spines running the length of your dorsal line, arms, and ear fins.  

You scowl. Every time you think he won’t find you when you venture out into the reef, every time you let yourself relax after the day’s hunting is done, he turns up. Watching you the same way he’s looking at you right now: too fucking closely. His eyes flash with mischief and lock onto your fins through the sparse gaps in your coral cave.

“Think she bites?” he asks Ghost.

Ghost grunts. “Most things do.”

“Saw her lookin’ at you like she might want to take a piece home.”

“Doubt it.”

“Doubt you’d feel it if she did. Could hardly kill a minnow with those wee teeth. Don’t know how she hunts with ‘em.”

You duck down back into the entrance of your cave with a flick of your lacy tail. He’s talking loudly enough for you to hear on purpose. “You’re never getting close enough to find out,” you snap.

Soap’s smirk stretches into a grin. You took the bait. “Can’t hide in your cage forever, can ya?”

Ghost rolls back over. “She’s got more sense than the ones who swim toward you.”

“Oh, piss off. Fleein’ from a predator is what prey fish do. It’s a natural response.”

You lurk a little further outside your cave. “I’m not prey. I’m just as much a predator as you sharks.”

This time, Ghost is the one who scoffs. “Sure you are.”

Soap swims up closer to your hiding spot, eyes roaming over your form. You bristle instinctively and raise your spines in warning as he drifts closer. But it doesn’t drive him away. If anything, it seems to draw his interest even more.

“Ya’ve got an impressive display, I’ll give it that,” he says. “But you’re a scrap compared to us.”

“So? I don’t need size to defend myself.” You fan your fins up higher, emboldened as you rise with the current.

Soap grins even wider at the threat display. You’re all barbed fins, colorful scales, and angry pout. His gaze reflects the challenge you’re issuing him. “Careful sayin’ that. I’ll chase you if you tease me.”

Ghost lets out an irritated growl at Soap’s flirtation, knowing very well Soap only says these things to get a rise out of you. “Those spines aren’t just for show, Soap. You know what lionfish venom feels like. Bet hers is worse. Might kill you. You think it's worth dying just to prove a point?"

“I think spines break as easy as they sting.”

Anger surges through your chest. “Brute,” you snap.

Soap laughs. You don’t seem to notice you’ve drifted some distance away from your hiding spot, but he has. Ghost shifts, side-eying both of you more closely.

“I’m just curious, gorgeous.” His senses sharpen with the thrill of your threat display and your anger. Of course he thinks it’s sexy. The more you insult him, the more he wants to see what it takes to earn more than just that sharp tongue of yours. “Think touchin’ you might be worth the sting.”

“You’d be wrong.”

“You’re cute when you’ve got a problem with me. Gnashin’ like a miniature barracuda.”

You puff up a little more, daring to swim closer. You’re smugly satisfied when he backs away a little in response.

“Try it,” you bluff.

Soap’s eyes drop down, tracing the length of your fins, and he grins. He’s just as aware of the lethality of any lionfish's wicked barbs as he is of their beauty, but he doesn’t seem particularly deterred by the threats of this particular mer wielding them. “Bet you wouldn’t bite me too hard.”

“Soap.” Ghost’s voice is calm, but a warning lurks in his tone. “Don’t provoke her.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Soap replies without looking away from you. “Bet those spines are brittle.” He reaches forward to touch one.

You hiss and whip your tail away on instinct, darting back. Your spines are still raised in defense. But your rational mind doesn’t want to risk him getting any closer. You don’t want him to know what happens if he's stung--that your venom is a faulty mimic of a true lionfish. He needs to think you're dangerous and keep his distance. And you need to keep your pride intact.

Soap hardly notices how upset you are. He’s thrilled to provoke an interesting new reaction out of you. Before he can reach out again, though, Ghost grabs his wrist and jerks him back, forcing him out of your personal space.

“Don’t be an idiot. You’re not fast enough to avoid a sting.”

“You’re no fun, Ghost.”

“Fuck off,” you snap. Your heart is pounding. He got too close, way too close.

You retreat while Ghost has ahold of him, slipping down into your small den and out of sight. Soap calls after you, but he’s not surprised when you don’t come back out.

Soap rips his wrist out of Ghost’s claws with a muttered curse. At Ghost’s hard look, he snaps, “Like you wouldn’t do it too.”

“That’s not the problem. She’s a pincushion. You go pissing her off too much, you’re going to wind up full of poison.

“Aye.”

“And it'll probably kill you. Hurt the whole time doing it. It’s all fun and games until you’re dying because you just couldn’t help but poke a pretty fish.”

Soap scoffs. “You’re exaggerating. No sting can kill me. It'll hurt a little an’ I’ll be fine.”

Ghost gives Soap an unimpressed glance. “And if you're wrong? You think you’re strong enough to fight off a neurotoxin.” He snorts. “You want to test that hypothesis?”

Soap glances back at your den with a frown.

“Keep your bloody distance,” Ghost mutters, giving Soap a shove back toward the center of the reef. “She’s no prize.”

Soap gives in and turns back toward the reef, turning a restless corkscrew in the water. Still, the smirk reappears on his face. “Aye. Little nightmare, isn’t she?” He sighs. “All bite and no kiss.”

...

[part 1 ] / part 2 by porcelainpot here!! <3

more mer au / more Soap / masterlist

[cr4yolaas]

for lovers who hesitate — tsukishima kei

synopsis: you find your old academic rival at your new job. every bone in your body says it’s fate, but everything else seems to be stopping you.

notes: puking cuz idk how i feel abt this one. i worked on this all thru out my trip and there was a lot of scrapping and rewriting and deleting the entire thing and rewriting it again, but i think this version is the best i could get it to. i <3 tsukishima kei

tags: fluff → angst → fluff, self-indulgent long fic, reader smokes, reader has trauma w/ their parents, mainly fem reader oriented but gn pronouns used, reader has self-destructive habits, themes of self-doubt from both, tsukishima is probably ooc, slow burn but not really, the most awkward love confession ever, mitski rdr x radiohead tsukishima (sorry), proofread but not really

tsukishima kei, for once, was at a loss for words.

there you stood beneath the bright green foliage, your face marred by the heatwaves of the sun and still all too familiar. he thought, for a moment, that he had the wrong person — you had taken on a rougher appearance, but his body, heart, and soul still recognized you. and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to speak to you.

where had the last decade gone?

he coughed into his fist and walked past you, feigning ignorance to your arrival. when you followed after him with a keycard of your own, he found himself flustered.

no words were exchanged. he was playing the silent game with you, although he quietly hoped you would say something first.

and thus, he continued his shift as usual, with the added oddity of you shadowing him alongside his boss. he just couldn’t find the proper words to place on his tongue, nor the right gestures to show that he did want to talk, he just didn’t know how to.

but truthfully, what was one supposed to say in such a situation?

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

you believed that tsukishima hated you. and you wouldn’t blame him.

when you applied for this job, you had no expectations going into it, save for the hope of a higher salary and a lighter load than your previous job. what you had not anticipated was to stand face to face with the man you swore to hate in your youth.

a sliver of hope embedded itself within you; an overwhelming desire to perhaps refurbish a long lost relationship had taken root. but when he looked away so persistently and spoke not a word to you, that sliver dissipated into meaningless sand.

you continued your work as best as possible. it was a routine job — set up the displays for the day, guide whatever visitors came around, and leave in the afternoon. but when a certain blonde was sneaking glances at you and somehow always in your vicinity, it proved to be easier said than done.

you were too afraid to admit that his presence was refreshing. that, in the midst of the mundane and borderline unhealthy cycle you had formulated within the past handful of years following graduation, he had proven to be an odd factor; he stood as a disruptor to the routine. it was unwelcome. and even still, you craved it and more.

tsukishima kei had always been a constant in your life. you just didn’t expect him to reappear so soon, so suddenly.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

it was a wednesday. an uneventful shift had come to an end. and just as you rid yourself of your work attire, a verbal invitation to a work party was sent your way.

the prospect of it was almost laughable. you were under the impression that the body of employees in a museum would be too reserved to host parties such as this, and you were quickly proven otherwise. thus, you accepted instantly.

as soon as you sat down, you regretted it just as quickly.

the moon had just barely begun to hang bright in the sky, and yet the table was already full of drunken coworkers that you hadn’t seen before. loud chatter filled the room, as if this table was the only one in the establishment. it was overbearing.

before you could take even a sip of your drink, you excused yourself under the pretense of needing to use the restroom. instead, you escaped outside, the gentle breeze reestablishing your senses and reeling you back in.

he was also there.

“oh,” he exclaimed softly. his eyes drifted away from yours, the warmth of his cheeks illuminated by the dim lamp above. oh was the first word he had ever spoken to you since graduation. you nearly laughed.

“hello,” you offered quietly, still testing the waters of conversation. your gaze fell to his fingers, slim and cherry-kissed and blemished, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “um… i didn’t expect to see you here…?”

tsukishima laughed lightly at your tone, as if to conceal his own anxieties. “likewise.” he watched as you pulled out a cigarette, the stick meeting your lips like it were more than natural. “did you come all this way to stalk me? or to follow me? after all those years of silence?” he teased, although a tinge of bitterness dripped from his words.

you shook your head aggressively. “no, no, i just…” you bit at your lip for a moment before continuing. “i’m taking a break from my actual job. i needed to wind down before i return.”

tsukishima hummed at your response, evidently oblivious to your lie. he looked at you for a moment too long, his eyes grazing over each alteration and unfamiliar feature. he could not help but admire you in this light — the soft strings of moonlight in contrast with the neon signs glaring against your complexion painted an image he hadn’t seen in ages.

for the first time in a long time, tsukishima kei thought you were unbearably pretty.

what he didn’t catch wind of was your nervous shuffles and your incessant skin-picking as you stood beside him. he didn’t realize that the cigarette was a distractor, a tool to pull you back in. and he failed to acknowledge the stutter in your voice as you spoke to him, for it hadn’t crossed his mind once that you thought he disliked you. not that it would matter to him, anyways.

it’s too soon, he thought to himself. this is stupid, he argued. i’d mess it up if i did anything reckless, he reasoned. all of which were excuses to fight against the overwhelming reality of his vulnerability.

you turned your head away, the extended silence whittling away at whatever confidence you once bore. tsukishima watched with framed eyes and a calculative stare, as if scrutinizing each and every action you took. unbeknownst to you, it was the exact opposite of that.

the soft call of your name from inside the bar pulled your attention away, much to his dismay. he witnessed your frame disappear through the doors, your eyes flitting towards his so quickly he might’ve imagined it.

this was foolish. tsukishima decided that much. but despite his claims of how stupid it was, he was getting reeled in faster than he could pull out.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

despite how hard he tried to display his ignorance, tsukishima was caring at his core.

silent glances exchanged between shifts morphed into small conversations shared whenever possible, as if the tension that previously barred you from interaction had dissipated into nothingness.

at some point, he dropped off a neatly wrapped bento box to your desk, the fabric littered with small dinosaur doodles.

“what is this?” you questioned, an amused lilt to your voice. you failed to notice the way pink rose to his ears, too enamored by the intricate arrangement of veggies and rice.

“don’t think anything of it. i just had leftover food and didn’t want to waste it.” the excuse slipped through his lips as if it were truth, earning him a soft smile from you.

there were butterflies whipping their wings against his ribcage so aggressively they might have bulged out from his skin.

eventually, you invited him out for a walk to the convenience store nearby during your break. and after that, it became routine. with an umbrella in one hand and his wallet in another, tsukishima walked with you down the street to buy onigiri and sandwiches and sometimes a sweet treat nearly every day, and that shared hour became his favorite part of work.

it was silly.

you sat beside him in the booth, your blistered hands carefully unwrapping the plastic from your meal. to your left sat a can of soda. and to your right, he was there.

“i need to stop living off of these,” you complained while motioning towards the onigiri in your grasp.

tsukishima shook his head. “what else would you eat?”

“your bento boxes,” you commented absentmindedly, your bites becoming larger as you neared the center of the rice. “i liked it, when you gave it to me that one time. you should make it again.”

he looked away, his chin resting atop the sweat of his palm. slowly, he turned towards you. “it’s just a bento box. surely you can handle making one.”

“oh, shut up!” you laughed while shoving him lightly. “the fact that you can even make one is shocking. all you have in that head is volleyball and shit.”

“our old test scores say otherwise,” he quipped. the shift in your eyes left a bitter taste on his tongue.

“whatever,” you muttered before leaving to throw out your trash. a pit grew in tsukishima’s stomach.

the blonde mustered the last of his resolve and made an offer. “i’ll teach you how to make one.”

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

of all the things tsukishima was bracing himself to see, a thinly-walled apartment that was less than well-maintained was the last thing he was prepared for.

you came out from your bedroom in clothes that were far more casual than his, your hair disheveled and your steps uneven. “sorry for the mess,” you uttered while bending down to pick up a hoodie sprawled across the floor, alongside a plastic bag that looked empty. he could only watch in awe.

he placed his bag down on your counter before arranging the ingredients, each brought from his own home. the clatter of your rushed cleaning echoed behind him. and when you finally stood beside the man, he could not contain his grin.

tsukishima decided to hold his tongue. instead, he opted to gently guide your hands through each step, the perspiration collecting on his skin a stark contrast from the rough texture of yours. he realized how little you knew, despite your insistence that you were more than knowledgeable in what you were doing — it showed in your unstable cutting and your hesitance when preparing the pot for boiling — but he refrained from commenting, in fear of disrupting the peace he’d constructed.

on the other hand, you were horrified.

to admit that you were inferior to him in yet another aspect uprooted the envy you had burrowed deep within yourself, and you were terrified of letting it overspill. he was so calm — at least, that was what it looked like — and you’d be damned to ruin it.

mitski’s soft hums reverberated in the background, your shaky chopping filling in the rest of the noise. it was almost satirical — the solemn melodies coated your bare bones and rendered you silent, a strong juxtaposition to the warmth exuded from the closeness of your skin to his. neither of you did anything to interfere, save for an earlier comment from the man questioning your music taste.

(“then what do you listen to?”

“… radiohead.”

“wow. as if that’s any better than mitski.”)

tsukishima found himself smiling at your pride in your creation. messy, yes. but within each ingredient lay a remnant of him, and that was enough.

a stream of small talk emerged into you sitting on the couch together. the music dimmed down to white noise and an old romcom that had only two star ratings played on your TV, the poor quality adding to the humor. your legs leaned against his beneath the blanket. and there was peace.

tsukishima knew what it was. he knew what this would blossom into, and he could only hope and pray he didn’t mess it up in some way. your quiet yet crude commentary disappeared into the tender air, and he remained silent, as if absorbing each syllable that fell from your lips.

it was so quiet, and so vulnerable, and so delicate that he felt like he was going to explode.

he didn’t question it when your head fell onto his shoulder. he didn’t make fun of you when your colorful reviews on each scene turned into sleepy ramblings. and he didn’t say a word when you dozed off against him, your whole body against his.

instead, he looked around. he took note of the dust collecting on the cabinets, the water marks on the windows, the clothes and food and plastic scattered all over your living room, the dead plant on the shelf, and the half-empty pack of cigarettes sitting on the arm of the couch. it was all a far, far cry from the cleanliness and stability of his own home, and yet, he thought to himself, this is so like them. and he thought, i could live in here, if it were with them. and again, he thought, this could be a home.

tsukishima kei was of the belief that he did not have a type. but as he observed your house and reflected on its singular (?) inhabitant, he figured that this was his type. his type was your quiet laughs and your sharp remarks and your wrinkled clothes and the scent of cigarettes that always seemed to cling to you. his type was you.

he exchanged one last glance to your sleeping figure before getting up and leaving you to rest. not without wrapping up your lunch for tomorrow, and not without a small smile on his lips.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

hell came to you on a thursday morning — the day following whatever had happened between you and tsukishima. you hadn’t put on your uniform just yet, and your belongings sat outside of your locker.

your boss scrambled into the office, his brows furrowed and his larger hands closing the door as quickly as he could without slamming it. the sweat that collected between his wrinkles shined beneath the dim lights. his breaths were haggard and rushed and shallow.

for the first time in a long time, you felt fear.

“there’s people who want to talk to you outside,” he whispered. “they want to talk to you now.”

there was no one else in the building. no one other than you, your boss, and the people who were so adamant on speaking to you.

so why was it so loud as soon as you stepped out?

the eyes of your mother came into your vision first. then, the stare of your father. and finally, their faces blended into one large picture that made sense.

“what the fuck are you doing here?”

withered hands slammed against the table. you watched the papers and the dinosaur trinkets rattle. “that’s no way to speak to your parents.” you could feel it — the air seeping out of your lungs, depriving you of breath; the trembling in your palms; the cloudiness in your peripherals. you could hear them, but you couldn’t hear them. at some point, their vocabulary was solely financial, and at another point, it grew cruel and violent, akin to wild dogs gnawing away at your skin. you didn’t know where it was going. the hastened footsteps of an unidentifiable coworker neared, and the shaky breaths of your boss behind the door grew louder and louder.

you needed to leave.

your feet led you away before your mind could. the yelling softened, until finally, the only sound was the chirp of birds and the whirring of cars.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

tsukishima didn’t see you for a week. he didn’t hear any mention of your name, didn’t find your face in a crowd, didn’t feel the vibrations of your voice against his chest. you had disappeared, and no one told him why. it wasn’t until your name didn’t show up on the schedule that something clicked.

it was cruel. you were cruel, he decided.

tadashi sat on the couch while his roommate leaned against the counter. the hum of the air conditioning blinded the blonde’s senses.

“i don’t fucking know what i did,” tsukishima groaned into his palms for the twentieth time that night. “they just left. they quit and i can’t even contact them because i was stupid enough to not ask for their number or email or anything. i don’t- i don’t fucking know, ‘dashi, i don’t.”

“i’m sure they had some good reason,” his friend attempted. “i don’t think they’d do that if it weren’t within some sensible limit. it was fucked, yeah, but… i don’t know. i think they’ll come back when the time is right.”

it was tiring. it was tiring to be left alone not just once, but twice. and it was tiring to have it hurt so much more the second time.

tsukishima ran a hand through his hair. “it’s so stupid.” another groan spilled from his tongue. “i’m so fucking tired of this.”

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

this was just about the fourth job you had applied for.

the museum could no longer be a part of your routine — instead, it morphed into loud nights and bustling men and the clinking of glass; it emerged from quiet and gentle tours around dinosaur exhibits to noisy cheers and yelling and the more-than-occasional bottle thrown at your head; it turned into pure, devastating loneliness.

it was compact. it was suffocating. it was overwhelming. it was everything the museum was not. but you could not return there, no matter how much you ached for it.

you were avoiding him. avoiding everyone.

a gentle nudge from a blurred face reminded you that your shift was over for the night, coupled with an apology for the gash that formed on your head from another drunken man who had no outlet for his anger other than you. with heavy steps, you trudged back home, thankful for the week’s pay and the free food and drinks.

it was quiet.

the lights were off, and the LED numbers on the microwave read way past midnight. a dull pounding resided in your chest.

just the other day, it was so vibrant. you were alive, and so was he, and it was going well. but it was wrong. you realized that much when your parents came to remind you, and you realized it again as you quit the same day.

the thumping in your chest spread to your head, and your back met the wall with a force that was sure to upset your neighbors. carefully, daintily, you slid down, your body reaching the floor gently.

you missed him. but it was wrong.

that night, for the first time in a long while, you cried.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

tucked away in a small alley in sendai resided an establishment with only three tables and a bar that was worn down from years of use. and behind it, tsukishima found you.

he was only out for a walk. at least, that was what it was until his feet brought him elsewhere and he stood face-to-face with the most suspicious of buildings. and when he saw you, it felt as if all the anger and guilt and distress that riddled his bones and flesh and blood withered away, as if it hadn’t coalesced within his veins over the past month.

before you could hide, his hand snaked around your wrist, his touch light yet desperate. “can we talk?”

talking entailed bringing him back to your apartment. and by extension, it included him witnessing your house somehow being worse than before.

tsukishima found himself sitting on the floor with his back to the couch, and you found yourself sprawled across said couch. he picked at the blisters on his fingers before quietly asking, “why did you do that?”

he could hear your nervous habits — the shifting, the fidgeting, the harsh lip biting. “i don’t know.”

“bullshit,” he muttered under his breath.

you turned over onto your side to face his back. “my parents found me,” you explained meekly. improper guidance leads to destructive tendencies. tsukishima kei, in his high school years, was deemed your only obstacle to complete succession — always a few points ahead, a few questions ahead, a few steps ahead — and your poor influence from youth only fueled such a fire. and so, you felt that it was reasonable to loathe him. your judgement was clouded beyond repair.

tsukishima listened. he listened to every detail, every portion of your retelling of each segment of your childhood, and your teen years, and your silly hatred for him. he listened to you talk about what you did after graduation — how you got into a good university but dropped out and hopped between a multitude of jobs (thus proving your claim at the work party to be a lie), and how you were constantly escaping from both the stress and your parents.

he listened so intently that it was overbearing. you didn’t tell him that. instead, you talked and talked and talked until you sculpted him into someone who knew your entire life, as if he were there from the beginning.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered through stubborn tears. you hated it — how exposing it was, how you had practically dumped everything onto him in one go, how you couldn’t help but beg for forgiveness in the end. most of all, you hated how easily he gave you his forgiveness.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

tsukishima didn’t leave your house at all that week. you found no energy to complain.

in the morning, you’d find him cleaning whatever disaster you left behind, whether it was the pile of laundry on your bed or the collection of full trash bags next to the front door or the food (or rather, the lack thereof) in your fridge. he was silent all the while, and that hurt more than any berating he could have done.

“why are you still here?” you asked him one night. you had finally moved from the couch to the bed, and tsukishima couldn’t be any prouder. (any movement at all was enough to be proud of, he felt). “you shouldn’t want to be here.”

you watched him heave a heavy breath as his shoulders drooped. “because i want you,” he admitted, his voice unmistakably tender and soft and ridden with a youthfulness that he unearthed from deep within himself. “i want to be with you and i want you to be happy and i just want us to be happy together, for once.”

he spoke of his affections so fluently, as if he were born to share them with you. and still, every bone in your body was whispering otherwise.

even so, tsukishima promised that he would be willing to wait. even if it meant watching you down an unreasonable amount of beer at an unreasonable hour.

he promised to sit through it all with you, even if it meant listening to you call his name out in long, drawn-out tones. even if it meant hearing you confess your long-harbored affection for him. even if it meant hearing you say that you never told him, not even in high school, because you felt like you didn’t deserve to tell him.

tsukishima didn’t understand.

he failed to comprehend how you didn’t feel deserving, when his whole body, mind, and soul was bound to you; when, in the depths of the night, he’d burn pink in the night at the mere thought of you; when he was so uncharacteristically smitten for you. he didn’t get it. he didn’t think he ever would.

not that he said anything about it — at least, not in that moment. not when you were inexplicably drunk, to the point where you couldn’t move a limb without tumbling over.

but, without a doubt, he went to bed with a stupid grin and a berry-kissed face.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

it took another couple of weeks before tsukishima would see you at work again. you entered through the doors as if you never left, and he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be excited or neutral or anything else, because his guts only knew tenderness with you at that point — all the fake ignorance and stubbornness and denial had been cast aside.

you basked in a shared silence in the locker room, until you finally admitted that you were, in fact, healing. to some degree, at least. you asked him to come over again under the pretense of seeing how clean your house was. you detailed every segment of your life, from when he last saw you to your entrance into the museum, including how you made yourself breakfast for the first time in forever and how you drank a cup of water almost every day. and he was so overwhelmingly proud, so much so that it spilled over and he couldn’t contain himself.

“i love you,” he blurted out, his rushed admission cutting off your rambling. you whipped your head towards him, but he was looking everywhere except for you.

“what?” you exclaimed.

“i said i love you. i’m in love with you. what don’t you get?”

your jaw hung open, just like that of a fish. “wait- what the fuck?” much to his amusement, you jumped up and began pacing around the room. “i like- well, i guess, love,” you paused, the vocabulary uncomfortable on your teeth. “you too, but like- what the fuck? who told you that?”

“you did.”

“what?”

tsukishima kei was laughing. he was laughing at you, and yet, you weren’t as angry as you expected to be. he was laughing, and all you could do was relish in the noise.

“so,” he hummed delightfully, an amused smirk on his lips. “am i still coming over?”

you (begrudgingly) agreed. again, he laughed — this time, at the heat rising to your face.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

through the cracks between your blinds, silk strands of sunlight crawled through, a soft reminder of the morning. beside you, a mountain of warmth lay, with his glasses still on his face and his hoodie misshapen on his body.

tsukishima was always the first to rise. he would wait for your eyes to flit open gently before getting up and making breakfast, despite your protests that your food was probably better than his. he never listened.

the splatter of coffee into your cup served as the only noise in the room, save for the dull noise of the morning news on the TV and the cars passing by outside the window. you watched intently as the blonde set up the table, his lip drawn in a tight line but his eyes shimmering with contentment. “eat up,” he spoke quietly as he took a seat in front of you.

tsukishima kei was, by no means, a cruel person. he was just a little rough on the edges and occasionally didn’t quite know how to say things without being mean. but as he sat with you, eating breakfast made by him in your shared apartment; as he pressed a fleeting kiss to your forehead before leaving to change, ignoring your groans about the remnants of syrup on his lips; as he drove you to work as the sun settled in the sky; you realized he was simply a man in love.

[obbystars]

When Mother Was Here

Synopsis: Kill him. Or let him bleed.

Notes: Sebastian Solace x GN!Reader / NO ROMANCE IN THIS ONE / Based off of Zeal’s recent post of a scrapped idea / Angst, hurt no comfort, no happy ending / Sebastian backstory spoilers / Violence / Repeated deaths / I suck at writing people fighting, sorry :( / Spot the Gabriel Ultrakill reference / Short (sigh…)

Credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

(OUGHHHHH ZEAL I WISH YOU KEPT THIS IN THE WORKS I don’t think you guys know how fast I RUSHED to make this after I saw the post)

Your orders were simple. Kill Z-13, The Saboteur. Otherwise known to you as Sebastian Solace. For once, they equipped you with a weapon but it wasn’t one that’d prove that effective. At least, not one that’d give you such an advantage against the mutant so that you wouldn’t use it against the guardsmen and other staff. You were still an EXR-P, after all. An expendable. They don’t expect you to accomplish this, but it was the EXR-P that was able to find him because he lets them find him.

You figured you’d have an advantage as he may not be expecting you, an EXR-P, to be armed. Maybe even surprise him. However, that turned out to not be the case. Of course, you weren’t the only one tasked with this. Urbanshade needs him to die.

He had killed you just as quickly as the others, but you surprised him the moment he turned his back to you. He heard faint shuffling and the sound of bones cracking behind him and turned back around. Suddenly, you were standing again as if he didn’t just crush your skull into the ground. The blood was there. The cracks on the floor were there. The blood dripping down your head and onto your prisoner uniform was there.

He stares at you in complete shock for a moment, then he lets out a growl.

“I don’t care how many time you come back,” he stands up straight, “I will break you again and again, paint the walls red with buckets of your own blood! I will rip you limb from limb until even the other expendables start to cry for mercy!! I will ENJOY tearing you apart no matter how many times I have to!!”

Sebastian continues to kill you and you continue to get back up on your feet not a moment too soon. You were practically drenched in your own blood, so were the floors and walls with how gruesome some of your deaths had gotten.

You know he’s getting slower and desperate as you kept coming back and continued to manage a hit. He was running out of ammo for his shotgun and his own blood was starting to spill onto the floor. You soon spot a dead guardsman that still had his gun. It was likely it was still loaded. You weren’t sure if you were allowed to, but do or die over and over and over again. It wasn’t like they told you that you couldn’t do it, but as long as it meant the target is killed, then they shouldn’t stop you.

The gun was loaded. If you die now, he’ll take it off of your cold hands. Maybe even break it so you can’t use it. While you could finish the job without it, it’s always better to have something more sufficient for the job.

At one instance, he had managed to grab you but managed to hit him in the head with the weapon Urbanshade had provided to you. You narrowly missed your kill-shot, however, and only hit his shoulder. Still, it was a hit.

The fight’s gotten to the point Sebastian was trying to find a way to get away from you. It didn’t matter how, he just needed to escape and get somewhere safe. His recent failed attempt had you managing to aim your shot to hit his arm. You persisted and aimed your gun as he was making a break for it again.

Click.

Your eyes widened. Of course…

Seeing as you had run out of ammo, Sebastian took this chance to run. You returned to the guardsman still lying right where you found him and reloaded the gun. You looked to where Sebastian had fled to and break into a run. The trail of blood was enough to help you track him down.

You feel exhausted as you continue down the dark hallways. You were practically limping, almost literally dragging yourself to try and catch up to Sebastian. You eventually stumble upon a dimly lit room. You recognized this room. The trail leads into the vent. Yes, you know this room.

As you emerged through the other side, you hear someone sobbing. You spot him in the corner, and the sight made you freeze. You don’t know why you froze, or why you lowered the gun.

“M..mom…?” You watch as he reaches out with a trembling hand. To you? It seems like it, but it’s not you he’s seeing, “Are… Are you there..?”

The grip on your gun begins to falter. Your hands begin to shake as you listen to his cries for a mother who wasn’t here. Begging for her to come back. Maybe you’ve forgotten who exactly you were standing in front of. You’ve read his document. Judging by the years listed of when everything happened, you don’t think you’d be surprised if he was still with his family. His mother.

Someone who was accused and sentenced to death for murder, a murder he was not guilty of. It was only because of the official statement made of his execution that this information was not relayed to him or to his family. His family does not know he’s alive, nor do they know he’s not guilty. All they know is that their son was a murderer.

Why can’t you do it? Put him out of his misery. It should be easy. It’s mercy. End his suffering. They’ll kill you if you don’t do it. He’ll kill you again if you don’t do it. If not you, someone else.

You can’t move.

[honeydazai]

₊˚⊹♡ midday sun and canned crab

feat.: Dazai / f!reader

content: soft pining stage flirting with Dazai (who is insufferable), some suggestiveness

join my tag list here! 🪻

When push comes to shove, Dazai appears to be resolute, will seemingly impossible to shatter.

His unwavering determination when it comes to matters important to him, as far as you're aware, extends to mercilessly crushing his enemies, to pursuing women in order to convince them to commit double suicide with him — and, apparently, to eating crab.

“You're too cruel, bella”, he whines, voice taking on a pathetic tone, “Do you have no issue whatsoever with seeing me starve?”

Your eyes narrow. “You're obviously not starving when you still have the energy to complain and annoy me.”

He blinks. “Ah, but I'd always have the energy to do that, though. Even after death.”

“You're still not getting my lunch.”

“Just a tiny piece”, he insists, giving you his best begging expression, a dog asking for scraps, “I haven't eaten in days. It hurts, you know?”

As if to prove his point, his stomach grumbles; with Dazai, you wouldn't be surprised if he knows how to make it do that on command. He's tugging unnecessarily hard on your heart strings.

Still, you've been looking forward to this, too. Having skipped breakfast, the idea of a warm lunch got you through the day — only to now be threatened by brown doe eyes.

“And whose fault is that?” Your protests are half-hearted, walls already crumbling, and he knows it.

“Well, for starters it's definitely Kunikida's fault. He's been working me to the bone lately. Don't you think I deserve a bit of a reward for that?”

“Not any more than I do.”

Dazai hums. “Well, I guess that's true.” Leaning forward, his puppy eyes morph into a smirk, oozing with the confidence you're used to from him. Reaching for your chopsticks, cold skin grazing yours, he leans in closer, causing your heartbeat to pick up. “How about we share, then?”

You were hoping to devour the whole meal yourself. For a moment, you consider remaining hard, stubborn. Unyielding. Dazai's fingers rub gently over the back of your hand, drawing faint patterns onto it. With how close he is, you're able to discern the different shades of brown in his eyes; some dark, some warm amber, though you're quick to look off to the side again, flustered by the constant eye contact.

Every single thing about Dazai is intense. Sometimes, you're not sure just how to deal with it — though, usually, you give in; when he's asking you to come along to a café with him, not quite a date but something close to it, when he's begging you to stay over the night, touches fleeting and suggestive, when he's telling you that Kunikida won't mind it if you're half an hour late the following morning, chin hooked over your shoulder, lips against your jaw.

You give in now, loosening your grip on the chopsticks and allowing him to hold them instead, his smile content. Not surprised in the least.

“I knew you couldn't resist me”, he coos, lifting a piece of crab meat up to your mouth, waiting; his grin widens when you close your lips around it. “You're adorable. This is how couples should be eating together.”

Butter and salt spread on your tongue, downright heavenly. “Except we're not a couple.”

Dazai merely hums in his throat, melodic and unconvinced, and feeds you another piece.

notes: i have. dazai disease.

tags: @irethepotato @beandaifuku , @the-foreigner , @ranpobb, @arixsux, @dei-lilxc , @atsyushi @satoruislove @pastelsbaby @marina-and-the-memes @texchou @shiggysredhead @savagemickey03 @rosepxtlz @nikolaiswife @okura-s @ladykatakuri @lunerenzo @berywritesstuff @xelia25 @yuuotosaka3 @double-black-dazai @alice0blog @fyodorstolenushanka @ttaiyaki @itsnovariella @black-rose-29 @fyodorscumsock @ayshaashaya @qxxstuff @Irethepotato @serenareiss @atsvsh1 @dilucshandholder @reiikonee @1-800-mocha @xvocadooo @hexiisexii @cupxfcxffee @jodidann @Happymoon16 @yumidepain @nchuuyahq @janeinerz @Aaronthegreatestsimp @fanfiction-waifu @KimxKiba @Morigumy @villainouspotential @ashthemadwriter-uwu @mrsdostoevsky @nikolaisgoofyahhhat @yeonwoomyheartbelongstoyou @hellgirlwhore @c4xcocoa @lyrstybsd @angelsrunes @wuaoqu @disa-ster @aspookyscaryghost @nikolaisboner @urgodmoon @polish-anon @arisu-chan4646nsfw @eroscastle @somnobun @birbysaur @senpaiable @hyunlixie143 @dababyurmom @urgodmoon @4nthonyyliving @brokeniced @nikolaisdove @dxwnstxr @scinclaitnoir @snips18 @flowzel @satohruu @squigglewigglewoo @rainy-dazie @itzashlyn123 @rheeeeeeeesiees @eggcoreloser @mariaace @mello0cat @warriordemigosworld @thescrunkly @ainegueneres @maroj23 @dazaiserectnips @little-miss-chaoss

@hattersrabbit @suve32 @v4mpash3 @fairlyfuji @seraphxoxo @inojuuy @suicide-with-dazai

[wheneclipsefalls]

Little Gift- Introduction

Pairing: Soft Dark Neteyam x Human Fem Reader

Beautiful Neteyam pic by @cinetrix2

Sumarry: The RDA are forced to negotiate with a certain Olo'eyktan. Luckily, there is only one thing he wants.

Warnings: dark, dubcon/noncon, suggestive, kidnapping, aged up Neteyam, dom/sub dynamics, bondage, humiliation, dark Neteyam, swearing, power imbalance, etc. (not exhaustive) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

A/N: I had this idea in the middle of the night two days ago. This will be the introduction of the mini series. It is dark content so read at your own risk.

tiyawn: love

mawey: be calm

oeyӓ: my (possessive)

Masterlist

The rope is coarse against your wrist and ankles, tied tight enough to leave squirming out of the question. However, it's the thick fabric gag that has you grinding your teeth together in discomfort. They leave you no opportunity to ask questions. No way to understand your fate before it unfolds. 

Colonel Quaritch had been even more cold and distant as you were prepared for the mysterious treck. You had been in the middle of packing your stuff, preparing to return home with the rest of the RDA when you had been dragged away and dressed against your will. 

Now kneeling here in the middle of Pandora’s forest wearing little more than sparkly scraps, you have never felt more exposed. The intricately beaded top does little to nothing to cover your hardening nipples and it’s easy to catch some of the Colonel’s brats sneaking a glance occasionally. 

“Colonel,” Lyle calls to your left. “For a final touch.” He holds a large pink ribbon in one hand, eyes snapping over to your small form with a smirk. 

“Be quick.” Quaritch grumbles but he doesn’t hide the amusement painted across his face. 

You attempt to scoot away when Lyle approaches you but he wrangles you back into place one handed. Another recom keeps you still with hands on your shoulders and before you know it Lyle is using the ribbon to tie a big bow directly over your breasts.

You muster every hateful thought into your heated glare, not that it does much to kill his mood. 

It’s obvious that you are the one left out of the joke everyone seems to revel in. Several times you wonder if all of this is some sick prank. Dressing you up only to drag you into the middle of the woods and leave you for dead. Perhaps even kill you themselves. 

However, thirty minutes of kneeling in the mud with a small army on high alert around you proves plans to be otherwise. There is something ominous about that pink bow tied around you, something even more suspicious about the traditional Na’vi clothing that has somehow been made to fit you perfectly. 

“That bastard sure likes to take his sweet time.” Mansk huffs. 

“What more did you expect from one of Sully’s filthy half breeds?” Quaritch sneers, readjusting the heavy artillery into his shoulder. 

“Makes a lot of demands too. Swear if we didn’t need these resources-” Lyle starts but is cut off.

“And yet we do. So shut your trap and pay attention.” The Colonel snips at him. It’s almost comical to see how fast Lyle straightens and goes back to scanning the terrain for movement. 

Always the Colonel’s bitch. 

You wish this ridiculous gag wouldn’t stop you from finally speaking your opinion freely. If you are about to meet your demise, the least they could let you do is get some long awaited satisfaction. 

Tension bleeds into the atmosphere. The former marines snap to attention and guns are locked into place, the formation fanning them out to combat any potential threats. 

It takes several dreadful seconds for you to see them but finally a pair of golden eyes just barely shines through the thick forest. They are in the trees, crouched to the ground, in bushes, some even swooping overhead on banshees. 

You marvel at their ability to hide in the nooks and crannies of the forest. However, even now you recognize that they are choosing to be seen. They have decided to make their presence known. 

Your heart thunders.

Tied and kneeling between the two juxtaposing crowds feels like being offered up as a human sacrifice. 

Do the Na’vi believe in live sacrifice?

Perhaps they too put up dead to their deity as a sign of loyalty. 

And you are pampered and primed for the taking. 

“Signed, sealed and delivered as promised.” The Colonel grunts, boot clad toe nudging your vulnerable form. 

Dread slinks through your veins.

What have you done to deserve this?

The Na’vi that steps out into the open is one that you can recognize instantly. Even a human of low status among the RDA knows what Jake Sully’s eldest son, and now Omatikaya Olo’eyktan, looks like. His face has become a focused target that the RDA have been working to exterminate for months. Now, it feels all for naught as they have been brought to their knees and forced to leave Pandora with little resources. The same reason you prepare yourself to say goodbye to this mysterious planet for good.

However, that was the idea before you were prepared like a trussed up main course for the taking. 

You struggle fruitlessly in the binds once more and Neteyam’s eyes center on you. Peering up at him hurts your neck as you are once again reminded of how tall and muscular the Na’vi are. His shoulders give the illusion of spanning out even further with the traditional feathered mantle he wears. 

His head slants to the side before he is prowling closer. You attempt to jerk away from his large hand coming to your face but that only ends in you falling back on your rear. His lips turn down as he inspects your tied wrists. There is nothing you can do as he holds both of them easily with one hand. 

“I was told she would not be harmed.” He speaks lowly, voice thick with a Na’vi accent. 

“She put up quite a fight. Even getting her to hold still during the shot was a pain in the ass.” Quaritch replies.

You remember all too well the fear that had overcome you when they brought out that long needle. The developed serum was a success naturally but it still racks your anxiety higher to fully breathe Pandoran air without your mask. Even more so, you feel strangely more exposed in front of this Na’vi legend without the glass to separate you from him. 

“I don’t appreciate excuses.” His golden eyes flicker towards your face and a small smile appears. “But I am pleased to see it fits.” Long fingers trace the lines of your necklace top before toying with the ends of the pink boy. 

You stiffen beneath his touch, eyeing the sheathed dagger across his chest. 

Do sacrificial ceremonies require specific clothing? 

Maybe dressing a sacrifice up in pretty ornaments and clothing proves to their deity its value. 

Either way, you hope it’s fast. The Na’vi are trained killers, but at least they should know how to end a life swiftly. 

“I would be pleased to see the resources you promised.” The Colonel bites back.

Neteyam sighs and purses her lips as if the small army around them is simply an annoyance instead of a threat. 

“Trades are not historically present between the Omatikaya and your people. I am not opposed to taking instead. Remember that.” 

You can hear the shifting guns behind you. The Colonel’s anger boils through the air and you are surprised to find no smart response coming from him. Neteyam leisurely tugs the ends of the bow, perfecting its shape and you are mortified to feel your nipples tighten beneath them. He nods his head and a few armed Na’vi step forward and hesitantly hand over a few tubes of minerals.

You recognize it as unobtanium, most likely the small amount left to mine from the last Home Tree. Your eyes widen. All of that for you? 

It wouldn’t be enough to make the RDA’s trip a success but it would surely cut down the financial loss significantly. But why give it over? Just to kill you? Had their deity sent out a bounty on your head and if so, what had you done to piss Her off so immensely?

“As promised.” Neteyam rises back to full height, hands settling on his hips. “I trust you understand what is to come to those who do not honor this agreement.” 

“Consider her a…peace offering. A special gift from the RDA.” You can hear the smirk in Quaritch’s tone, even the chuckle that Loyd fights to hold back. Your teeth dig into the fabric gag, praying more than ever that now would be the one time you would be able to rip him a new one. 

Your own special gift before you leave this life. 

“I tire of your presence, demon.” 

Quaritch scoffs but you can already hear the shuffling of retreating boots as they slowly but surely exit the scene. The only home you have ever known and now it is nothing more than a memory. You’re left to the demise of the Na’vi like a shiny object to be collected. 

And with the way Neteyam smiles and studies your form intently, you can’t have found a better analogy. Kneeling once more, large hands cup your cheeks, fingers encasing the whole side of your head. 

“Oeyӓ tiyawn, you are shaking.” He tuts, features softening at breakneck speed. Eyebrows furrowing, you watch closely as he carefully parts the hair from your face. “So nice to meet you, properly that is.” He chuckles, as if telling a joke only he knows the context to. 

Unease tightens your muscles and you’re sure that if your heart rate picks up anymore the organ will simply give out before they even have a chance to kill you. 

He sends a look to the side and instantly the rest of the Na’vi party retreat back into the forest. Your forehead creases. What is a sacrifice without an audience? 

Unless. 

Neteyam’s fingers comb through your hair.

Unless the Olo’eyktan has decided to have his fun with you before you are offered up. 

Tears spill from your eyes and you can’t stop yourself from trying to beg through the gag.

“Oh tiyawn,” His thumbs wipe away your tears. “You do not need to cry anymore. Not now that you are mine.” 

A hiccup catches in your throat, wide eyes looking up at him. 

“My sweet pet.” He husks, lips curved into a prideful smile. 

Your heart drops to your stomach.

Pet. 

How does he even know what that word means? The Na’vi do not keep pets. Perhaps he misspoke. 

But when one large hand circles around the back of your neck and you remember one thing: this man was raised by both Na’vi and Sky People. 

Frantically shaking your head in protest you try to get out words that will convince him to release you. It’s a strained effort with the cloth gag and his giant hand grasping your neck. 

“Mawey, little gift, before you hurt yourself.” He lingers over the cloth gag and for a moment you have hope that he will remove it, instead Neteyam gives you a sympathetic smile. “My poor tiyawn, I would love to remove it but I think we will need to go over some ground rules first. I’ll need you to listen without distraction for that part.” 

Your thoughts tangle into a million knots as vast ideas of what these rules may entail generate frantically. 

It would be easier to believe that a Na’vi has no purpose for a Sky Person as a pet but it’s impossible to miss the lust swimming in his golden orbs. Nor the wandering hands that now come to squeeze your plush hips. 

“You’re even more breathtaking up close.” He grins. When had he seen you from a distance? “Especially in proper clothing.” 

You can barely see through the cloud of tears over your eyes so you miss when Neteyam unsheathes his knife. That is, until you feel the cold material against your ankles. Terror grips your heart but to your surprise the Olo’eyktan cuts the rope around your feet. 

Foolishly you take advantage of this slight freedom only to be snatched around the waist and pulled onto his lap. Neteyam chuckles as if your escape attempt is the cutest thing he has ever seen. Your hips ache slightly at the stretch it takes to straddle one of his muscular thighs. 

“Misbehaving already, hm?” He raises a hairless eyebrow at you, one hand slink down to settle over your rear. Luckily he seems more amused than angry. After all, you have to admit that there was no real chance of you outrunning him in the first place. And now that those muscular arms are locked around you, there is no hope of beating his strength. 

Humiliation runs deep when you feel the first trickle of arousal stain your tiny loincloth. Neteyam’s thigh flexes and your pussy greedily takes the friction as an invitation. His nostrils flare, no doubt taking in your changing scent. 

He doesn’t further your embarrassment, however. At least not yet. 

“My father told me about these.” He muses, fingers playing with the bow once more. “It’s said to represent gifts. I always thought they were silly but now…” Heat runs straight to your core when his thumb dances over one escaped nipple. “I quite like the look of it on you, little gift.” 

A whimper escapes your lips without permission, snagging his attention. 

“Needy little pet, aren’t you?” A dark laugh rumbles his chest as his thumb casually slips underneath to bow to torment one nipple. “Do not worry, oeyӓ tiyawn. I’ll have you seeing stars before the night is through.” 

Everything in your mind says no but Neteyam’s skin is warm and his hands are skilled as one teases your nipples while the other explores your backside. Your body preens into the touch, desperate for some semblance of comfort to hold onto. And in the dangerous atmosphere of Pandoran nights, your instincts tell you that this man is what separates you from death. 

However, you are still held as prey under his gaze. 

“But first I think it is time to get you home.” He leans forwards until your noses are touching. 

“You will be more comfortable in my bed, pet.” 

And so it begins! As always, I would LOVE to hear your thoughts! <3

unofficial taglist: @pandoraslxna @tallulah477 (thought you might like it, baby) @itchaboi-itchyboy @zafrinaxyz @lilghostiequinni @criticallybella

Please let me know if you would like to be added to the official taglist for future parts

[sincerelyneo]

hickeys | z.cl

❯ summary: Your boyfriend, Chenle, is competitive. And even though the comment about you giving better hickeys than him was a joke — he’s always up for the chance to prove you wrong. Yes, he loves you, but that doesn’t mean he’d let you get away with thinking he was bad at something — especially not something you claim you’re better at than him — so he settles it.

❯ pairings: chenle x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, very suggestive, fluffish, very slight minor angst, reader is slightly inexperienced.

❯ words: 2.9k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, marking/hickeys, a lot of kissing, light petting, chenle is sulky, brief mentions of jealousy, chenle and reader have a hickey competition idk????

“Can you believe the nerve of that guy?” your boyfriend huffs, shaking off his coat as the two of you usher through your shared apartment. 

He’s pissed — scrap that — he’s beyond fuming. He’s angry that the guy at the coffee shop you frequent every morning thought he could ask you for your number the moment he slipped away to the bathroom.

He just can’t seem to quite understand it. It’s not like you were alone — you and Chenle had walked in together. And Chenle knew the guy on the counter knew who he was because, for the last three months of your relationship, the two of you had made it a habit to get coffee at that same cafe on your street corner every morning. 

“He probably just didn’t realise we were together. Don’t think too hard about it babe,” you say wrapping your hands around his waist as he hangs up his stuff on the coat rack.

Chenle rolls his eyes before turning around. He’s upset you’re trying to brush this off, but he knows it’s not your fault so he still places a gentle kiss on the top of your head. Then, he unwraps your hands from him and walks to sink into the soft black couch, pulling out his phone and scrolling through it. 

You know he’s still pissed but is pretending not to be. You see the harsh way he’s gripping his phone case, and the way his eyebrows keep knitting together, and the frustrated sighs he keeps letting pass through his nose. 

But the whole thing is silly really — but you know he doesn’t see it that way. And honestly, if the shoe was on the other foot, you’d be beyond pissed too. 

“He didn’t realise we were together my ass,” he mumbles.

You cross your arms over your chest as you stand in front of him, “are you seriously jealous right now?”

He sees the way you’re smirking at him, teasing him, and he hates it. 

“Being jealous would mean he has something I want-” he puts his phone down on the spot next to him and leans forward on his knees, eyes fixed on you “-I already have you. He should be jealous of me.”

You let that comment slide with a roll of your eyes.

“He might just be new, LeLe, and he might not have seen us walk in together.” 

Chenle knows that’s not possible. He knows the barista was not some new recruit — he was the same guy he’s clocked eyeing you every time he seemed to be on shift. Your boyfriend hated the way the man's eyes would flick to your lips as you ordered; and the way he’d let his hand linger for too long when passing you your change. 

At first, he didn’t mind it. He was proud to have such a beautiful girlfriend that was so unaware of the effect she had on other people. What bothered him was when he made a point to wrap his hand around your waist, tight, and the man didn’t care, still making advances at you. 

Yeah, that’s what pissed him off. 

“It doesn’t matter, he should have seen that hickey on your neck and minded his own fucking business,” he growls. 

Your eyes widen, remembering the way your boyfriend lightly feathered kisses down your neck before sucking down, only hard enough to leave a light bruise as replacement when he pulled off with a pop, last night.

It’s then you realise he’d made sure to do that to you every single night for the last three months — even if you weren’t having sex that night. And even though the mark would be slightly faded come the morning, you still reprimand him for it. 

In fact, your boyfriend had never expressed an interest in marking you until you had started your morning coffee ritual. And then it clicks. 

“Zhong Chenle, have you been marking me on purpose?!”

Your sulky boyfriend sheepishly sinks back into the couch, lips pursing into a line. Your hands go to your hips, and so do his eyes, as you wait for a response from him. 

“It’s not like that, Y/N, I swear, it’s just…he…ugh…I don’t know,” he’s starting to get flustered and you can’t help but giggle at him. 

You take the seat beside him, holding his hands in yours. 

“You’ve been giving me hickeys every single night to prove that I’m yours?” you ask, a smirk twitching at the corner of your lips. Chenle nods, making you smile. “Well, you’re not doing a very good job at it if guys are still hitting on me.”

You’re joking, trying to lighten the mood and add a smile to his face, but he doesn’t find you funny. The minute the words leave your lips, Chenle’s eyes darken, and the hold you have on each other’s hands tightens. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

He drops your hands immediately and turns his body to face away from you. You realise you’re making the situation worse and can’t believe your boyfriend’s being so sulky about something you thought was a none issue. 

“Oh come on, Chenle. I’m just playing around,” you bring your hand to his cheek to turn him back to look at you. He brushes your hand away, but stays facing you — you’re thankful for that at least. 

“Sounds like your saying I give bad hickeys,” he mumbles. You have to laugh at him, he’s being ridiculous. “It’s not funny.”

You roll your eyes, “No, I’m saying maybe I should give you the hickeys from now on to clear up everyone’s confusion.”

“You think you give better hickeys than I do?” His eyes have narrowed on you.

You knew of your boyfriend’s competitive nature, and now he’s giving you a look he only ever really gives to Haechan when the two of them play video games; or Jisung when they’re playing basketball. But now, he’s directing that look at you, tense jaw, tight fist, slit eyes. 

He looks so hot like this, all riled up, confronted and pissed off at you. You can’t help but swallow the lump in your throat and clench your thighs together as your pussy flutters at the sight. 

“Chenle, I’m playing with you-”

“You’re challenging me,” he corrects, leaning in to brush against your skin. He whispers discreetly in your ear. 

You don’t dare to make a sound, feeling the pit in your stomach rise. He takes his middle and pointer fingers and taps them against last night’s purple mark. He pokes his tongue out of his mouth then you feel his wet lips brush the spot. Your breath hitches and Chenle laughs, the throaty sound vibrating on your neck so good you almost moan. 

“This isn’t good enough for you, huh?” he pulls back to examine his work. His fingers are rough as he rubs up and down against the mark, cooing as he soothes the soft spot of your skin. Once he stops, you gasp as his hand grips your jaw so that your eyes meet his. “Think you can do better?”

“C-Chenle,” you breathe out as his grip keeps you in place. You love the dominance the gesture exerts. 

His other hand grazes up your thigh, his thumb caressing the inner part of your skin. The touch is small, but it doesn’t stop your body from going on fire. 

“I think we should put this to the test, don’t you think?” 

“W-W-What do you mean?” You can’t think straight, not with his hand inching closer and closer to your panties. And you know the minute he reaches them, he’ll tease you about the wetness already pooling there. 

“I suck your neck, you suck mine,” he nuzzles back into your neck now, his breath fanning over you as he whispers low. “See which one of us is really better.” 

You shove him back because you can’t believe what he’s saying. Chenle never lets you mark him, not with his job, so you’re in a state of disbelief. That and you just couldn’t take any more of him acting like this without jumping his bones right there on the couch. 

"That’s not fair, you know you have more experience than I do,” you object. 

Chenle huffs, “You’re the one who started this by saying I give bad hickeys.” 

“I never said that.” 

“Might as well of.” 

He’s impossible. 

"And besides baby, have you ever heard of quality over quantity, you could prove me wrong-” his touch comes back as he nuzzles in closer. “I don’t think you will, but I’d love to go see you try.” 

Now it was your turn to feel challenged. If this was how he wants to play, then fine. You were gonna do this, and you were gonna give it your all proving him wrong. You narrow your eyes and lick your lips. 

"Alright, fine. But I’m going first,” you turn your body a fraction to meet his direction. 

Chenle tilts his head back upright and looks at you with shock. You glimmer a grin, knowing he wasn’t expecting you to agree so soon.

“Bold for someone who was just complaining about having a lack of experience,” he teases and you scowl. 

"Ever heard of quality over quantity?" You mimic him.

Then, you're tilting his head and leaning into the crook of his neck. You start off gently, easing in very calm and slow. His lips gently part at the plush feeling of your lips. You’re taking your time with it — and it’s killing him. You don’t suck or bite just yet, only gently kissing him in very calming spots. 

You begin to pick up speed starting to suck but keeping a gradual build. You moan into his skin causing vibrations to ripple through him making him grunt. When you pop off and look at the red mark starting to bruise on the side of his neck, you smile. You look down to see his cock straining against his jeans — and that does wonders for your ego. 

“Don’t get too smug-” he pulls your hips closer to him. “It’s my turn now.” 

Your stomach starts to turn in your nerves as you straighten your back so you’re closer to his head level. Your chest gently rises up and down as his hands start gripping your thighs. He’s so close you notice just how good he smells. 

You felt a brief exhale from him, humid air gliding down the arch of your neck. You gently shallow out your breathing, and that’s when he leans in to make contact with you.

You force your eyes to stay open, wanting to bask in the feeling of his warm contact on your sensitive skin. Your boyfriend was also one cocky motherfucker, so you refuse to let a sound slip from your mouth or allow your eyes to shutter in ecstasy. 

His first initial touch is wet and warm. And when he starts moving, he begins slowly with very tender kisses. He does that thing you love when he moves up closer to your ear knowing that’s the spot that gives you the most pleasure. 

You know this isn’t a fair battlefield. Chenle knows all the right things to do that have you squirming and writhing underneath him — and God did he know it. You’d never given him a hickey before, so you were already at a disadvantage. 

His kisses keep getting heavier, parting his lips with a subtle suck between his teeth, sending sharp shocks through your body. He notices you jolt and starts soothing the skin with a lapse of his tongue after.

Then he starts integrating suction, right below your ear. He sucks with a roughness he knew  you enjoyed, breathing heavily in an almost pant. You couldn't help but allow your eyes to feather shut against your will. You bite the inside of your cheek, refusing to make a sound and feed his already large ego. 

His hand grasps your side, gripping you firmly right below your rib cage. The touch applies heat to your stomach, the pleasure of his fingers digging into your sides. He sucks on different places until he’s back up to lace under your ear. You bite your cheek harder as his hands start gripping your bare thighs more aggressively.

Those hands start creeping further up your skirt until his left-hand rests above your panties. He takes your earlobe between his teeth, and at the same time, his hot breath huffed right into your ear. You uncontrollably shiver and tilt your head back a bit, making him smile against you sadistically.

"Aren’t you fidgety?" He whispers, as his hands start teasing the material. He loved to gravel a choppy exhale against your ear, knowing the sound and feeling always made you shiver.

“Because you’re not playing fair, Chenle,” you grip his hand, stopping him. 

He knows he’s not — but he doesn’t care. The only thing he cares about right now is winning and hoping you swallow your words. 

“Really?” He asks, “I don’t remember us having any rules.” 

His face is flush flat right against your cheek, his deep breath exhales on your skin as he loves every minute of you squirming. 

“W-We didn’t, but this is c-cheating,” you finally let out a whimper and want to curse yourself after trying so hard to fight it. 

“What’s cheating?” He asks innocently, his hand moving back to the wet material between your legs. 

“This,” you grab hold of his wrist, but you're not strong enough to stop the way he teases your waistband and glides his rough digit above your pubic bone. 

“What’s ‘this’?” 

“You’re not allowed to touch me like this. It’s cheating!” 

Chenle laughs but doesn't remove his hand. And deep down you didn’t want him to — despite your protests. Instead, he greedily makes you take your own hand, which was white-knuckling your other thigh, so he could have full access to spread your legs open. Your chest was rising now, eyes looking down at the large ring-covered hand brushing between your thighs. Chenle’s eyes flicker with lust, and you’re certain yours do too. 

He curls his lips into your neck, satisfied. The gentle noise of euphoria he had gotten out of you was enough to fuel his fire, because from there he started going harder. He continues grunting against your ear, lacing down just below it to leave what you assume to be violent marks. 

His large hand curls into your underwear rather than just sitting on top of it. You cussed under your breath, stomach jumping. 

He doesn’t touch you, leaving his hand to just linger before your folds. It causes a burning heat between your legs so much that you couldn’t help but shift in your seat. Your body was screaming to be touched at this point.

"Are you sure you want to consider this cheating?" Chenle coaxes in your now sensitive ear. “Wouldn’t want to break the rules now, would I?” 

You know he’s lying. He’s never given a fuck about rules. Ever. 

You shake your head, trying to shift and cause any kind of friction you could get, but Chenle snaps his hand from out of your panties. 

You’re so overwhelmed at this point but in the best way possible. His lips continue to massage your neck in rough-tempered ways, his hand only rubbing the skin of your thigh but they’re almost quivering.

“Please Chenle,” you whine. 

The game had completely left your mind by now. His hand eventually moves to your core, and he cups you over your panties. You uncontrollably let out a struggled moan, being too turned on to handle anything right now. He delicately grazes his fingers up and down your covered pussy. 

"Still think I’m bad at this?” He talks into your neck.

"I-I never—”

Chenle’s fingers suddenly — but finally — slip into your underwear, making you gasp when you feel him graze your naked folds. Your body flexes in startle, but even the lightest touch from him felt so good.

"You’re wet.." He whispers, pulling his hand back out.

You hated the way he kept doing that. 

You pull your head away from his lips, making him lock eyes with you. When he did, his face dropped a bit when he picked up your lustful expression. His eyes flick to your chest, rising up and down. 

His hand stills on your thigh, "Still think you’re better at this than me?”

Fuck no. 

You shake your head violently making him grin. There’s more amusement in his eyes than you would have liked but right now you don’t care — you just needed him. 

He takes the fingers that have toyed with you and taps them against the wet spot on your neck. He coos, rubbing over the stinging skin.

"Think this should be enough to keep him away from you.”

You bite your lip and nod. You can’t see the damage just yet — but the way he’s just been ravaging your neck — you're sure he’s done a number on you. 

Your chest is still rising up and down. Core aching and body screaming at you to beg for him. 

"Say it, baby," He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Say I won, and I’ll touch you…”

You don’t waste a second more, your body on fire with need. 

“Of course, you won, Chenle! Now hurry up and fuck me!”

[plutoswritingplanet]

Mortal Kombat 1 Intro Dialogues

a/n: some slightly flirty dialogues for suggested characters from Mortal Kombat 1 (and 11), reader is a blood mage, adjacent to "Unpunishable"

Warnings: Suggestive Language, Obscure References, Poor Attempts at Comedy

Shang Tsung

Shang Tsung: Liu Kang is squandering your potential.

Reader: I trust his judgement completely.

Shang Tsung: You were made for so much more.

...

Reader: You want me to make a deal with the Devil.

Shang Tsung: All I ask in return, is your soul.

Reader: It's too high a price!

...

Shang Tsung: I lay before you my eternal heart...

Reader: There is no love with you, only ownership.

Shang Tsung: I dearly love all of my possessions.

...

Reader: I must believe there's good even in the darkest corners of the world

Shang Tsung: Finding it in me might turn out to be a futile fight

Reader: I don't give up easily, Shang Tsung

...

Shang Tsung: Have you ever thought to say "stop"? "If you love me, you would stop?"

Reader: Not in a thousand years.

Shang Tsung: I see now, why we're destined for each other

...

Reader: The things you've been doing in your laboratories are vile

Shang Tsung: I've used the same magic, as the one coursing through your veins

Reader: Liar!

Liu Kang

Liu Kang: Empress Sindel has approved your application to study Outworld's medicine.

Reader: I'm honored by her trust.

Liu Kang: You'll do a splendid job as Earthrealm's ambassador.

...

Reader: I fear the pull of darkness overpowering me.

Liu Kang: I will guide you, until your mind is at peace.

Reader: What if it never ends?

...

Liu Kang: In the previous timeline, you were my close friend and adversary.

Reader: And in this timeline?

Liu Kang: I'm inclined to say the same.

...

Reader: Doesn't it get lonely, being a God?

Liu Kang: I'm devoted to protecting Earthrealm and its people.

Reader: You didn't answer my question.

...

Liu Kang: Beware Shang Tsung's honeyed words.

Reader: You've said we were destined for each other in all timelines.

Liu Kang: And your union always leads to your suffering.

...

Reader: You knew I'd reject Shang Tsung's offer? Fight him every step of the way?

Liu Kang: I had faith, you would make the right choice

Reader: Honestly, do you have music playing in your head when you say garbage like that

Johnny Cage

Johnny: Let me just say, there's no other place I would rather be, than right here with you right now.

Reader: I can change that very easily.

Johnny: Why so serious, sweet cheeks?

...

Reader: No, Johnny, I won't be playing in any of your movies, ever.

Johnny: Can I ask why?

Reader: Why I don't want the job that makes your brain explode?

...

Johnny: You might wanna reconsider your rendezvous with the Sorcerer.

Reader: Which one?

Johnny: Oh, you are a bad woman.

...

Reader: Don't be such a baby, it's just a scrap.

Johnny: And I need a hot nurse to patch it up.

Reader: Why do I even… You're impossible.

...

Johnny: You have experience with emotionally fragile men, right?

Reader: You're self-aware today.

Johnny: I was talking about Kung Lao...

...

Reader: Okay, Ninja Priest was actually kinda good.

Johnny: YES! I knew you had a thing for the clergy.

Reader: That's not what I... You're such an ass!

Kung Lao

Reader: Do you think Liu Kang has destined us to become friends?

Kung Lao: Obviously, I'd never choose this for myself.

Reader: He could've made you less of twat...

...

Kung Lao: It's way too dangerous for you to travel Outworld alone.

Reader: I don't need a babysitter, Kung Lao.

Kung Lao: Prove it, then.

...

Reader: If you buy me dinner at Madame Bo's, I'll heal your arm.

Kung Lao: I see your time with Shang Tsung is rubbing off on you.

Reader: See, now I gotta hurt ya.

...

Kung Lao: How does it feel, being in the center of the Snake's attention.

Reader: Fuck you man, I didn't ask for this.

Kung Lao: Not good then.

...

Reader: Come on, I paid for dinner last time.

Kung Lao: I'll be happy to pay... Once you beat me.

Reader: You can be an ass sometimes, you know that?

...

Kung Lao: You know I only meant it as a joke, right?

Reader: Let me show you just how funny I think you are

Kung Lao: Bring it on, Nurse.

Bi-Han

Reader: You betrayed everything your clan stood for.

Bi-Han: You have no moral high-ground here, Healer.

Reader: I don't need it.

...

Bi-Han: Join the Lin Kuei, and unleash your true power.

Reader: Not while they're under your command, traitor.

Bi-Han: Your pride will be your downfall.

...

Reader: I can feel your blood run cold through your body...

Bi-Han: It will boil while I destroy you.

Reader: You'll freeze to death, then.

...

Bi-Han: Your aversion to power is your greatest flaw.

Reader: Should I follow your lead, then, and betray all I love for a promise of greatness?

Bi-Han: Is it wrong to want more?

...

Reader: Maybe I can beat some sense into you…

Bi-Han: I will crush you, little girl.

Reader: Great, a quip about my height, so original.

...

Bi-Han: We meet again, Blood Mage.

Reader: I knew you couldn't stay away, Bi-Han.

Bi-Han: Let's see if your training has progressed.

Erron Black

(am i the only one devastated he wasn't included in mk1?)

Erron: What's a pretty lookin' thing like you doin' in a place like this?

Reader: Holy shit, you even talk like a cowboy!

Erron: …Nevermind.

...

Reader: If I win, I get to wear the hat.

Erron: You'd look mighty fine in it, I'd wager.

Reader: Don't you pull your punches on me now, Black.

...

Erron: There's quite the price on your head, sweetheart.

Reader: And you'll do everything to collect it, right?

Erron: I could be persuaded against it, with the right motivation...

...

Reader: Do you flirt with all your targets?

Erron: Only pretty little ones, like you, girlie.

Reader: Well then, let's dance, Cowboy.

...

Erron: I wouldn't mind giving you a ride around town, little lady.

Reader: I'd rather beat you where you stand.

Erron: Be still, my beating heart.

...

Reader: I know who sent you.

Erron: Someone who's eager to get their hands back on you.

Reader: You can both keep them to yourself.

[getodrools]

𐙚 COMPARABLE FANTASIES: TOJI FUSHIGURO!

IN WHICH, toji proves even with new, cold attachments, he could still make you feel good regardless...

I 𝓲. I MDNI ୨୧ f! reader. slight jjk spoilers. lazy dovey morning turned messy feral muah mess. fingering. breeding. cock warming. squirting. creampies. | WC –> 0.8k+ est ! !

TOJI'S TONGUE PLAYS AT the shell of your ear, slipping in to whisper, "you feel… full." nuzzling down, you ache into his touch.

feening at cold metal dipping between bodies, toji trails along your tummy to mush at the small bump of devotion pooled stickily in your womb. his scar curls with his lips – smirking at the ghastly amount as he keeps his softening cock deeply buried in your walls.

groaning and twisting at the warm fill and shivering and cooing at the foreign object drifting at your skin. it was crushing to see the man you love once kiss death and now filled in with a new century of technology...

though, how he handled it. it was, manly... tantalizingly fun too.

filthy.

cold — freezing more of... the sudden touch of his new arm snipped at bare skin, feeling him slip between shaken legs was like glaciers moving through water… soon, catching at the puckered hood of your clit, he winds steady circles.

“cold? heh...” his words trail off into a husky groan, almost mocking at your worn shivers.

spent and warmly settled to spooning, his cock rests a slow rhythm before popping out. unplugged… a warm, white mess follows, dripping a soiled puddle into silk sheets.

toji knew it made you squirm — knowing the truth. it was new and something to get used to.

no different, he spreads slippery folds wide, forcing them to hug, now, two silvery fingers and cling tight as he pummeled cum back where he deems belongs. toji was quick and busy at stuffing spongy walls to the hilt, all while you were marveling in the taunt texture the entire way through, feeling scraps digging at you with fierce intent.

eyes fluttering back, toji pecks along your jaw,

"see, 's still makes you feel good.." lewdly locking lips, you squeeze at his forearm; the mass once strong muscle, scarred and expanse, now smooth, dull - and uncanny... but the sensible warmness growing to your tone left an ache.

incredulously prodding away, he digs eager fingers into your cum-swollen cunt – and one moment they weren't, the next, they were pressing against your sensitive bundle of nerves, running circles. your thoughts too, running mindlessly, hearing the squelching batter of juices and tainted shame.

"you're making me hard again, baby... maken' those pretty moans in my ear." you curl into his chest, sobbing out moans as his fingers pressed down and worked into your slit. hard and smooth, he dug them into the pliant, slick heat of your pussy, squishing at walls and kneading them around working digits.

you mewl, "oh!–" crudely before whimpering into submission. toji pops the metal tools out, yet kept a steady rhythm at your puffy hood, and probed his bulbous cockhead – hitting into you in no time at all. full chastity, his cock swole and throbbing again. toji sets a rhythm. strong and paced, and keeping firm at your clit; rolling and pinching when warm walls squeeze at his base.

toji holds you close as you sink into fervent putty; his arms so strong, one just as the other, keeping you warm and close... your stomach is coiling and your jaw hangs, "my pretty girl likes being stuffed? you enjoy looking like a mess? huh?" his free hand tucks under your neck, bullying eye contact from you.

you shakily nod.

"nothing can stop me from making you feel good baby?" he would be foaming at the mouth if possible; gasping at the deep-set of jungle eyes hooded, almost hunting for you through lids,

"don't ever doubt me, sweetheart..." panting with pearls of sweat mixing in, as both of you in sync like beasts – tongues even lapping sloppily at each other.

his life seemed to hold that fine line. It terrified you, every day because it could be any day... only the potency of resilience proved odds... and oddly, it was attractive how much he held that.

he fucked you good and well, always horny and hungry. never knowing if it could be the last to make you scream over his name ‘til you couldn't… the day he faced eternal gloaming and luckily found an escape through it, he stuffed you long and hard – ‘til you were packed like a snow cone...

toji buried himself deep while his swollen crown pushed hard against the breaking walls you lose control of – shivering in a pulsing high. licking up your throat, a wet and sloppy tongue cursing,

"can you even handle another?" he was mocking you and at your weakness, watching through droopy eyes how you shook into a mess at such little, yet so much...

watching how he fucks you into a mess and keeping metallic fingers pinched at your clit, you arched a perfect bow into the sheets; cumming a fountain and creaming a translucent ring at his base, his balls rise in a manner you adored in response. In a battering of his hips, solid nth-inch cock meat swelled with oozing cum. heavy holders, no less than before, and just as messy, empties every last drop into you.

…

barely room, ropes of hot seed decorate the soft mounds of your ass. almost bursting; his cock pops out still jutting in cloud nine as your womb was drowning in delight and with cum still struggling to find space... your chest heaves and his follows.

"ah-... y/n..." catching a rare breath, the same raunchy arm puckers up to your face and drags your chin back to his. showing no difference – just clanking bits and cold metal, he pulls and breathes at your bottom, quivering lip,

"i'll always, take care of you."

<– BACK: PINNED ౨ৎ NEXT: MORE TOJI –>

[norrizzandpia]

hi honey! can u pls do a lando or oscar x american!reader who’s like not f1 and is actually a really bad driver cause like literally my life lol. thank u love u

I CANT DRIVE FOR SHIT THOSE CURBS LOVE ME SO I LOVE THIS AND I LOVE YOU TOO

British v. American (OP81)

Summary: In which Oscar tries to teach his girlfriend how to drive in England. The only catch? She’s never driven on the other side of the road. Oh, and she’s never driven anywhere else except for California.

Warnings: Oscar showing emotion lol, language, im serious this man PANICS

Note: YALL SAW HIS CUTIE LITTLE LETTERMAN JACKET MOMENT TODAY IN VEGAS????? HEART EYES. IM IN LOVE WITH HIM.

Oscar was very well-versed in dangerous driving. He knew that, his family knew that, his friends knew that, everyone knew that. His girlfriend, however, seemed to think otherwise. He was gripping onto the handle of his McLaren as she shot down the street of his apartment complex.

“Y/n! Slow down!” He yelped, willing his hands not to fly over and grab the steering wheel.

She giggled, “Osc, I’m going 45.”

He shook his head, leaning over slightly to see if she was right. She was. He let out a breath of relief, seemingly renewed with his usual calmness, “Okay, that’s fine. You’re fine.” He mumbled to himself, “You love her. You’re doing this because you love her. You want her to be able to get around safely because you want her around more, visiting more, and you need peace of mind yourself when she’s by herself. You’re fine, Oscar. You’re literally fine.”

“Done talking to yourself? I have no clue what I’m doing here.” His girlfriend, the girl in question, laughed as she slowed down, almost coming to a stop in the middle of his residential area.

He nodded, forearm resting on the console as he moved closer to her. His finger pointed straight, “Go that way. I’m just going to have you go down to that coffee shop we love a few minutes away. You remember how to get there?”

She smiled, “Yeah, I love it there! Can we get coffee grounds when we get there? You used the last of them this morning.”

His head tilted as he stared at her, heart soaring randomly at the way she cared so much over such a domestic subject, “Sure, baby.”

He watched as she turned out of the neighborhood and onto the street, joining the cluster of cars. Considering she had never driven the way Europeans do and the fact that she was an inherently bad driver, Oscar was sweating with nerves and worry over his precious car. He had tried to give her a crash course when they first got in, but she had waved him off, explaining that British roads couldn’t be that much different than American roads.

Y/n was proved painfully wrong when they came to a sign and she had no clue what it meant. She stopped, cars honking loudly behind her, “What the fuck is that?!”

Oscar jumped out of his seat, “What are you doing?! Go! Go! It’s give way, Y/n! Why are you stopped?!”

She blushed in embarrassment, “WHAT THE FUCK IS GIVE WAY?!”

He shook his head, eyebrows furrowed, “YIELD! IT’S YIELD IN AMERICA! DON’T FUCKING STOP, BABE! THERE ARE NO CARS! DON’T STOP!” He exclaimed, hands waving around as the cars stopped behind them began yelling out of their windows.

She stepped on the gas, pulling through the intersection with haste, both her’s and Oscar’s heads whipping backwards as the throttle really gave in. His hands came to grip the car once more, eyes wide as she began weaving through traffic.

His heart beat out of his chest when she turned the car, remembering the direction at the last minute, and almost scrapped the side of his car right on the curb.

“Y/N!” He yelled, though not angrily, rather surprised and terrified. He watched in horror as she apologized, however not letting up on her reckless driving. The car pulled forward quickly when the car in front of her was completely stopped at a light, she slammed on the brakes, coming within centimeters of the other’s rear. When the car stopped moving, finally, Oscar turned slowly to his girlfriend with a look of astonishment, “What the fuck.”

She smiled at him, that grin getting her out of Oscar’s anger, “Sorry, baby, but you knew exactly what you were getting into when you asked me to drive.”

He shook his head, “It’s been five minutes and you’ve stopped at a give way sign, almost ruined the pristine wrap I have on this car, and tried to rear end someone!”

She laughed, “Almost is the key word to all of that, Osc! I almost did that. But, none of it actually happened! Gotta think positive, Pastry!”

He just blinked at her, wishing desperately that he could take hold of his prized possession. The light changed, the cars moving again, and Oscar was close to clawing at his eyes, only then would he be able to not see the rest of her wild driving.

The trend continued as she went into a roundabout and missed the exit, having to go around six more times trying to find the correct one. Even after that, when they were seconds from their destination, she tried parking, but almost hit the car next to her head on when she pulled in. Oscar was in awe as she shrugged off every mistake, backing up and trying again as if she wasn’t driving one of the most expensive, rare cars on Earth.

When she put it in park, unbuckling and getting out cheerily, he stayed in the car, breathing heavily. He sat there for a few moments. Long enough for his girlfriend to open his door and crouch down to his level. She looked up at him from her position, laying her hand on his knee, “Oscar, baby, you okay?”

He shook his head, “No.”

Y/n giggled from beside him, “I’m sorry, Osc. I know my driving’s erratic.”

He nodded, “Yeah and in my car.”

She smiled, running her hand up and down his leg, “Does it make you feel better if you drive home?”

“Yes.” He began, looking at her hesitantly, “I know I said I wanted you to be able to get around by yourself when you’re visiting me, but I think it’d be best if I just drove you around when you’re with me. More time to spend together!”

Y/n chuckled when he tried to soften the blow by leaning down and pecking her lips, “Oscar, that’s fine by me. I hate driving anyway.”

“You do?!” He asked, groaning loudly.

“Yeah! I know I suck at it! I hate doing it!” She explained.

He threw up his hands, “Well, I didn’t know that! I wouldn’t have asked you in the first place! I just went through all of that for nothing!”

She stood up, stepping back as he followed her out. He closed the door, grabbed her hand, and pulled her into him while leaning against the car.

He linked her other hand in his and twisted them behind her, his arms linking around her as she whispered against his face, “At least I got us here alive?”

“Alive, but traumatized.”

She pulled away, walking away and toward the store, “Oh, stop being a drama queen or else I’ll never give these back!”

She held the keys in between her fingers, dangling there and taunting her boyfriend. He leaned off the car, running after her frantically, “GIVE ME THOSE BACK RIGHT NOW, Y/N Y/L/N!”

[vampcubus]

:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : nsfw, sub!yandere!izuku, dom!fem!reader, kinda mean reader, izuku being delusional & obsessive, spitting, oral (f!receiving), not proofread.

I wanna bully Yandere Izuku just a bit, just to watch him crumple at the slightest crumb of attention. Because let’s face it, Izuku doesn’t care if you’re being nice to him. He wants you to perceive him, to acknowledge him as something tangible — something worth your time. And if you spend that time pulling on his chubby cheeks and hooking your fingers in his mouth to spit into it, who is he to try and stop you?

If he can’t be with you, he can at least be entertaining for you. If you say all he’s good for is to spread his legs and fuck himself on his fingers while you watch, who is he to disagree? All that processes in his fuzzy little head is that he’s good for something.

It’s just fun at first, teasing your pathetic little stalker to see him trip over himself. You didn’t mean for it to go this far, but you can’t deny that the creep has grown on you. After all, who else would get on their knees and worship the ground you walk on while being treated like a pet? Not many, which makes Izuku a special case that you just can’t get enough of.

Your conscience is telling you to get outta there, that playing with someone’s feelings that was so clearly ill for you was a bad idea. You can imagine the fit he’d throw if you proposed such an idea, actually quite vividly because he’s throwing it right now.

“What do you mean we shouldn’t see each other anymore? I thought things were going so well!” He sobs into your thigh, his arms and legs clinging to your leg like a child. Your hands hover just above his head awkwardly, unsure if you should really be comforting him right then. “You can’t break up with me now!”

“Break up? We were never even a thing. There’s nothing to break up. I let you follow me around and we had a bit of fun, but really this is getting out of control. I mean, I’m using you, you know?”

Izuku doesn’t seem to be hearing you though, too caught up in his own delusions. You had expected him to take it poorly, but this was worse than you thought.

“You weren’t concerned about using me before. Why are you abandoning me all of a sudden? I just wanna make you happy!” The man bawls, and you’re ashamed by how the pathetic look on his face excites you.

He was pretty, even when he cried.

“Don’t you see that whatever fantasy world you live in isn’t real? I told you from the beginning that a relationship between us was impossible.”

“But you keep coming back to me. That means I’m useful to you, right? I’ve been so good for you. I’ve stopped following you around as much and I’ve been taking less of your stuff like you asked me to! I’ve done everything you asked without question, you can’t throw me away now!” Izuku’s fingers twist in your shirt, and he uses it as leverage to drag himself up from the floor.

“Izuku,” you sigh, more protestations resting on the tip of your tongue, but he beats you to the punch.

“Let me prove to you how much you need me. That no one can make you feel as good as I can, can submit to you like I can.” He sinks to his knees before you, like he’s done countless times before, his shaking hands pulling your skirt up so he can mouth at your cunt through the cotton of your panties.

Your knees buckle at the contact, your hand rushing down to hold the back of his head despite yourself. You can only sigh and let him lap at you, letting him tug your panties down your legs to suckle at your oversensitive pussy properly.

You have to admit that he’s gotten much better at this. You can vividly remember the first time you let him go down on you, teaching him how to eat you out the way you liked it. And you can tell now that he’d memorized every word, every moan of approval and scrap of praise you’ve thrown his way because he knows just where you need his slick tongue to tease.

Izuku still moans excitedly into your pussy after all this time, as if the act itself was pleasurable for him too. Not knowing that he dreamed of it years before you met officially, or how he fucked his fist until his cock was raw at the thought of tasting you. He savors every swipe of his pink tongue over you abundant slick like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to, and with a hitch of his breath, tears spring to his eyes when he realizes that it might be.

If he didn’t do a good job you’d leave him.

[bougiebutchbitch]

Friend: why do you ship G1 Megastar

Me: oh, easy! It's a toxic, codependent, fucked-up-but-fairly-equal relationship between two terrible people! That's my whole jam.

Friend: okay so why do you ship tfp Megastar?

Me: well...

Look - first off, shipping doesn't mean 'viewing in a romantic light'. It means 'oh my god these guys have an interesting dynamic and so much history. I want them to divorce and never see each other again, and for both of them to heal and grow separately - but I also want Starscream to brutally murder Megatron because that would be cathartic for me, personally'

Tfp Megastar is blatant abuse - flavoured with hints that they Used To Be Something, only their once-noble ideals were warped by the war! Megatron fell back into the cycle of abuse and violence he's been trapped in his whole life - since he was a literal slave! Starscream is his favourite victim.

But because he and Megatron had very different coping mechanisms when facing abuse and brutality, Megatron feels justified in looking down on Starscream for fawning and freezing rather than fighting back.

(hell, a part of Megatron wishes Starscream would fight back because in his mind that would be Growth for his cowardly little lieutenant, even if Megatron would just fucking annihilate him. Meanwhile, Starscream knows he's brutally outmatched, which is why he begs and sobs and pleads because it's literally his only option from his perspective. A survival tactic is a survival tactic is a survival tactic; one is not morally superior to another. But try telling Megatron that, lol)

There were good times but they DO NOT make up for the horrific bad times. But there were still good times, y'know?

Anyway, Starscream continued the abuse cycle to a lesser degree with Knock Out and the drones (and later the Predacons), because he cannot conceive of any other way to be Powerful. He is so fucking insecure and has internalised a lot of the way Megatron talks to him as being true, even if outwardly he projects a narcissistic self-obsessed veneer of confidence.

BUT HE STILL ABUSES OTHERS JUST LIKE MEGATRON WHENEVER HE GETS THE CHANCE! LET'S NOT PRETEND OTHERWISE!!! THAT'S STILL VERY MUCH A THING!

Anyway. Things change for the better! Starscream walks the fuck away because he's sick and tired of being Megatron's punching bag!

It just... doesn't last.

He can't build a life for himself in part because he has 0 support network, but also because he's a self-obsessed neurotic bastard (whether as a survival tactic where he's learnt for so long that it's safest to only care for himself, or because he's just a trashy person, ymmv). He fails at meshing into the Autobots even as a Neutral.

So he goes back to Megatron and begs for another chance.

He gives up on all hopes of being anything but Megatron's lackey for him to smack about as he sees fit - but Megatron also stops hitting him? He seems to realise that treating Starscream that way was just fucking him up???

Of course, this doesn't mean things are miraculously fixed, or that the abusive dynamic is broken. It isn't even the typical 'honeymoon phase' you see in abusive relationships. It's... worse.

Because Starscream is desperate for Megatron's acknowledgement and respect. With every snub from Megatron, he fucks up more in his panicked scrabble to Prove Himself Worthy. Although he proves his competence on occasion, he doesn't get anywhere near enough appreciation to fill that BLATANT gaping hole within him that's sooooo desperate to be seen and loved, and still obviously feels very precarious and paranoid in his position within the Decepticons.

But like. Megatron does protect him from Dreadwing. And I suspect Starscream reads a bit too much into that, believing that their Bad Times are behind them and he finally has Megatron's respect.

(Which. No. But from an abuse survivor's standpoint, clinging to scraps to paint a shinier picture of your relationship... hahaha relatable right????)

Anyway - then they reach the final battle.

Megatron fucking dies.

And Starscream is screaming and clawing and trying desperately to reach him - the monster who hurt him more than anyone else, who stood with him in the burning ruins of an Autobot base and smiled at him like he was proud! Starscream has to be physically carried away by an ally to stop him running to Megatron's corpse!

ONLY WHOOPS, SPOKE TO SOON.

MEGATRON IS REVIVED BY THE ROBOT DEVIL. After which he... basically treats Starscream like he's entirely inconsequential. They defeat the robot devil, and Megs gives some shitty speech about Losing His Taste For Tyranny - but hardly fucking looks at Starscream, the guy who was literally shaped by that tyranny, before jetting off to space to live Happily Ever After

Leaving Starscream. Fuming. Furious.

He flies off alone to continue the Decepticon legacy - because how could Megatron walk away after everything? After everything he's done to their species? To their world? To Starscream?

Only he's not as alone as he thought.

Starscream finds himself facing three vengeful Predacons, who he spent the earlier season treating like shit in a direct parallel of how Megatron treated him. And they tear him apart while he screams and sobs and begs to be spared. Just like he used to beg Megatron.

Sooooo yeahhhhh all of this has been living rent-free in my head since I was like, 13 lol

Friend:

[homelanderbutbig]

As Long As We're Together (G/T Homelander x Reader)

2538 words. Hurt/comfort and fluff. Homelander is 8 feet tall. Reader is non-descriptive. Established relationship.

Your anniversary gift exchange doesn't go exactly as planned.

Made as part of the Cozy Corner Domaystic event put together by @cozycornerevents, using prompt #11 "unexpected gifts" and prompt #29 "peace offering".

It's officially been a month since you and Homelander started dating. Your relationship is still under wraps from the spying eyes at Vought, so the two of you can't celebrate your anniversary publicly. But that won't stop you both from having a special day.

As his personal assistant, you're trailing behind him on the set for 'Dawn of The Seven', making sure he has his lines ready. It's been a pretty busy shoot, and the two of you have not had much time to yourselves.

Eventually, there's a lull in between filming. You're following him as usual, flipping through the script to keep a strict tab on the upcoming scenes, but you are confused when he suddenly halts right in front of his trailer. Looking up at him, you can see a sly grin accompanying a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Come inside for a second," he smirks, bending down at the waist to whisper into your ear. "I have a surprise for you."

"I can't honey," you mention, pulling your phone out of your pocket and tapping the screen to bring up the current time. "I need to head back to the Tower in 15 minutes, I have a meeting with your marketing team."

Leaning back up to his full height, Homelander stares down at you in disbelief. You so nonchalantly took the ground right out from under him; he wasn't expecting any resistance, especially not on your anniversary. The day he confessed his love for you.

"N-no… no. No. Blow them off, come on," he stutters with a shaky smile, doing his best to regain his composure. "Come."

"I really can't stay," you divulge. "It'll take me at least 10 minutes to make it to the Tower and to the meeting room. Can this wait until I get back?"

Your words cut through him like a knife. All he wanted to do was to prove his devotion to you, and you're refusing him this chance. Your schedules have both been so chaotic today and he doesn't want to wait any longer for his surprise, definitely not until the evening when you're both off work.

"P-please," he mumbles quietly, his voice barely sounding audible. He can't let you leave, not yet.

Despite Homelander standing a menacing eight feet tall and you only reaching his abs, he could not seem any more small to you right now. All you see is a dejected puppy with big glassy eyes, so desperate for a scrap of your undivided attention. With a sigh, you walk up to him and reach for one of his large hands, squeezing your palm around the leather of his glove.

"This won't take longer than 5 minutes?" you ask.

"Of course not," he exclaims with a toothy grin. Your simple question is enough to wash away his fears and recapture his giddy childlike energy from moments ago. "Trust me, you'll love this."

Leading you to the trailer, he opens the door to let you in first so he can watch you spot his gift on the table. Your gasp fills him elation, ravishing in the way your body chemistry changes with delight. Carefully, you climb onto one of the oversized chairs in the dining area to get a closer look at what he got for you.

In the middle of the table is a perfectly designed bouquet, composed of a red rose heart nestled in a cloud of baby's breath. Tucked in between the flowers is a note card, wishing you a happy anniversary. Homelander even signed it himself, with a little heart doodle for you alongside his name.

"Oh hun," you exhale, bringing the flower vase closer to examine them. "These are so beautiful."

As he studies your reaction, he is perplexed as to why you appear to be blinking away tears. Are you upset at his gift? He thought this was a proper anniversary present; in every romantic movie he's ever seen the gentleman always brings his special someone a bouquet of flowers.

"Is something wrong?" he ponders, kneeling down so he can be at your eye-level. You can't help but smile at his face right next to yours, and the dread in his expression over making you cry.

"No, no…" you sniffle as you dry your eyes. "I'm just… I'm just happy. Nobody's ever gotten me flowers before."

"Thank you Homelander," you state, cupping his cheeks right before kissing him. Nearly instantly, he closes his eyes and exhales deeply through his nose as he melts into your affection. He leans more into your lips, softly keening as he chases after the genuine love that he's been searching for his entire life. Your palms petting his face have him entirely enraptured, and the noises of the movie set are long gone from his ears. Right now he feels like he's in heaven with the gentleness of your fingers running along his skin. His massive frame has practically encompassed yours with how close he's getting, but you don't mind. It's something you cherish, letting him forget his size around you.

When you pull away from your kiss, you can see how pleased he is just by the serene sparkles in his blue eyes. He has one hand placed on the back of your chair while the other is resting on your lap, taking up the length of your both your thighs.

"I have to get going now," you remark while you look up at the Vought-branded clock on the trailer wall. Sadly, your five minutes are up. "But I'll be back in an hour."

"Promise you'll come back as soon as you're done?" he asks, furrowing his brows slightly. He's so proud of himself for his gift, and he hates that he has to cut his time with you short now that he's received your gratitude.

"I promise," you respond, giving him one last quick kiss before stepping out of the trailer. You wave him goodbye as you head off, unaware that he is standing solemnly at the window as he continues to watch you with his X-Ray vision even after you've left the movie set.

~~~

You end up running a bit longer than you expected, and are confounded to find that when you finally return to the movie set, Homelander is not there. Ashley tells you that he flew off from the set an hour ago without a word. But you know there's only a few places he'd run off too, and take a taxi back to Vought Tower. As you thought, you find him in his penthouse living room, staring out the window with his arms crossed behind his back. You find it a bit odd when he doesn't acknowledge you, but you enter the room anyway.

"Hey sweetie, there you are! I couldn't find you on the set," you call out cheerily, carrying a small package in your arms. "Why'd you leave?"

"You lied to me," he answers in a blunt tone.

"…What?" you utter, confused to his change in mood.

"You. Lied," he retorts sharply, cutting you off before you can infuriate him any further. He slowly turns around to advance towards you, until you are forced to crane your head straight up to see his scowling face.

"I went by the Tower, to see how your meeting went," he clarifies as he looms his expansive stature over you. "No one had seen you. You were never there."

" Well, I-" you start to say.

"You promised," he snarls, baring his teeth. "You promised me you were different. You promised that you loved me. But you don't. You don't love me. You lied, just like everyone else."

His eyes are wild with fire, not from his lasers but from the torrent of antagonism swarming his mind. He sat alone in his trailer, expecting your return. He waited and waited, until the ticking of the clock and the ringing of his ears became too much for him to handle. He sought solace in his secret companion, his reflection, who was swift to manipulate his anxieties in order to turn him against you.

Throughout your relationship, you've come to understand that Homelander values honesty above anything else. He detests when people lie to him, even moreso when they lie to save themselves from his wrath. You have never lied to him before… until today.

On your anniversary.

Why should he have expected anything less from a human, his reflection goads him. You left him alone, with the present he so thoughtfully picked out for you, going who knows where and doing who knows what. Your kind can't be relied on, not after everything humans have done to him.

You broke his trust, and now he is out for your blood. He is a god that demands sacrifice.

Regardless of his rage, you know he really isn't going to hurt you. Gazing into his furious eyes, you can still discern the lonely little boy buried deep within his psyche. His face is twitching because he's overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. He's mad at you because you made him worry. He's upset because you disappeared; he's scared because he thought he was going to lose you. And you know you that the only way to quell his ire is with the truth.

"Homelander, just… just listen please," you breathe, cautiously planning out your next words as he stares daggers straight through your being. But he does not interrupt, and waits for you to continue.

"Today is our anniversary. This is a momentous event for the both of us," you explain, fiddling with the package tucked into your arm. "I was trying to think of the perfect gift for you, especially when you already have everything. I just… I wanted to get you something special. From the heart… Here."

You lift the box up for him, which he rips from your hands with a scoff. He can't see how a stupid present would somehow make up for what he perceives to be the ultimate betrayal of his trust. However, his irritation at your gesture evaporates the second he lifts the flaps up.

Inside is a small teddy bear, with scruffy and well loved brown fur that smells so intoxicating. It smells like you.

Totally and wholly you.

The box falls unceremoniously from his hands so he can hold onto the plush toy, running his fingers along its pelt. It's so miniscule in his grasp, practically engulfed by his fingers, and yet it feels so much larger. At this moment, it feels like the only thing in the world that matters.

"That was my bear when I was a kid," you detail to him. "I slept with it every night, it meant the world to me. I had to call in some favours to have it taken out of my hometown storage and shipped so fast."

"And now I want you to have it," you smile, walking up to him to place your hand on his thigh. "I know you didn't get to have much of a childhood, so I thought you could share mine."

Whatever anger Homelander was holding onto has completely drained from his body, filling the void with intense sadness. He can't believe he so easily let his reflection turn him against you, when you didn't even do anything. This resentment he felt was for nothing, you were never plotting some nefarious human scheme against him. Instead, you were just at the post office, retrieving your teddy bear for him.

Ever since he's known you, you have always put him first. Nobody has ever treated him with as much care and love as you have.

And now he's blown it.

The tears begin to flow freely down his cheeks as he grapples with his guilt. The constriction in his chest twists a spike deeper into his heart, fearful of what is coming next. You're going to break up with him, he just knows it. You're going to realize he isn't the big tough superhero he claims to be; you'll see him for the insecure child that he really is. Any minute now, the words are coming out of your mouth. It's over, I'm leaving, I hate you, I-

"Hey, hey. It's okay, baby boy, " you say, watching as he spirals deeper into panic. Luckily, your hands pressing into his padded suit are enough to refocus his attention. When his distressed eyes turn down to your face, you spread your arms wide to signal your intentions. "Can you pick me up please?"

With a tense swallow Homelander lifts you up with one arm, holding you close to his chest. Although he does his best to not address you, he can't fight nuzzling into your hands when you start caressing his cheeks. You touch him like he's made of bone china, so delicately, that he can't help pursuing after your affection no matter how upset he feels.

"I am so, so sorry that I lied to you," you console him, wiping away his tears with your thumbs. "I never meant to hurt you. I just wanted this to be a nice surprise, like the flowers you got me."

"S-sorry… s-s-sorry," he whispers timidly as he buries his face into your shoulder in an attempt to hide from his growing shame. However, you don't let him wallow in his irrational worries.

"Sweetpea, you don't have to apologize," you reassure him. "You're entitled to your feelings too, you shouldn't beat yourself up about that."

He doesn't know how to respond to that. During his youth he was never been given any level of autonomy over himself; he was created to serve Vought, so his emotions came second. They always came second, a trivial afterthought to the importance of what he represented to the company. And yet, here you are reminding him of his humanity, of what he had taken from him. You give him encouragement that he is more than just 'The Homelander, leader of The Seven'. Deep down, your words help the isolated little boy see the light shining through his abusive upbringing. He does matter.

"Happy anniversary Homelander," you declare, hugging his big head still snuggled heavily on your shoulder. You comb your fingers through his undercut as you feel him sink further into you. "I know this one might not have gone as well as we hoped, but I know our two month anniversary will be perfect."

"P-promise?" he mutters in a hushed tone, almost as if he's trying to hide his faith in you from his reflection, whom he is concerned might be listening.

"I promise," you assert, giving him a kiss on the top of his head. "From the bottom of my heart, you and I will get through anything as long as we're together."

"T-together…" you hear him mouth weakly to himself. It's a word he's never really thought about before, but hearing it out loud brings a whole new meaning to his life. He's not alone anymore, like he was growing up in the lab. He doesn't have to face his demons all on his own. Now he has you.

And no matter what the world brings, the two of you will always be facing it side by side… together.

[vhstown]

love our a.m.

— hobie brown x gn!reader

summary: Hobie hates mornings, but the ones with you aren't so bad.

warnings: hobie pov, fluff, alarm clock murder 😱 /j semi-edited

word count: 0.8k

a/n: wrote at midnight in like 2 seconds 🙏 p shabby but it's ok a little ooc hurt nobody thank you qiuwey for title idea ly

BRRIIIIII— Smash!

It didn't even get past the first ring. That was the third alarm clock Hobie had broken so far. If was almost a skill by now; he didn't even have to open his eyes. In fact, it was too bright to open his eyes. Everything was too much in the morning. Too bright, too loud, too cold. Why was it so bloody cold?

You. Or the lack of you, for that matter. The lack of you — and the back of you facing him. He stopped himself from moving you when he noticing the gentle rise and fall of your breath — that faint exhale he could listen to forever. Well, maybe not forever, given the way his arm was now cautiously hovering over your sleeping form.

Hobie inched just a little forward, peering over, his face tensed. You were asleep, alright. He couldn't tell if the expression on your face was a smile or a frown. For a moment, Hobie debated getting up and rotating his entire bed to stop you facing the wall, but his strength was only used for destroying appliances this early in the morning, it seemed.

With a sigh that had much more frustration than he'd like, the punk fell back against his pillow. He wasn't being needy, or anything, was he? Sure, he hadn't seen you in a while, and he hadn't held you in a while, but he could wait until you woke up at the very least — right? Hobie tried checking the clock, but it had already suffered fate of his fist. Truthfully, he hadn't slept a wink. Hobie thought about you often enough, sure, but you were all that had filled his mind last night — and arms. He surpressed another grumble. Not needy, of course — maybe a little cold.

You looked so warm — and comfortable. It'd be a crime to wake you up (not that he was much more lawful around you, but he didn't want to anyway.) The fact that his short-lived scrap with the alarm clock didn't alert you was a mystery. The wretched thing was from you, Hobie recalled: brand new from that little junk shop near the docks, now as good as a drumkit without sticks. There was probably a spring he'd dislocated somewhere on the floor for him to step on later. Another reason to hate mornings.

His pillow was starting to feel uncomfy. And the mattress. And all of his clothes. It was freezing now, as well. The blanket was too far, and was also probably too itchy, of course.

He relented, but not entirely. It was far more uncomfortable for him to try and keep his weight off of you, arm moving over your side and bent an awkward angle. If he wasn't so needy, this would be enough. No, this was enough, obviously... Hobie wished he had a second alarm clock to punch right now.

A sudden twitch of movement from you — and Hobie nearly punched himself. He held his breath, the muscles in his arm straining as you moved under him. He debated letting go (though he wasn't holding on much in the first place), before you were still. Hobie let out a quiet exhale.

It was a second later that your fingers curled around his. Then you squeezed his hand. Hobie's eyes flew open; his breath was trapped in his chest again.

"Hey..." He wasn't sure if he was just whispering to himself. "...You awake?"

Another squeeze to his fingers. Hobie sucked in his stomach. The expression on your face looked more like a grin. He had been, what one may call...

"You little—" Fooled.

Hobie couldn't finish his sentence before you turned to bury yourself in his chest, arms slotting between his to wrap him in a hug.

"Little what?" Your voice vibrated against his chest, still somewhat sleepy but awake enough to prove your guilt; you'd been awake all this time. All he could do was pull you more against him, closing his eyes in defeat. "Thought so."

Hobie sighed, soaking in your warmth as his body curled around you. He was like a bug to a radiator; the strange accuracy of that thought made him frown. He wasn't as small as a bug, but he could be as small as he wanted around you. Maybe one morning you'd hold him, but was more than enough, for now. He opened his eyes again when you shifted, yours narrowed by a faint smile.

"Morning," you whispered. The word didn't sound so bad coming out of your mouth.

Hobie leaned down to kiss your lips, if only for a moment, before pulling you back into his chest.

"G'mornin'..." he mumbled, yawning and closing his eyes again.

It was warm, comfortable. The sunlight had mellowed and the only sound was of your breathing, soft and even. Hobie hated mornings, but this one wasn't all that bad — not with you in it.

He decided he'd apologise about the alarm clock later.

🕸️🔭🎸

oho thank you for reading ^^ im trying to write more often but i have exams like... every week now so 💔 tis life but i hope u enjoyed

reblogs & feedback appreciated as always <3 find the rest of my atsv stuff here!

[fbfh]

I want to fuck Daryl Dixon so fucking bad. y'all don't even understand the primal need I have to milk him dry, suck his soul out through his heavy uncut dick. and I KNOW the feeling is mutual because we all know Daryl's the typ to suppress and ignore his emotions, right???? which means OBVIOUSLY he'll be too focused on staying alive and keeping the group safe to even think about sex, too exhausted from fighting walkers and scavanging supplies, just making it through the day to even whack one out. and all of that sexual frustration just builds and builds and builds deep in his subconsious until one day he's out hunting and comes across you. he doesn't expect to see someone alone and without a group, especially not such a hot piece of ass like you. he's older, you know there's an age gap between you, but you are both adults, and only meeting for the first time now. you justify this to yourself, mentally trying to figure out if anything between you would be legally or ethically yucky. you decide that it's fine - especially given the state of the world - to indulge your feelings.

Daryl brushes it off for as long as he can. He ignores the way you look at him, and all the dreams of you sneaking into his tent and riding him until you squirt, he ignores the stray thoughts that leave him a little bricked up happening more and more. He ignores it until one night, you actually do sneak into his tent. He thinks he's dreaming at first, seeming as gruff and chilly as ever, but you don't care. You just crouch next to him and hug him, hiding your face in his bare chest.

"I... I had a bad dream." your words are simple, but they really speak volumes. He knows first hand how bad the nightmares can get, and your skin feels so nice on his. he's so touch starved that he doesn't even realize why he's pulling you into his lap, holding you close and rubbing your back, he just knows it feels... really good. like, really really good. so he tries to calm you down and help you settle back down for sleep, laying you down next to him. you cuddle up to him so painfully close that he doesn't know what to do. You wrap both your legs around one of his thighs, squirming a little as you settle down.

"'m sorry for keeping you up so late," you say, pouting up at him and he is SO close to folding. he has maybe one or two scraps of self control that are fully stripped away when you squirm some more, rocking your core against his thigh, and he feels it. He feels the slimy, slippery wet patch growing wetter and wetter as you "get comfortable".

"Do you think there's something that could... y'know... tire me out a little?"

and he folds. of COURSE he folds, anyone would with you being all cute and sweet to them, ESPECIALLY someone whose heavy, full balls are bluer than the lonliness and pain in his heart. he uses his last ounce of self control to say your name like a warning, but it only serves to make your pussy throb against his leg - something he definitely does not miss.

"You're playing a dangerous game here, kid..." he warns. You inch closer and closer to him, batting your eyes up with a cute little pout.

"'m not a kid," you protest. your eyes flick between his eyes and his lips, and you can't stop your hips from grinding down onto his thigh. "...you want me to prove it?"

but with how fast he flips you over and pins you down and folds you in half, you really don't have time to prove anything.